Making it Hot, Making it Wet

I got to have lunch with my Dad Saturday afternoon. We ordered some kabobs and just chilled at a cafe table on the sidewalk, people watching, talking and laughing for hours. I’m very lucky to have my Dad; I joke a lot about being a mental case but with less capable parents I could have easily ended up as full-blown nut-job. Not like a cute, oh-isn’t-he-zany-let’s-invite-him-to-parties-so-we-can-watch-him-dance nut job, more like an I-can’t-believe-anyone-would-show-up-at-a-movie-theater-wearing-only-a-poncho nut job. Sometimes I think about all the guidance and advice he’s given me over the years, how much of it has come in handy, can tell I’m gonna have to have kids at some point just so I can pay it forward and get karma off my ass.

 

One of the things I admire most about my Dad is his honesty; it’s ruthless and brutal like an African dictator. Cuts deep and hot like a lightsaber fight in a coat closet, once you’re in there, you know nobody’s getting away unscathed. Good or bad he’s going to tell you the truth and let you deal with it however you want. I usually respond myself with a lot of half-started, frustrated-sounding sentence fragments, intermittent staring contests with the ground, and a pair of alarmingly moist armpits.

 

There are friends and family members who understandably make a conscious effort to avoid my father at all costs because they know given a few minutes he’s bound to make it hot for them. It’s never hateful or mean-spirited; he’s genuinely trying to help. I think that’s what makes stuff really sting sometimes; knowing that the person upsetting you is not only right, but that he or she is only speaking out of genuine empathetic concern. To make things worse, he regularly calls himself on his own B.S., so it’s not like you can even hope to one day find the footing to usurp the moral high ground. Takes away your right to be legitimately angry on your own terms, leaving irrational resentment as the only satisfactory recourse.

 

“Yeah, well you may be right hot shot, but you’re not getting an invitation to my party next month, so how bout THEM apples? …Oh I’ll invite you, but it’ll be a phone call like twenty minutes before the party starts… then we’ll really see whose to blame for my breakup, won’t we?”

 

He’ll tell you the truth, knowing it may well cost him his friendship with you. As an adult, those are the kind of people who have turned out to my most valued friends, people who will be honest with you about who they are, who don’t care about seeming perfect or poised and who can tell you when they disagree or think you’re full of sh*t (more often than I’d like to admit) without judging you and trust you to do the same for them. That all stems from my Dad and it’s cool to have had that influence. Think it’s important to take note of stuff like that while everybody’s in good health; he is the first and last role model for the kind of man I strive to be. Still got a long looong way to go yet, all we can do is keep moving. Speaking of moving, it’s time I wrapped up this Hallmark Channel tribute and got back to the point of this entry…

 

Chilling with my Pop had me reminiscing about growing up as I walked to work this morning. Was listening to Kanye West at the same time, remembered how I used to wet the bed as a kid. Me and the ole bladder put in some serious work between the ages of 2 and 5; like Eminem and Dr. Dre or the Funk Brothers, we was CRANKING. That poor mattress spent more time getting disinfected and drying out on the back porch than it did on my bed frame. You would’ve almost thought I was doing it just to be funny, taking pride in my output. Could imagine myself drinking coffee and cranberry juice before going to bed, taunting my folks as I marched upstairs, sounding like a cocky rapper about to hit the studio.

 

“I think I feel another hit coming on guys, no one can contain these flows baby… when I spray it’s GOLD!”

 

Gosh, those years sucked, waking up soaked and smelling like your diaper needs to be changed. That foolishness ain’t cute when you’re old enough to be taught manners. I’m not sure if I knew what dignity was at that age, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t have any on those nights. That’s probably why I didn’t go to prom; I didn’t believe in myself. I should’ve joined a boys and girls club, had Denzel Washington make a surprise visit, show me how to play badminton. That wouldn’t have made me believe in myself any more, but at least I could’ve told girls I’ve met Denzel Washington. If you can’t get your nerve up with an icebreaker like that, you don’t deserve to have tux and corsage money spent on you.

 

At any rate, I don’t think waking up soaked and stinking like a third world outhouse was the worst part of wetting the bed. It was two seconds later when you realized you’d have to wake your folks up so the post-Katrina clean up could commence. As a remembered, I never felt comfortable just walking in their bedroom, waking them up with a straight face and calm voice

 

“Hey there. I uh, (sniff) hate to be a pain, but I’m afraid I’ve had a bit of an accident, was wondering if I could trouble someone to be a dear and refresh my linens. So sorry about this… you know it sounded like you two were awake (sniff)… but apparently you were sleeping you were sleeping quite soundly, I don’t know how you two can sleep with it being so (sniff) musty in here, can’t quite place that scent… hey, were you guys having a party? Then why are these empty balloons everywhere?”

 

You can’t walk in there calm and proper like that, trying to have a damn discussion. You got to go in there hysterical, like a ghetto mama who’s 28 year-old “baby” just got smoked and refuses to accept that no one would “plant” 35lbs of cocaine in her son’s backpack just to make him look bad. When it’s time to report a bedwetting, you go all out. If you didn’t have that little snot moustache going and the ultra-contorted post-breakup-about-to-breakdown-any-minute face… well let’s just say you weren’t really committed to the role and it’s going to reflect in ticket sales.

 

Frustrating thing for me was that no matter how committed I was to the role, my folks always saw through my performances, used to make me mad.

 

“Well, you could at least let me know you weren’t gonna buy it, saved me the trouble of getting all worked up… with all due respect, I mean damn!”

 

This is where my Dad’s honesty would come into play. He’d call me on it and start doing a comedy set on how bad an actor I was while cleaning the mattress.

 

“Might as well stop with all the jive tears, you know you ain’t really cryin’ right? What do you have to cry about anyway? You think you’re the first person to wet a bed? You think you’ll be the last? I should be sad… I mean “I” was in the middle of something… boy, if you only knew… there should be tears in MY damn eyes… that’s ok, one day you’ll understand, when you’re older… we’ll sit down and we’ll have kabobs, I’ll tell you all about it…THEN you can cry. We’ll BOTH cry…”

 

That’s what it means to me to be a parent; being willing to clean a mattress in the middle of the night, night after night, as long as it takes, and being able to do it without giving your kid any more of complex than he or she is already destined to have. My name is Mike and I’d better not turn out to be a deadbeat.

Normal People Don’t Wear Ponchos

I own one and I’m saying it anyway. Have a bright yellow poncho, by Nautica, like that makes it any better. I used to wear it a lot back in college whenever it rained, would skulk around campus looking like the world’s cheeriest druid. Being seen in a poncho didn’t faze me at the time; I guess when you’re in school, you’re too tired, hungry and poor to get hung up on fashion. The rules were lax for everybody on everything. I couldn’t tell whether it was weirder that some people wore flip-flops and shorts to graduation or that no one seemed too bothered by it. It’s your big day, your day to “shine”, four years in the making, and you can’t stand to wear real shoes for two hours? How are you’re gonna receiving a document that recognizes you as an adult and you can’t even stand to dress like one. I’m such an old-head sometimes, can tell I’m gonna be that elderly dude yelling at young people from my front porch, threatening to tell them stories about “the Great War” if they don’t turn that music down…

 

Back to the original point, ponchos can be marginally acceptable, but only for a limited range of situations. First the rain has to be coming down in torrents, like on Jurassic Park just before the power went out. Anything less than that, you should count on spending half your morning running in circles asking people to give you your backpack back. It’s not even cruel, you can’t walk around looking that ridiculous in a misting or light summer shower. So the first rule is there must be rain. Second, there are a few select jobs where a poncho is allowable.

 

1)  Soldier. As a rule you can wear whatever you want when you’re authorized to take lives

 

2)  Camp Counselor. Everything at camp is goofy anyway and the kids are already wearing them, would probably be creepier if you didn’t wear one

 

3)  Weatherperson at Hurricane sight. You’re going to get clobbered by a flying Dodge Caravan any moment anyway, we’re comfortable letting you wear what works for you. Besides, if you were stupid enough not to quit when they gave you that assignment, no one thinks much of your judgment in the first place

 

4)  Superhero just discovering his powers. See “Unbreakable”. You’re still getting used to being able to pick up cars, we don’t you haven’t had time to coordinate a super-ensemble yet

 

5)  Crossing Guard. We’re just happy you’re not offering the kids candy as they cross the street

 

6) School Bus Driver. See “Crossing Guard”

 

7)  Letter Carrier: The Post Office has already got you driving trucks with the steering wheel on the wrong side, wearing safari hats in the summer and the Russian ushanka trapper hats in the winter, a poncho in the rain is only fitting. No wonder you guys go bananas every few years.

 

8)  Suburban Moms: Between the navel high white khaki pants, and the annoying sound of your voice when you’re at your son’s soccer games screaming “C’mon Billy”, “Go Billy” and “Do you want to bring your friends over for frozen pizza?”, there’s really no way you could be less cool, might as well stay dry.

 

9)  Priest. See “Crossing Guard”. Cheap shot aside, that is actually one of the few cool things about religion, no one questions your fashion choices, not in America at least. Cape? Go for it? 3-foot tall hat? Why not? Turban or burqa? Well… you can wear it, just plan on being at airports a little earlier, by about 12-16 hours. Probably best if you send your family to another security gate, no child should see their father like that.

 

10) Crazy Hobo. You’re eating out of trash cans and talking to people who aren’t there at metro stations, think you’ve earned a little artistic license. To be honest, you can wear whatever you want as long as you’re not breathing on us (how is it possible for a mouth to smell WORSE than a sphincter?).

 

Third rule, these fashion rules don’t apply to women. Women can wear whatever they want. If a woman called you up and told you she was coming to see you wearing only a poncho, that’d be the hottest thing you’d ever heard of in your personal social life. You’d be “done” before she even hung up the phone. Even the rules of the season don’t apply. It’s even better if she makes that call in cold weather, why, I don’t know. That’s the kind of phone call wives and long-term girlfriends never make, no sane woman is going to drive fifteen miles basically naked in a cold Chevy Lumina just to please a man who’s heard her poot. Would be still cool though; was just thinking about it a second ago and the first phrase that popped in my head was “Hark the Herald” for some reason. Totally inappropriate, I’ve got a lot of praying to do tonight.

 

In any case, that’s how it goes with women in ponchos; they can get away with it because they can get away with almost anything. The rules are very different for men. If a man called you up and told you he was coming to see you wearing only a poncho, the horror of that phone call and that imagery would stay with you for years. You’d call the police and they’d be horrified too, end up going overboard and showing up with a full tact team and assault chopper just to take down an unarmed pervert. That man’s arrest footage would be used as a case study on the meaning of “excessive force”.

 

“…see how the officers mash his face into the pavement while cuffing him? If we play back the audio, you can overhear several officers calling him a sick f*ck in succession, asking him repeatedly if he “wants to die, f*cker” and promising to “grant his wish”. I think Officer Wilson actually used the inflammatory –er variant of N-word, which is doubly confounding since the suspect is Caucasian and as you all know Officer Wilson is a ni- uh, African-American. As you can imagine, this is not the kind of professionalism we aspire to here at the DCPD…”

 

Rain wear can unite and it can divide people, please shop responsibly; just because it’s Nautica, doesn’t mean it’s okay. My name is Mike and yes I really just spent that much time talking about ponchos.

More Than Meets the Eye

So I’m a single guy. Single guys do single things. Checking out ladies is one of my favorite single guy things to do. My higher brain function is aware that it’s 2008 and that’s “objectifying”, but I do it anyway, sorry. I could be walking to work, walking to the store, running to get an injured friend emergency medical supplies; if anyone with a pair of X-chromosomes crosses my path I have to look. Judge if you want, but for this surprisingly destitute cubicle-bound comedian-in-white-collar-clothing, the stroll to and from lunch is as close to art appreciation as I get, especially during this time of year.

 

There are several well-documented dangers to the wandering eye. One is that it can be hard sometimes to shut it off when you do end up in a relationship. Your heart’s not really in it, but your retinas are working from muscle memory anyway, like a concert pianist or factory worker after thirty years on the job. Try telling that to girlfriends though; they never seem to understand how trying it can be to be a guy.

 

Another danger is the unobserved boyfriend, whom I believe I’ve mentioned before in an earlier entry. If a girl is attractive enough for you to notice, she’s probably got a man. If her boyfriend is nearby, chances are you’re not going to notice the boyfriend because you’ll be too busy noticing her. By the time you notice the boyfriend, he’s been noticing you notice his woman for just long enough to be mad, like IED-time-to-see-Allah-about-those-virgins mad. It’s at this time you notice that, even though there are witnesses everywhere, for some reason you still don’t feel safe. Your gut sends you your final notice

 

“Get the hell out of here Mike, the cops never seem to be around when you’re getting your ass kicked, only spectators whose idea of assistance is yelling ‘Aw DAMN son, you got meh-heh-hessed UP!’”

 

Aside: Does it seem like I’m always talking about somebody getting beat up lately? In reality, the boyfriend would probably be annoyed, but only enough to shoot me a cocky look and make a smug taunt out of putting his arm around her. To listen to me, you’d think everyday people are ready to commit felonious assault at the slightest provocation. I grew up in Southeast but it’s not like I was raised on the set of Goodfellas or Menace II Society. Let’s “keep it real”, I went to a place called Bethel Bible Christian School as a kid and had to wear a uniform with pleated pants and a V-neck sweater. Seen a lot of gangsters in navy blue V-necks lately? I’ve been in all of three fights in my life and they all were in junior high and involved the patented windmill-punching technique. I have so little street in me, I felt it necessary to put “keep it real” in quotes a moment ago; you could almost hear the white guy voice rearing it’s ugly head. Have about as much firsthand knowledge of violence as I do of success in the workplace and a well-rounded social life. This is why kids shouldn’t be allowed to watch action movies, pro wrestling or DMX videos, got my values all outta whack; should probably be under observation somewhere where I can’t harm myself or others…

 

…Back to the original point of this entry, there are numerous dangers to the wandering eye, and this week I had the strange fortune to stumble on perhaps the most devastating one yet. Was walking up behind this one lady, to look at the hair and complexion I’d guess she was Puerto Rican, and she was sporting what, at first glance, was one of the best lower halves these eyes have ever seen. I mean sculpted, sculpted by the Devil himself, to break both hearts and marriages. This is the kind of lower half that you use for extracting secrets and political decisions from high-ranking government officials or setting up green celebrities so you can rob them in their hotel rooms. This is not the kind of lower half that goes to Potbelly Sandwichworks and spends her days processing invoices.

 

And the attire! Heels! Walking strong in em too. Skirt! Just a little above knee high. With a slit leading halfway up to heaven, showing just enough thigh to remind you why no home is complete without an ample supply of cocoa butter and a pommel horse. Bright red silk scarf, with the ends draped over her shoulders, dancing with her hair as she walked. I’m telling you, all that supposedly outdated, pseudo-“chauvinistic” imagery guys are too PC to admit they dig anymore, that’s what this girl had going on and the sight was spellbinding. Your boy was right in the middle of brainstorming icebreakers, getting revved up like I had a show to do or something. The inner monologue was doing about 8000 rpms, was amazed I didn’t have an aneurysm.

 

“…ooh, she’s walking into my building, she’s taking the elevator, I’ll get to see her up close and by Jove we gonna get that number today… ok here we go, don’t mess this up… just start out with hello, juststartoutwithhello, juststartoutwithhhello ok nowornever don’tbeapunk it’s SHOWTIME! Scarf’s slipping down, ooh I would put hickeys all over that… Whoa! Whoa. Oh, ummm.. is… that… an Adam’s apple?”

 

What. TheF*ck. How the hell did I get duped like this? She, he, whatever, is doing her thing, ain’t bothering nobody, that’s her life. But me, I’m 27, I should be able to tell who’s who better than this. I’m holding you accountable Mike; this is some amateur night bullsh*t.

 

We got in the elevator and as I used my peripherals to take a closer look, the clues began to fill in like the last ten minutes of a mystery movie.

 

“Legs. Sculpted yes, but they’d look more appropriate on Troy Polamalu. Knees. What woman stands or walks with her knees that far apart? Looks like she’s lumbering across a field with a wheelbarrow full of horse feed. Think Wesley Snipes was more graceful in “To Wong Foo…”. Face. I’m gonna let you off easy on this one buddy because you didn’t see her from up front, but I think Bruce Wayne has a softer jawline; you could hide textbooks in that chin cleft. And finally, the arms. What lady has forearmed bones that far apart? I don’t even think they make ladies watches with that many links. As a rule you shouldn’t trust any woman who can carry and fire an M-16 with one hand, The signs were there detective, waiting for to find out, wanting you to find out, but you just didn’t see… maybe you… didn’t want to see, hmmm?”

 

The sad thing is I would’ve taken that girl around my friends too; the vain part of me would want them to see me with her before she realized she can do better and split. That would’ve been good, having her meet my peoples. Could you imagine if I never noticed and started going around town not realizing whom I was with? If you were a guy’s friend and you thought his girl might be a man but he seemed really happy, would you say anything? Think that would be the all-time awkward moment, pulling your boy aside to tell him you think his girl is a man, only to find out in fact she’s not. I don’t think you two could be friends any more, at least not while he’s still dating her, would probably have to wait for at least two girlfriends after her to invite him out for shufflepuck and pizza.

 

So to any single boys and girls who like people-watching and flirting as much as I do, please keep an eye out for the undercover brothers and double-agents; if you aren’t paying attention, you could get your mind blown. Maybe I got what I deserved for objectifying women. Maybe I should go to more poetry readings so I can remember to appreciate people for their minds. Maybe I should always be suspicious whenever a really hot girl is walking by herself, and walking to my raggedy ass building no less. Or maybe I just need some glasses. My name is Mike and I have more questions than answers.

Hostile Work Environment

A lot of news programs have started showing their correspondents reporting from within the newsroom workspace, using the field of desks as backdrops and the employees as involuntarily extras. I notice this a lot whenever they do the financial news where you’d think people would possibly want to concentrate. Seems like that would make for a distracting work environment, so here’s some fun ways to distract the correspondents back, or at least ruin the segment so the producers will stop scheduling shoots there…

 

“Old Faithful”: Yell “Fire!” and pull the sprinkler alarm. Simple and never gets old. You may find yourself getting asked some tough questions in the security office by day’s end. Should probably plan to stay a little late, best to cancel that spin class.

 

“Classless Act”: Pick your nose with otherworldly focus and wipe your “findings” on the inside lip of a coworker’s coffee mug. For and added creep-factor, make sure you stare directly in the camera the whole time. They can’t fire you for being disgusting, can they?

 

“The Pied Piper”: Pick up a cake from Giant, throw some candles on it and start slowly pacing the office singing “Happy Birthday”. Your coworkers won’t know who you’re singing to, but as long as you look like you have a destination in mind, they’ll be too embarrassed not join in and start walking with you. The average human brain has a very low resistance to both cake and shame, which is fitting since one is likely to lead to the other.

 

“Won’t You Be My Neighbor?”: Cut into correspondent-anchor dialogue with inappropriate banter. Imagine yourself as that talkative but senile old neighbor who you always seems to trap you in a conversation as you’re running out on your way somewhere… “Hey. Psst. Hey Bill. Bill. What, you on TV so you don’t know me now? It’s Mr. Griffith, huh? I know you can hear me BILL. What you two talking about, the state of business? Shoot, I can tell you right now, business is bad. B-A-double D-BADD. You putting up all these charts and graphs, making everybody’s head hurt, don’t know whether they coming or going. You need to stop messin’ around, tell these people to save their money. And it’s gonna be bad for a while to isn’t it? Isn’t it? That’s right, better stop buying all that X-bocks and Entindo Wii and put yo money away NOW! it’s gonna be pork and beans for at least three years… Store’s look at me, I’m like ‘don’t look at me baby, I just come to the Mall for an air-conditioned walk’, I ain’t buying a damn thing and neither should you… Whatchu looking at me like that fo? Aight, go-on finish your little segment then… that’s how it goes, give a Youngblood his start and soon as you turn your back he goes all Hollywood on you…” 

 

Whoa, that one was long even for me, completely lost track of what I was talking about. Think I started channeling Richard Pryor’s Mudbone about halfway through that too, moving on…

 

“Mr. Sandman”: Fall asleep at your desk. Don’t just put your head down though like it’s a controlled nap, let us the viewers feel your struggle to stay awake. Work the semi-conscious drunken ostrich head-bob for a while, next the junkie lean and then let your head crash to the keyboard, “inadvertently” typing twelve pages of the letters v, b and n. If the segment goes for more than 90 seconds, fall out of your chair and make sure the chair falls with you. They will never shoot in front of your desk again. Of course, by that point it may not be your desk anymore, but that’s another story. 

 

“Silent but Deadly”: Wear a gas mask and parachute to work with your business suit and Vineyard Vines necktie. Don’t say anything to anyone, don’t explain anything, don’t even acknowledge the stares, just sit down at your desk and start returning emails as if everything’s normal, see how long it takes before people start thinking of reasons to leave the office. Eventually your manager’s patience is going to be exhausted, but I promise you the words “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” will never sound so sweet. For this exercise, please note it’s extremely important to hide your coffee cup so you don’t absent-mindedly try to take a drink with your mask still on, there’s nothing funny about a scalded groin. Unless of course you’re watching someone else scald his groin; that’s fun for the whole family.

 

“Joker’s Wild”: An exercise in orchestrating mayhem. Start loud-talking about how whoever stole your bagel has 30 seconds to return it or everybody’s getting reported for their expense report indiscretions. At the same time, pick the first coworker walking by your desk, think of the worst thing you can to say about that person and tell that person that some coworker said that thing about him or her. Make sure it’s a coworker you’ve always disliked, there’s nothing more empowering than delegating a beat-down. Repeat this process for the next 2-3 passersby until your office looks like a Shiroiwan battle royale. While roughly half a dozen of your esteemed colleagues engage in a life-or-death struggle with each other, using very expensive flat screen monitors as means for rupturing their “teammates” internal organs, pull out a boombox and start playing “Ladies Night” by Kool and the Gang. Maybe the execs at CNBC will think viewers might still care about what’s happening to the Nasdaq with all that going on, maybe this particular correspondent has the focus of a jedi knight, but my guess is they’ll cut to commercial and relocate to the washroom. Note: Do not attempt this within 3 months of your evaluation; incidents like these will affect your review.

 

At lot of these entries have been about antagonizing coworkers lately. I sure hope I make it in comedy before I burn up all good favor at my current day-job. If a potential employer happens upon this blog, your boy is done. I mean DONE. I’m talkin’ next-job-will-be-pickin’-up-used-kleenex-at-adult-movie-theaters-and-he’s-lucky-to-have-that-gig done. If anyone needs me I will be working overtime, all this weekend. My name is Mike and I am a team player.

Earth Day

Woke up this morning and saw a PSA talking about how Earth Day was this week. Even though environmentalists are right, it doesn’t mean their tone isn’t obnoxious and condescending sometimes. Have you ever met anyone, in your whole life, who was like

 

“You know what? I don’t care about the Earth. I don’t care about the environment, I don’t care about fish, or giraffes, or nature. I just want to litter and consume as many fossil fuels as I can before I die.”

 

Has ANYONE ever met someone like that? No. Yet sometimes it feels like die-hard environmentalists really believe that’s what the rest of us are like. Anybody with as much self-righteous hubris as these fools deserves to have their noses tweaked a little, whether they’re right in principle or not. In the spirit of said tweaking, I’ve compiled a list of unnecessarily antisocial ways to annoy them back...

 

Comments That Will Enrage Even the Most Passive Environmentalist:

 

“I don’t understand why you keep driving all the way to the dump to trash those used computer parts, isn’t there a river bed by your house? Toss it there, save that gas money.”

 

“Yo son, check out my new Hummer! …what kind of mileage does it get on the highway? Who cares? I’m all city with my driving baby… no I don’t carpool, that’s for poor people and savages! Hah, you’re right, they ARE one and the same!”

 

“Just leave the engine running, I’ll only be 30 minutes or so.”

 

“Yeah, we can go to Walmart in just a second honey, I just gotta find a place to get rid of all this old motor oil… ooh, is that a storm drain? Perfect. Compost heap? Even better.”

 

“I personally don’t think there’s any better security than a house with all the lights on. If every room isn’t lit with 100 watts or more, you’re just asking for trouble…”

 

“I’d kill five California condors if it’d bring my Pepco bill down some. Wouldn’t even use a real weapon, just get up close and brain em with dead car batteries. Give me a dead condor and ten minutes with a fry cooker, I’ll serve up the biggest, gamiest chicken nuggets you ever did see, tastes even better than bald eagle…”

 

“…I’m just sayin’, the cost of all this air conditioning is killing me… sure I could close the front door sometimes, but then I’d have to get up all over again whenever someone came over, now THAT’s a waste of energy.”

 

“Anybody know where I can score some Freon? No, I don’t have a car or an air conditioner, I just thought it’d be cool to set a can off under a beehive or maybe a bird’s nest…”

 

“Environmentalists are just people who like girls with really poor hygiene. How are you gonna manage cleaning the Earth and you can’t even clean yourself? Wish they cared about their colleagues’ work environment as much as they fret about the damn forest. Whole body smelling like the inside of a shoe… which is a real mystery to me because they don’t wear shoes. I think that’s why they like hugging trees, because trees can’t turn hugs down.”

 

“If it was really wrong to kill baby seals, the coats made of them wouldn’t look so damn fly.”

 

“That new show Ax Men on the History Channel is the best thing on TV.”

 

“You know what this playground needs? More plastics.”

 

“You know what this park needs? More parking.”

 

If none of that gets Johnny Appleseed frothing at the mouth, spitting a cacophony of “I’ll have you know”s and spilling a $6 cup of Starbucks coffee all over his new Greenpeace tote bag, if he gets any less upset than that, if he isn’t thinking about permanently impairing your short term memory capacity with the business end of a fire extinguisher, you need to kneel at that man’s feet and pledge your allegiance; for he is “The One” the Oracle spoke of, the One who will free us from the Matrix and save Zion.

 

My name is Mike and I’m an impudent generalizing heathen who should have his favorite typing hand cut off and mailed to him.

People Who Don’t Follow Directions

You know, as soon as I wrote that line yesterday about how “nobody better post a comment on my blog about why I should vote”, I knew, I mean I just knew someone was going to do it anyway. Someone had to; too many of my MySpace friends are comedians, and telling a comedian not to say something translates to

 

“I REALLY want to say something about this. C’mon, I dare you, sucka!”

 

So my good friend Erin called my bluff; it’s always the ones closest to you who can bust your chops oh so right.

 

“This is me not posting a comment on how necessary it is that you vote. My name is Erin and I shouldn't be able to chew my own food.”

 

At least it was funny which was cool; I was actually laughing so hard this morning, almost felt bad about possibly not voting, for a second anyway. But now I’ve got to follow through on my promise or my blog will never respect me again, so EJ, this one’s for you…

 

People Who Don’t Follow Directions Should Not Be Allowed To:

1) Speak

2) Dress themselves

3) Operate a car

4) Chew their own food

5) Own a cell phone that dials out to anyone but his or her parents

Own a cell phone that has more than 12 anytime minutes. That sounds meager, but if you can’t follow directions, people probably won’t want to talk to you much anyway.

6) Visit the doctor or pharmacy without a guardian. We’re gonna let you make health decisions and pick up drugs? Right.

7) Ride metro escalators. If it’s an emergency you can ride I guess, but you still should find someone to hold your hand and make sure your shoes are tied.

8) Sit more than two rows from the flight attendants’ station on airplanes

9) Drive in H.O.V. lanes or any fast-moving thoroughfares during rush hour

10) Have anything to do with guns, explosives or moving parts

11) Have anything to do with cooking oil and/or scented candles

12) Man the remote control at family get-togethers

13) Select music in the car, whether they’re the one driving or not, whether their friends are with them or not. Better not catch them driving though, see item 3

14) Use any sort of exercise equipment without adult supervision

15) Wander around a house that hasn’t been child-proofed

16) Purchase or use household cleaning products

17) Work any job where other people’s lives or anything important might be at stake. Recommended occupations include: paperboy (though if you can’t drive, I’m not sure how you’ll do on a bicycle), copier repair technician (the copier’s always messed up anyway so no one will know he or she sucks at their job), taxidermist (small animals), ditch digger (while I’m not sure a person like this should be trusted with a shovel, anyone who messes up digging a hole should be beaten senseless with an old turkey bone and left for dead in a rice paddy somewhere)

18) Make coffee, tea or popcorn at work, stand within 6 feet of any office appliances. If you bring a bagged lunch to work, you need to get a friend to put it in and take it out of the refrigerator for you. Microwave? Fuggedaboudit.

19) Wear loose clothing anywhere near an open flame or electric heat source

20) Wear loose clothing anywhere near an oscillating fan

 

And the last one ironically, people who don’t follow directions should not be allowed to…

21) Vote

 

My name is Mike and I <3>

 

P.S. for all two of my readers who can’t access MySpace at work, don’t forget to bookmark the alternate location for this blog:

http://comelaughwithmike.blogspot.com

 

Later,

M

Vote or Die

I got home last night and saw Hilary had beaten Obama by 10 points in Pennsylvania. Decided to turn off the TV before the news ruined the good mood I was in. I am 27 years old and I have never voted before. It’s not been out of apathy, it’s a deliberate abstention. I’ve decided that if Barack doesn’t win this nomination, I’m not going to vote this time either; a choice between Hillary and McCain feels like no choice at all.

 

Now every election year, I have to hear some guff from coworkers who disapprove of me not exercising my right to vote. I wish they’d exercise their right to remain silent. It’s called a “right” to vote. It’s not a civic duty or obligation in my opinion as so many would presume, it’s a voluntary act predicated on supporting one candidate and entrusting him or her with your future. In eight years, I’ve seen no such candidates I trust like that, so in eight years I’ve cast no such votes. Feels ridiculous to vote for someone just because I like the other guy less; no one should win the highest office in the land by attrition. So that’s why I haven’t voted yet, and I’m telling everyone now to leave me the heck alone about it. I love free speech but if anyone try to post a comment on this blog about why I should vote, my next entry’s going to be about “people who don’t follow directions” and why they shouldn’t be allowed to speak, dress themselves, operate a car or chew their own food.

 

For any other Generation X-ers who are tired of having their balls busted about their lack of involvement in the political process, here’s a list of tips for overcoming the unwelcome brow-beaters and guilt-trippers come election day:

 

1) Play the race card, even if you’re not black.

 

“Aww, you know how it is man, my people don’t vote!”

 

One might argue that this is setting your people back, but I’d make the case that anybody who’d believe that drivel likely already thought that about your people in the first place. You need to beat him the hell up and throw his ass in the dumpster. Nothing says “I need to be more progressive” than waking up in a BFI box covered in rotting food and used office supplies.

 

2) Play the memory card, make like you forgot somehow.

 

“It was today? For real? Aw man. That sucks. I was gonna vote this time too, I had my ballot pencil ready and everything…”

 

You’ll probably have to avoid conversations with people until towards the end of the day to make this really work. Every time you’re in the hallway, walk just a little bit faster with your head down and eyes fixed in the distance like you’ve got something super important and urgent on your mind.

 

3) Play the crazy card. Sit at your desk with the monitor off, muttering to yourself

 

“I wish somebody would ask me… telling me what to do with my vote… they never figured out why I ordered all those razor blades… somebody’s getting sliced like cheesecake today…

 

Not sure if you’ll still have a job in the morning, but what you will have is peace of mind, provided you don’t go all Daniel Day Lewis and get too “in character”.

 

4) Play the bathroom card, people will give you the benefit of the doubt thinking

 

“Nah, he’s too old to be playing around like that…” Go to the bathroom every three minutes, stay in there for fifteen minutes at a time, call on the Heavens for strength while you’re in there, make sure it’s at the top of your lungs. Nobody will know how to break the ice after that. 

 

5) Play the militant conspiratorial anarchist card.

 

“See what I’m doing is not playing into the system man, they want to vote man, like there even is a vote. There’s no vote baby, they’re just tracking us. to make sure we stay under control man. We gotta bring it all down man, bring it all back to zero, so we can be free again, under me. No man, I’m cool cause I don’t need power, you can’t be a dictator if you’re cool, get it? I’d never be evil or any of that stuff man, we’d just all live and work together in a commune man, it’ll be awesome. There will be some ‘guidelines’ just to protect ourselves but yeah it’ll still be anarchy. Totally. I think they’re after my cat food.”

 

Or you could just concede that you’re going to spend the day hearing how much you’re pooping on the memory of everyone’s parents, grandparents and great-grandparents who bled specifically for you in World War I, World War II, Korea and Vietnam. Sweet. Should be fun, who needs to Netflix “Band of Brothers” when you’ve got Election Day anecdotes to look forward to?

 

My name is Mike and I’m a pathetic excuse for an adult and an American.