Progress? you call that Progress?

Yesterday I realized that I've had my Buick for a little over a year, and thus far 'Maybelyne' hasn't let me down when its counted. Unfortunately, all my giddy little bits of sentimentality were blasted out of the water by the fact that it also means it was time for me to take the old girl for her yearly brake tag inspection.

I called work to say I would be late, and figured the whole process wouldn't take very long... After all, "hit your turn signals and honk the horn" is the automotive equivalent to "open wide and say ahhhh". So I pulled into the station like I normally would, waited paitently for the four cars ahead of me to get their inspection stickers, and greeted the attendant with a smile. She asked no questions, had me honk the horn once and presented me and Maybelyne with a pretty piece of paper that said "REJECTED" on it in large, friendly, red letters.

"Say what?" I asked calmly.

"I'm sorry sir, but all of your turn signal bulbs are not lensed." the Inspection lady said.

I felt May's engine huccup in dissatisfaction. The front turn signals haven't had lenses since I bought the car... I just taped them over and moved on with my life without incident.

"I know that. They have tape over them."

"Sorry, sir. No cars can be passed without lensed lights."

"It's never been a problem before, Darlin. You sure this isn't some plot just to get me to come back so you can spend more time with me?" I batted my eyelashes at her in a hopeless attempt to flirt my way out of this.

Nothing is less impressive apparently, than a large italian man calling you 'darlin' while batting his eyelashes at you.

"No, sir. New rules passed by the parish. All lights to be lensed, no cracks of any kind in windshields, and all windshield wipers must be functional. That's progress for you."

"But you didn't ask me to do the wipers."

"Saw the lens first, so I saw no need. I can give you a temporary tag till you get them fixed though. That'll be 20 dollars"

"Twenty bucks for just the temp one?"

"That's right. Make sure that you keep the temp tag somewhere hidden, though... these things are a very high theft item since the new rules."

No Kidding. I wonder why. I thought, scowling slightly."Not in the windshield? but what if I get pulled over?"

"Just show the cops the temporary one and they'll let you go."

Yeah. Right. I took the tag and drove off in search of turn signals, after calling in to my boss first to say I was going to be even later.

"Your car was rejected?" He asked.

"That's right."

"Well, how does your Buick feel about that?"

"She's a little upset about it. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I've been to that inspection station before... the lines get pretty long after the morning hours."

"So, I promise I'll be in by 4:00. Bye." (we get off work at 4:30)

I went to several junkyards, none of which seemed to have any wrecked Buicks. I was ready to give up when someone told me to try one last one, an auto salvage place near the Huey P Long bridge. the man behind the counter had a thick cajun accent, but obviously knew his stuff.

"Nah. We got no buicks ov da riht year here. But we do have udders dat'l work."

"wait... you mean you have the lenses?"

"Uhns dat'l work, yah. Diffent year, riht part. Dat'll be 50 bucks."

"I only have 42 dollars on me, but I can.."

"Hokay... 42 bucks den."

I love this town sometimes. I thanked the man and ran out to the car before he changed his mind and had me wrestle an alligator out of a wrecked school bus to make up the extra eight bucks. I slapped the parts on the car, waited in line at the station for another couple of hours, but got to work by noon.

Maybelyne, with her new turn signals, has never looked better.

Hmmm... I see no difference... or do I?

I took the plunge today and switched over to the new version of Blogger... after all, a man's gotta face his fears sooner or later, right? I see no difference though, between this new version and the old except that now the Google Gestapo has a file on me.

In me, however I have noticed a change over the past couple of months or so... the spring is back in my step, the songs have returned to my heart, and I've been just chock-full of the spirit of the season. Compared to last year, when I was ranting about Festivus well into January, I think that this is quite the improvement.

I guess it's time to come clean, as well... I think had been suffering from a rather serious bout with depression for almost a year, and it seems no one noticed. I don't know if my acting skills are just that good, or if those that care about me just didn't know how to bring it up, but I finally caught on to this about two months ago and started doing something about it. For those who wonder about such things, for me it really didn't take all that much, either... an exercise routine here, learing to embrace my stupidity there, and I'm a whole new man. It also helps that there's a genuine feeling of hope in the city again as people start moving back into their rebuilt homes, and FEMA trailers start slowly disappearing. Not to mention the Saints having a winning season for the first time ever... for all those that wonder why it was so important to get the superdome up and running again when there is so much left to do, you should see the smile that crosses nearly everyone's face when they hear the word "playoffs" being spoken aloud in a bar here.

Anyway, I'm much better now. To those I had been aloof to for a while, I apologize. Won't happen again.

The Moral: True change comes from within, but you have to step outside the box sometimes to see when it's needed.

The miracle of creativity....

From Dave and I working on the Dyno man christmas special-

Dave; I've got King kong all dressed as Cindy lou Who... now what?

Me: Okay, for these next few scenes, David Hasslehoff will need a few costumes.

Dave: Sure... what do we need?

Me: He has to be convincing as a christmas tree, a judge, a reindeer, Ralphie, and...uh... tokyo.

Dave: a reindeer? that's gonna be tough.


Merry Christmas, Y'all.

Monty zuma's revenge on Algiers point?

I promise that this isn’t one of those “well, first I got up, then I showered, then I got dressed, then I did my hair, then I decided to have an egg, then some toast…” kind of blog entries that Lauren and I make fun of all the time. Read on.

Allow me to describe my morning to you...
1) Wake up
2) Take shower
3) Brush teeth
4) Get Dressed
5) Make some toast
6) Eat said toast with a bit of peanut butter
6) Drink a couple of glasses of tap water to wash down toast and peanut butter
7) Turn on cell phone and remove from charger
8) Check my voicemail messages.
9) Receive "MOM SAYS DON'T DRINK THE WATER IN ALGIERS POINT OR BRUSH YOUR TEETH WITH IT!!!! IT WAS JUST ON THE NEWS!!!" message from Dizzy.
10) Panic
11) Promise myself that I’m not having a heart attack
12) Check pulse anyway
13) Tell myself that the sudden queasy feeling in my stomach probably has more to do with the 26 hot wings I ate the night before than the water I just drank.
14) Watch morning news that doesn't say a blasted thing about the water, or what to do if you've already drunk a few quarts of water before hearing the news that you shouldn’t drink it.
15) Go to work, hoping that I don't suddenly die from salmonella behind the wheel.
16) Realize on way to work that the odds of anyone suddenly dying from salmonella are fairly slim
17) Hear report on radio confirming that Algiers residents need to boil their water before drinking it until Thursday because of a water main break, but not what to do if you’ve already drunk it.
18) Panic some more
19) Realize that dying from drinking tainted tap water has to be worth a Darwin award.
20) Get to work, check internet, and find out that the boil water thing is just a standard procedure precaution for water main breaks, and that anyone who drank the water before hearing the news should be fine.
21) Realize that I will live to blog another day

Some funny for a Monday...

Those of you that haven't should really check out Lauren's Gingerbread Minions. What she's not telling you is that they're really all 100 ft tall, baked in an enormous oven :)

And now, a joke...

After dying a grisly death in an Afghan cave, Osama made his way to the pearly gates. There, he was greeted by George Washington. "How dare you attack the nation I helped conceive!" yelled Washington, slapping Osama in the face. Patrick Henry came up from behind. "You wanted to end America's liberty, so they gave you death!" Henry punched Osama in the nose. James Madison came next, and said, "This is why I allowed the government provide for the common defense!" He took a sledge hammer and whacked Osama's knees. Osama was subjected to similar beatings from John Randolph, James Monroe, and 65 other people who had the same love for liberty and America. As he writhed on the ground, Thomas Jefferson hurled him back toward the gate where he was to be judged. As Osama awaited his journey to his final very hot destination, he screamed, "This is not what I was promised!" An angel replied, "I told you there would be 72 Virginians waiting for you. What did you think I said?"

The sum of all my fears... (with apologies to Tom Clancy)

Okay, let it never be said that I'm not man enough to look inside and figure out what sends me to the corner, curled up in the fetal position. If Dave can do it, after all...

I fear:

1) That all the world's major religions are wrong, and Death=nonexistance.

2) That the reason I have yet to publish a story or sell a screenplay is because I, in fact, suck.

3) That I have made misakes in my life that I will never truly recover from.

4) That no one that actually reads my blog really cares what I say here.

5) That no one but me and god actually see all the good I have done just trying to leave this planet a better place than I found it.

6) That I am a loser, but am too preoccupied to notice.

6a) That no one takes me seriously.

7) That what I think is "Love" isn't, but I'll never experience the real thing and will thusly never know for sure.

8) That the people I care about have no clue how much they really mean to me.

9) That when I switch over to blogger beta, I'll lose all my previous posts, and Google will be able to track my movements for the CIA.

You're wrong, Dave. This wasn't enlightening... it was depressing.

A near miss

Well, I think that I probably came the closest I will hopefully ever come to winning a Darwin Award this morning… by nearly removing myself from the gene pool in a spectacularly stupid manner.

It was a fairly normal (if chilly) morning here in the big easy, and overnight the temperature had dipped down near the twenties. Of course, this meant little to me as I hopped into my car to head to work, other than that I grabbed my sweater before leaving the house. Or so I thought.

While passing over the bridge, I noticed that my windshield was kinda dusty, and instinctively pressed the washer button to clear it. Predictably, wipers started, and the washer fluid sprayed over the windshield…

And froze solid on contact.

I was rendered totally blind to the cars in front of me in less time than it takes to tell, and still moving at 60 miles an hour. My windshield wipers made no headway against the super thin sudden frost that my stupidity had rendered upon me. I frantically pushed the heater lever over to defrost, but nothing happened. Terrified, I found the presence of mind to pull over, and waited there on the side of the road for almost a half hour for the defroster to finally melt the mess that sat there mocking me after nearly getting me killed.

I realized a few things from this experience.

1) My worst fears are true… Without my ex-wife around, I have indeed become the ‘stupid one’ of my clique of friends. The ‘Joey’ of our little group, as it were.
2) After living in the deep south for 13 years, I no longer think it important to carry an ice scraper or deicer in my car, despite the fact that I am known for my long drives into northern climates.
3) All this time, the oil change place I go to has been adding water to my windshield washer bottle instead of washer fluid.

I’m still working on which of these makes me more upset.

Drunken babies... what will they think of next?

The Dogs of Atlantis Management would like to say that while the following post is meant to be funny, we in no way condone child abuse through accidentaly having a baby ingest alcohol. People who are dumb enough to do so don't deserve kids, and should be spayed and/or neutered.

I came across this story while watching the news last night, and it brought to mind the following questions:

1) How could she not smell that the clear liquid she was mixing with the baby formula wasn't water? Furthermore, did she not 'test' the bottle in any way before feeding it to her kid?

2) Do they have a 'worst dumb-ass parent ever' award (like the darwin awards for parenting)? If so, how do I nominate this lady?

3) How can one tell if a two month old is drunk? It's not like they start stumbling around and slurring their words, right? Furthermore, what prompted the doctors to check his blood for alcohol?

4) Why is there even a process for determining the blood alcohol level of an infant? It's not like they're gonna get behind the wheel of a car, right?

5) Wouldn't shotgunning the formula been more efficient than a bottle? For that matter, a funnel!

6) Do babies have drunken parties behind our backs?

7) At what point does alcohol not nearly kill you when ingested?

8) Wouldn't having a drunk baby take 'peekaboo' to a whole new level?

I desprately need some funny.

Today, I overslept. In itself, not a truly bad thing, but enough to throw my morning into chaos. Usually, it means a longer commute because I normally avoid the long lines at the toll plaza for the bridge by getting there before they develop.

But like I said, I overslept.

After spending about a half hour waiting in line to get my toll tag scanned so I could proceed, I get to a toll booth and nothing happens. The tag (which I just got last week, and have been using since) will not register for the toll collector. The lady in the booth says "I'm sorry sir, but you'll have to pay me a dollar if you want to cross the bridge."

Of course, I don't have a dollar on me. That's why I have the freaking toll tag, so I don't have to say "hey, do I have a dollar" before I leave Casa Kahunah in the morning. So she has me back up a bit, in hopes that the scanner will pick up my tag. the hundred or so folks behind me began to honk their approval at this particular tactic.

Which of course, didn't work.

"I'm sorry sir, but I can't let you cross the bridge." the toll lady says, a little smug about it.
"So, you're telling me that there's nothing I can do to get across this bridge now? I mean, I do have the toll tag..." I said.
"Well, to go across without paying is a 26 dollar fine... or you could ask the people behind you if they have an extra dollar..."

Great... so I'm either a beggar or a criminal. Thank you, but you can keep your stupid bridge, lady. I pulled off onto the special ramp they have for idiots who can't pay the toll with my blood pressure threatening to blow the top of my head off.

By this time, I'm already 15 minutes late for work, and still at least a 45 minute drive away. The tempatation to just go home and back to bed was almost overwhelming, but then I realized I really can't afford to lose a full day's pay this close to Chrismahannakwanzaka. So I went over another (fairly terrifying) bridge to get across the river, getting to work an hour late.

I guess some days you're the big dog, and some days you're the dog chow.

So, to lighten the mood, A joke I heard today:

A salesman from KFC walked up to the Pope and offers him a million dollars if he would change "The Lord's Prayer" from "give us this day our daily bread" to "give us this day our daily chicken." The Pope refused his offer. Two weeks later, the man offered the pope 10 million dollars to change it from "give us this day our daily bread" to "give us this day our daily chicken" and again the Pope refused the man's generous offer. Another week later, the man offered the Pope 20 million dollars and finally the Pope accepted. The following day, the Pope said to all his officials, "I have some good news and some bad news. 'The good news is, that we have just received a check for 20 million dollars. The bad news is, we lost the Wonder Bread account!'''

Gotta love a good pope joke.

A Few quick thoughts for a Friday afternoon…

1)Fry-day this year was better than ever. Best newcomer award goes to the crab Rangoon… biggest surprise was Dave’s fried ice cream. Our menu was far more extensive this year, primarily because we had a year to think and plan for this one. I would love to see fryday catch on somehow. I need to see if the domain name fryday.com is still available.

2)About a month or two ago, I embarked on a crusade to improve my life in general and reverse the downward spiral I seemed to be locked into. So far, I’ve gotten into an exercise routine, mended some interpersonal relationships that really needed it, and think i've finally personally come to grips with my new life (post divorce and post Katrina). So far so good, I suppose… It still bothers me that there is so much left to do. It amazes me that I got so emotionally detached there for a while that I let everything get as bad as it got. I think I’ll probably feel better when I can stand on the deck of my houseboat and say that. Whenever that’s gonna be (sigh).

3)At my weekly pub quiz, there’s a rival team of women that thinks they’re just so like the women from “sex in the city”… they’re really much more like “The View” with a mean drunk on.

4)A good way to know that it’s Christmas time in L.A…. The Grinch just signed a deal for a book and interview deal called “If I actually stole Christmas, here’s how I would have done it”.

5)At work, when my desk looks like this:

It’s amazing how little work I’m actually doing.
When it’s clean, however… watch out!

6)New Orleans Update... there are now two fast food places and three gas stations on my commute. Progress goes forward with a boink. :)

Have a nice weekend, y'all.

a passionate italian... who knew?

There's something I need to get off my chest, and so this post will be a fairly serious one. Those of you that hate maudlin rants, tune in tomorrow for stories of this year's Fry-day.

Warning: You must be at least this emotionally mature to ride this ride--------------

It occured to me the other day that at 209 some-odd entries, this blog is probably the longest thing I've ever written. It is also in many ways the most dishonest. I don't post a lot about my personal life here, primarily because almost everyone I know reads this blog, and I am constantly worried about hurting those I care about, or making bad situations worse. Plus that, I really try to write to entertain.

I'm thinking that needs to change. (the not writing about my personal life and those important to me part... hopefully not the entertaining part). I can already see in my mind's eye some folk cringing as I say that. "Oh, great" you're thinking, "he's gonna tell the world about that story with the three hookers and the Chimpanzee". No... I have no desire to air the dirty laundry of others. "Uh-Oh..." Others are thinking, "so he's gonna rat me out for pantsing him in front of the girl he had a crush on in high school". No, sorry... my personal pain and humiliation isn't on today's menu either.

What I'm talking about today is passion.

I am passionate about a lot of ideas, people and things. I tend not to let it creep into these pages, and I think that is doing a disservice to my readers. My passions tend to get me into a lot of trouble... and are directly responsible for many errors in judgement over the years... I say this not for any sort of absolution, but simply as an obsevation. I think that a passionate soul is simply something no writer can be without... Just like the fractured parts of my personality that make for vivid characters in my stories (shizophrenia isn't just for actors anymore:)). I think that by not including my passions on these pages, it has led this Blog to be perhaps the most unreal thing I've ever written.

But I am passionate. I get very, very angry at more than just mice. I have been very deeply hurt by people I care about more times than I care to recount, each time leaving a permenant scar on my silent soul. I have cared so deeply about some people that I would tell them that daily if I didn't think that they would find it just a little bit creepy. I have been through things that have made me question my existance. I have and still do deeply love many women that i've known, even though all common sense says I'm a complete idiot for doing so (Yes, despite any ex-wife jokes to the contrary, Charity is still among that number). I am forceful with my ideas, and would gladly give my life for my right to express them... even the stupid frustrated artist type ones. I believe in many things not just with my mind, but with my soul.

Most of all... I am really passionate about my life... and I'm thinking it's time these pages reflected that.

Maybe I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed... maybe I'm being overly dramatic, but it's something I needed to say...and that's what a blog is really about, isn't it?

Some Tuesday humor...

A lady was walking past a pet store when a parrot said, ''Hey, lady! You're really ugly!" The lady was furious and continued on her way. On the way home, she passed by the petstore again and the parrot once more said "Hey, lady! You're really ugly!" She was incredibly ticked now, so she went into the store and said that she would sue the store and kill the bird. The store manager apologized profusely and promised he would make sure the parrot didn't say it again. The next day, she deliberately passed by the store to test the parrot. "Hey, lady!" it said. "Yes?" "You know."

So this preacher gets mugged in an alley...

This is not a joke post, but darned if it doesn’t start like one. I’m listening to the radio the other day, and they told a story of a Texas inner-city preacher that after having been mugged, decided that his mission was to bring the Lord to the inner city youth of today. Apparently, the preacher turned to his bible for guidance on the subject, and came to an interesting conclusion: The bible was really long and difficult to read.

No huge mystery there, padre. It was written and re-written at least a thousand years ago (no, I don’t need the exact date... It’s not integral to the point of this story) and our language has changed since quill met papyrus. Inspired by this bit of divine obviousness, the preacher has decided to do something about it.

He is writing a Hip-Hop translation of the bible.

To quote psalm 23: “Yo, check it…even tho I’s walkin thru an evil hood, I got no fear… cause God got my back. Though them Gangstas try to bring a playa down, I got no worries, cause my homey… the Lord… is with me.”

Now, I understand the time honored tradition of translating the bible into another tounge to convert the unbelievers. If you want a populace to get the message, they need to be able to read it. This still seems like a stupid idea to me… Gangstas so inclined to pick up a bible won’t care if it’s in hip-hop or not, will they? I just don’t understand how this will not directly contribute and encourage the decline of the English language. Why bother to learn the finer points of our language if we’re gonna translate everything into our slang anyway?

So says the fat white guy of course, so I’d be interested in hearing any dissenting opinion.

Man vs. Mouse-round 4, and more!

"To depend strictly on defense means that there is not enough strength of purpose in your heart" --Sun Tzu

So, before going home to decide the fate of my P.O.W. in the great Mouse police action of 2006(see previous entry) I had to do my civic duty. That’s right, kids… it was voting time once again. This time, one of the issues was about how the parish has the right or lack thereof to tax me for owning a car. Personally, I think that’s ridiculous, and just another excuse for the government to shift as much of its overweight bureaucratic ass as it can upon the backs of the working stiff.

Anyway, seeing as how Ducky lives basically across the street from me, he decided to tag along and vote, too. He was however, turned away at the polls. As it turns out, that even though he changed his address after Katrina to reflect his residency in my neighborhood, not a single state or federal agency thought it appropriate to share this with the voters registration people. They were nice about it, but basically told Ducky that if he really wanted to vote, we would have to cross the river and drive the 17 or so miles down a still-dark-cause-the-streetlights-still-haven’t-been-fixed-since-the-storm road to Chalmette to do so.

In the 37 minutes before the polls closed.

“Dude…” I said, stifling my righteous indignation, “you have just been disenfranchised.”
“So it would seem.” Ducky replied.
“Isn’t there something in the bill of rights about this?”
“It’s taxation without representation, at the very least.”
“Hooters?” I suggested, thinking that going for chicken wings was somehow appropriate just then.
“Hooters.” Ducky agreed.

It was trivia night at Hooters, but we still regaled the waitresses with Ducky’s tale of woe. While managing to win a pitcher of beer. (Behold our brilliance!) The problem is, Ducky doesn’t drink, and I was driving. We got several thousand points for style when we decided to donate our hard-won pitcher to the team that came in last place.

Afterward, Ducky told me he had read my blog entry from earlier that day.

“Yeah,” I said, “I still haven’t figured out what to do with that P.O.W.”
“He’s not a P.O.W.!” Ducky quacked at me, “He’s an enemy combatant and a thief! He pillaged valuable resources and attempted to spread disease among your populace! He deserves no mercy!”
“My regime is not one to line people up in front of a firing squad, my friend.”
Ducky frowned.
“And you call yourself a dictator.”
“I prefer to think of myself as a benevolent Monarchy.”
“Most dictators do.”

I got home fairly late, half expecting that the Mouse in the wastebasket would have managed to escape somehow, but he was still there.

“You have been tried and found guilty of crimes against the sovereign state of Casa Kahunah.” I said to my furry prisoner, “we have decided that the sentence for your crimes is…" I paused, still unsure of his fate.

I thought of Sun Tzu, and his quote above. I thought of the errors of the current regime of the United states government, and why so many other nations don't like us.

I sighed. I'm just not a bully, I guess.

"Your sentence is banishment and exile.” I said.

I guess I lack strength of purpose... but at least I can live with myself.

I know what you’re thinking… I’ve tried this before. This time, I walked two blocks away, with the wastebasket and let him loose in a small park. The Mouse ran off into the night, in the opposite direction of my house. The war, for the moment, was once again over. Casa Kahunah is apparently mouse free but we can never forget the great police action of 2006, lest we repeat it’s mistakes.

Now if I could just get rid of that squirrel in the attic…

Man vs. Mouse, round 3.

The struggle continues to make Casa Kahunah rodent free… and I am seriously considering borrowing a friend’s cat for a few weeks. I just don’t think I can borrow Drew’s cat (Nimbus) in good conscience, because A) I live in a more urban setting that an indoor/outdoor suburbs cat like Nimbus might not find as safe, and B) That cat’s a bit of a jerk (according to Stacey).

Plus that, I’m thinking that these mice are not nearly as smart as I’ve been giving them credit for.

Case in point… Last episode, I found a mouse trapped in the living room wastebasket, and released him to the wild. At least, that was the plan. (no snickering out there… I’m lookin at you, Melinda.) The wily beast ran back into the house before I could react… Well, this morning, as I got ready for work, I heard a rustling in the (still empty) wastebasket again. I looked over the rim, and there was the same, stupid mouse.

At least I’m pretty sure it was the same mouse… I didn’t ask him for any I.D.

I didn’t feel like dealing with it just then and there, so I put a board over the wastebasket to confine the little S.O.B. till I get home. I also intend on stopping at Wal-mart to pick up a few more of those nifty traps. (The link is for Dreamwalker, who liked the sound of the design) I still have to decide what to do with my P.O.W. when I get home though… I think just outright executing it may be against the Geneva convention.

I’m off to re-read Sun-Tsu… but I’ll be damned if I know how to take a mouse’s wind.

Man vs. Mouse, round 2.

Okay… I’m willing to admit that my conclusion that it was just ONE mouse that had set up shop on the premises at Casa Kahunah was maybe a tad optimistic. As I sat down to the computer the other night to pound out a few more pages of my latest screenplay, I was quite startled as a second mouse jumped out from the couch cushions and took off across the living room floor.

Needless to say, I immediately checked my hard drive to see if he had been downloading any mouse porn.

The short lived peace it seemed, was over. I had once again underestimated my enemy, but would not do so again. The score was once again even: Man1, Mouse1. I put the remaining trap I had into position once more… baited yet again with that most magic of foods, peanut butter cups.

As darkness feel, I retreated to base camp Beta (my bedroom) and watched some Pinky and the Brain cartoons for inspiration. I was just dozing off when I heard the trap in the kitchen go off.

“HA HA!” I yelled from the ramparts of my mattress, “Man 2, Mouse 1! Take that, you foul beast!” As I stooped to pick up the trap, I looked at the little plastic indicator and noticed that it was in a different place this time. Could it be that the mouse had somehow set off the first one to lull me into a false sense of security? Or was it just a smaller mouse the first time? Did this mean there were more? Were the mice better organized than I had previously assumed?

I pondered this as I tossed the trap into the trash outside. I went to sleep, fitfully dreaming of the Brain and Pinky leading these field mice in an attempt to breach the levees of New Orleans (again) in the aftermath of hurricane Narf.

I awoke Sunday morning in a pensive mood. The house was quiet… a little too quiet. I cautiously took out the trash, (emptying the kitchen can and the waste basket in the living room as I try to do every Sunday), and made myself breakfast. As I settled in for a morning of shows I had taped throughout the week, I heard a rustling. From the living room trash can I had just emptied, no less! I slowly leaned over and looked into the basket, and saw a mouse struggling to climb the sheer, blue plastic walls. To be honest, I don’t know who was more scared.

We have met the enemy, and we have the common ground of being chickens.

As I looked down into what the mouse must have considered his pit of doom, I felt sorry for the little guy. It had to really suck to be him. In short, despite generations of conquerors in my Italian DNA, I couldn’t bring myself to put it out of it’s misery. After all, I’m a lover… not a killer.

I put a board over the wastebasket, and walked out to the very back of my back yard, and let the mouse go. It promptly ran across the yard and into the open back door of my house.

The stream of obscenities I yelled at that point is best not recounted here.

Man 2, Mouse 2. It isn't over.

Making with the funny on a Monday...

A policeman pulls over a driver for swerving in and out of lanes on the highway. He tells the guy to blow a breath into a breathalyzer.
''I can't do that, officer.''
''Why not?''
''Because I'm an asthmatic. I could get an asthma attack if I blow into that tube.''
''Okay, we'll just get a urine sample down at the station.''
''Can't do that either, officer.''
''Why not?''
''Because I'm a diabetic. I could get low blood sugar if I pee in a cup.''
''Alright, we could get a blood sample.''
''Can't do that either, officer.''
''Why not?''
''Because I'm a hemophiliac. If I give blood I could die.''
''Fine then, just walk this white line.''
''Can't do that either, officer.''
''Why not?''
''Because I'm drunk.''

Man vs. Mouse

Over the past few weeks, I have noticed that a mouse has taken up residence in my home. It wouldn’t even especially bother me so much, were he paying rent… but this mouse turned out to be quite the freeloader. He even ruined a large Sam’s Club pack of oatmeal.

So I tried the usual things… laid out a few of the old Tom and Jerry spring-type traps… some mouse poison… did a little song and dance number hoping the mouse would join in… I also considered (briefly) setting out a Wile E. Coyote style trap, but it somehow seemed unlikely that the mouse would be able to read the signs I put up saying “this way to the cheese”, “cheese around corner” and “stand here for the cheese” below a large rock.

Please keep in mind that my major source of knowledge about mouse behavior and how to get rid of them comes from hours and hours of Saturday morning cartoons.

In any event, I’ve been trying to evict this mouse for almost a month. I finally had the last straw the other morning, when as I sat up in bed, trying to blow away the cobwebs of sleep from my mind, the mouse struts across my bedroom floor.

And when I say ‘strut’ I mean a leisurely, I-got-nowhere-to-be, I-am-king-of-the-beasts kinda stroll.

I was too in shock to react to the thing, but one thing suddenly became etched in my mind: This mouse thinks it’s his freaking house. It was then and there that I declared war on this rodent. This attitude of his would not stand.

I went to Wal-mart that day, and bought the latest, greatest, state of the art in mouse dispatching traps, which were a real bargain at only 2 bucks each. I considered the glue traps too, but then reminded myself that I had duct tape at home that would work just as well if I needed it… The traps were this nifty little spin-guillotine thing that kills the mouse, and hides the carcass from view. The trap had a little piece of red plastic to let you know if you actually caught a mouse, and you could just throw the whole thing away without having to get squeamish over a dead mouse.

Thus armed, I determined I should set up a perimeter in what would be known as “No Mouse’s Land” for the duration of my police action (known to non-combatants as my kitchen). Keeping my head low and watching for ‘charlie’, I crawled under the table and carefully armed my traps, baiting them with my favorite food, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

“Indeed,” I thought as I carefully placed the trap in what I assumed was a well-traveled mouse path, “how could they resist the power of peanut butter and chocolate?”

I set a few more traps in what I figured were key mouse strongholds… places where I was sure that the rodent was gathering his forces together to put a peanut butter cup sandwich under a very large rock, with a crudely drawn sign that said “Free sandwich for guys named Rob”.

I shuddered at the thought as I retreated to the relative safety of Base Camp Alpha (known as my living room couch to non-combatants) and waited for the inevitable sounds of carnage. Though I dared not turn up the TV lest I give away my position to the enemy, I still heard nothing.

War was much quieter than I had previously heard. Eventually I fell asleep, with nightmares of my time in No Mouse’s land waking me periodically. In them, I was a Wooly Mammoth… and the mouse and his furry brethren were hunting me with toothpicks while carrying bitty torches and wearing loincloths.

The next morning, I checked my traps. Nothing. My adversary was obviously more clever than I thought. I decided to give the traps another day, while I considered an alternative strategy. (Of course, the alternative strategy was moving away, but hey… I was a little upset)

The next morning I checked the traps again, and was amazed to see the little red indicator showed a mouse in the trap! I thumped my chest and let out a primal “Yalp”. I wondered aloud if a taxidermist would be willing to stuff and mount the beast’s head for my wall. I did the little happy dance. Man 1, Mouse 0.

In the end, I carried my worthy adversary in his round plastic coffin outside to the trash can, where he was dumped without further ceremony. The war had taken it’s toll on me… but history will remember this as the day that a brave man stood up to the rodents that dare intrude upon our homes, and said this far! No further!

Maybe I’ve just watched “Star Trek: First Contact” too many times.

A thought for all saints day...

I was reading over at Behind The Counter, where the unnamed wal-mart associate that keeps the blog had to ring up a purchase of 60 pumpkins, leaving our intrepid reporter to wonder just what they were all for. I know that you’re thinking, “Well, Halloween decoration of course”. And it is the obvious answer… but 60 pumpkins is a LOT of freakin gourds. More to the point, it got me thinking, “What the heck is this lady gonna do with all these pumpkins come November 1st?”

Alternative uses for 60 pumpkins the day after Halloween:

Pie. Lots and lots of pie.

A cheap 'b' horror movie for release next Halloween called "Attack of the Killer Pumpkins"

Spray paint them white, for easily compostable, warm weather climate snowmen.

Cheap Trebuchet ammo. (Not my idea, but really funny… posted in BTC’s comments, and the inspiration behind this post)

Impressive but cheap orange bricks to make a pyramid for a grade school production of "the ten commandments".

Festive way to smash windshields, so that the local glass companies get a much needed economic boost.*

Let them rot in the crawl space under the house of someone you don't like.*

Cheap Tourist attraction- "Rotting Gourd City"

Smash em on the desk of each co-worker that didn’t attend your Halloween party. Claim it’s an ancient religious forgiveness ceremony for your people (so you don’t get in trouble). Wear safety goggles and a raincoat while you do it.*

Pick a house at random and leave one on the doorstep. Replace it each time they throw one away until there are none left. (this gets even funnier as they begin to rot).

Sandbags? who needs stinkin sandbags?

Carve all into Jack-o-lanterns, place them all around co-workers car in the parking lot or their cubicle and say in a creepy voice "Ve have you surrounded." or "Surrender now, and ve vill kill you quickly." Better yet, just leave a note in red crayon saying such.

Dodgeball practice. (if you can dodge a pumpkin…)

Leave them all outside your local green grocer in a line with picket signs that say "Halloween unfair to pumpkins", "Pumpkins are people too!" and "Stop killing our Kin!"

Cut them in half, and use them as “biodegradeable siding” to tick off the local facist homeowners association.*

Two words… Highway overpass.*

Five more words… Empire State Building Observation Deck.*

and of course... (my favorite), create instant high ground in the event of levee breaches.


*the Dogs Of Atlantis Management does not condone or approve any acts of violence/revenge/vandalism, no matter how side-splitingly funny or silly they may be... unless of course you send us a video tape of such acts of violence/revenge/vandalism that we can win 10,000 dollars with, In which case... high five.

Upon the eve of the all-hollows…

I was thinking of writing a ghoulish tale today, about Halloween and it’s growing significance to America, and maybe a thing or two about how it’s changed in my lifetime… I also toyed with sharing a few choice stories of my own encounters with the paranormal from my time as a researcher…

But then I said “Screw that… an actual essay seems way too much like work.”

So, instead, I present the following…
(with apologies to The late, great Vincent Price, and the very scary Monogloved one:)

Darkness falls across the land…
The midnight hour is close at hand.
Creatures crawl in search of blood…
To terrorize y’alls neighborhood.
And whosoever shall be found,
Without the soul for getting down…
Must stand and face the hounds of hell
And rot inside a corpses shell.
The foulest stench is in the air…
The funk of forty thousand years!
And grizzly ghouls from every tomb
Are closing in to seal your doom.
And though you fight to stay alive…
Your body starts to shiver!
For no mere mortal can resist
The evil of… the thriller.

Bwah-ha-ha-ha! Bwah-ha-ha-ha!

Happy Halloween.

Some funny on a friday...

When Mozart passed away, he was buried in a churchyard. A couple days later, the town drunk was walking through the cemetery and heard some strange noise coming from the area where Mozart was buried.

Terrified, the drunk ran and got the town magistrate to come and listen to it.
When the magistrate arrived, he bent his ear to the grave, listened for a moment, and said, "Ah, yes, that's Mozart's Ninth Symphony, being played backwards."
He listened a while longer, and said, "There's the Eighth Symphony, and it's backwards, too. Most puzzling."

So the magistrate kept listening; "There's the Seventh... the Sixth... the Fifth..."
Suddenly the realization of what was happening dawned on the magistrate; he stood up and announced to the crowd that had gathered in the cemetery, "My fellow citizens, there's nothing to worry about. It's just Mozart decomposing."


And if that weren't funny enough for y'all... check out this video of a friend of mine at a costume contest... (make sure you watch the whole thing through.)

Corny jokes surround me.

Did you hear about the dyslexic devil worshipper? He sold his soul to Santa.

A jumper cable walks into a bar and orders a beer. The bartender says "I'll serve you, but don't start anything!"

Cell phone rudeness…

It amazes me sometimes just how rude other people can be in the use of their cell phones. I have seen this happening a lot lately. Sometimes, it’s a woman ignoring the check-out person at the supermarket because the horrible job her friend Yeveonne had on her nails was simply more important… sometimes it’s the man at McDonalds who thought that talking cutesy-wootsy to his girlfriend surely took precedence over his (or any of the people behind him in line) need for a Big Mac. These are signs of the times we live in; An irrefutable symbol of our growing need to not interact with people in the world around us save through the buffer of our technology.

I’m not a cell phone Nazi, mind you… but there are times when it is simply inappropriate to take a call, and other times when you should just turn the damn thing off. To not do so is simply rude. Maybe some people just don’t get that their cell phones have an off switch for a reason. I know that I thank the lord every day that if I don’t want to be bothered, I can just turn it off… but then, I’m the type that does that.

I thought I had hit the height of witnessing cell phone rudeness a few months ago, at the movies with JavaFooFoo, when a woman answered her cell phone, and proceded to have a full on conversation, annoying everyone in the theatre. (FooFoo, to her credit, leaned over and told the woman to either shut the hell up or take the call outside) We joked later about how it doesn’t get much ruder than that.

Ha. I wish.

For those of you that haven’t heard, Ducky’s father passed away this week. Funerals are never fun… very un-kahunaish. I usually get through them with my “why do we call it a wake” jokes, or the ever popular rant about how I insist on being buried in a hawaiian shirt. This one was no exception.

The ceremony was dignified. Sadly, it was really clear to me that the pastor giving the eulogy had no clue about who Ducky’s dad really was… but it was still a pretty good sermon. Got me thinking though; in the unlikely event I don’t outlive all of y’all, I fully expect my eulogy to be given by someone with a sense of humor who actually KNOWS me. Preferably in the style of those classic Dean Martin celebrity roasts. (Jay, Lauren, Dave…I’m lookin at you!) That and lord help the person who ignores my Hawaiian shirt request. I am not above coming back to haunt whoever decides a suit would be more appropriate. I have friends on the other side, you know… being a paranormal researcher was not without its perks. A few strippers at the wake would also be good…

But I digress. Back to the funeral.

Ducky’s dad had been in the military when he was younger, and so got full military honors. It was perhaps, the most moving part of the ceremony, as the USMC honor guard approached the coffin, and the bugler started playing “Taps”… I was getting a little misty-eyed when someone’s cell phone went off.

I thought this was kinda funny (at first), thinking to myself how mortified I would have been for my phone to ring at that moment. Everyone looked around (except the Marines, who stayed focused on the solemn duty at hand) and saw that it was one of Ducky’s aunts (one of his Dad’s sisters) whose phone was ringing. My amusement quickly turned to disbelief however, as she then ANSWERED THE CALL!!!!

“Hello? Yes… No…” (then notices everyone staring) “Can you call me back tomorrow? I’m at my Brother’s funeral. Okay. Bye.”

The phrase “Have some respect for the dead” comes to mind. So do the phrases “Were you raised by wolves with manners like that?” and “Are you handicapped or just stupid?”

I know Cell Phone Jammers are illegal in the US, but I would think with the number of businesses that would want one (theatres, funeral homes, schools and churches, to name a few) that the FCC would get off its fannies and figure out how to make them work within their guidelines.

Opinions anyone?

Fun with photoshop... part deux

This week on "Pimp my ride", we heard from D. Grayson of Gotham city who wrote, "I know that older chicks dig my benefactor's car, (which is fine for him) but I also know that there is no way that the fly young honeys will want to be seen with me in this tank. I mean, that cars style is like, 'Holy 1930's Batman!' Help me, please!!!! Pimp my ride!!!"

And so we did. We gave the whole thing an updated look, added some 40" rims, a sound system that even the Joker would think is crazy, and a built in 90" plasma that rises up out of the hood. as you can see, at least one fly honey agrees that Grayson's new ride is off the hizzle:



Next week, W.W. of NYC has a plane that she says makes her invisible to the opposite sex. We'll see what we can do about it next time on "Pimp my ride"

Making with the funny...

I think sometimes, that I have waaaaaay too much time on my hands at work.

A moment at the job....

Apparently, the sheet metal buisness is a little hazardous... One of our shipping guys came into the office today with a bit of a gash on his hand. It wasn't deep, but he was acting like a two-year-old while Mama Janet (my co-worker) was applying the peroxide and a band-aid. All the while two new job applicants (who can't see that it's really just a scratch) are wondering what kinda death trap they've signed on to work in. To hear the shipping guy, you would think his thumb was about to fall off.

"Do you have your tetnaus shots?" Mama Janet asked.

"No, but I have my rabies shot." He said.

Too good to pass up, I immediately chimed in with "The hell with that, just make sure he's had his distemper shots!"

Everyone in the office laughed....


I love this job.

Why some folks shouldn't have kids....

Is it really immature of me that I laughed for a full five minutes at the thought of this?

I mean, please... put down the kid and pick up a bat, lady. You get no distance or additional force with a child, and I care not to think what the melee modifier would be to hit! (Sorry... can you tell I play RPGs?) And furthermore, if you are too darn lazy to put down the kid and look around for a sledgehammer or something, why on earth do you think you'll actually WIN a fight?

Still, I suppose you don't have to worry about keeping the label up with a baby, huh?

Revelation of the week...

My laugh sounds just like Barney Rubble.

Arrrgh… A little about me Buddy, Drew…

Seeing as how me good friend Drew was the only scurvy swab confident enough to take a guess as to my vacation whereabouts, he be the winner of the “Where’s Robbo?” contest. It should be noted for all you sea salts out there that his answer was only half right… While I did indeed partake in the plunder of yer nation’s capitol, I also made me way up ta see me pappy. Along the way, I made the aquaintence of various wenches and scullery maids that ain’t been seen by my eyes in a whale’s age. I would make the obligatory “booty” joke here, but it seems forced somehow.

By now, I know there be those of you land-lubbers wondering why it sounds like this entry be logged by the dread pirate Kahunah… Fer those not in the know, today is national “talk like a pirate” day here in the states. In addition to giving me an excuse to wear me eye patch, it affords me the rare opportunity to write the winning log entry about Drew in pirate speak, which be far more fun than seems would be allowed by law.

I met the scurvy dog back in the school of higher learnin that I met most of me friends… where while I spent most of my time chasing haughty wenches, Drew spent his time learnin ta build things what make use of the power behind Poseidon’s stormy bolts from the sky. While many would probably think that Drew was unlucky in the ways of cupid back then, Twas not his fault ya see… as his Privateer Place room was built upon cursed ground, which allowed none who laid their head there to ever get laid… but instead allowed those around him to consistently get some in his room when he be not there. I would tell you some of me better scandalous Drew stories, but he now be a family man, and it just don’t seem right somehow.

I will however tell you the story of how all the educatin’ in the world will never make up for the stupidest thing I have ever seen him do. We were out for a night on the town, having gathered a veritable heard of wenches into the back of his old Chevy Cavalier and made our way along the costal waters to the port of Biloxi fer doughnuts. As I recall, we crammed three wenches of ample frame, Myself, a Duck, and Drew into a car designed to seat four at the most. There was ample booty, (sorry, couldn’t resist) but I was riding shotgun and merely laughed heartily at the sight of the wenches squeezed into the back seat like dubloons in a buried chest. We were on our way home when Drew makes a turn to port… right onto the port side of a divided highway… completely ignoring all the oncoming headlights, and the large red signs saying “WRONG WAY”. I covered me eyes. The women screamed. The Duck quacked loudly. Drew calmly said, “oh, wait… this is the wrong way.”, put the car into reverse, backed quickly to the intersection where the trouble began, and us back on course on the STARBOARD side of the road.

To this day, when I catch him doing something stupid, I say “Ruh-ohn-guh wuh-ay Drew.” If ye sounds it out, it’s a lot funnier.

Tagged like the fat kid in the playground....

Tagged by Mel:

State three for each of the following:

Favorite food you eat till you puke and don't mind eating it again and again and puke it all over again:

1. Barbeque Spare Ribs.
2. Souvlaki sauce from Mike’s Place on almost anything.
3. chocolate chip cookies

Favorite stores to shop till you drop (and might never fit in their clothing, but you buy their stuff anyways, because you are in denial):

1. Wal-mart
2. Toys ‘R’ Us
3. Barnes and Noble


Favorite shows that you quote like madness and will totally attend a convention if ever existed:
1. Star Trek (quelle suprise.)
2. Family Guy
3. South Park

Favorite movies that you just never get tired of:

1. Mel Brooks’ History of the World- Part 1
2. Star Trek II- The Wrath of Khan
3. Galaxy Quest

Things you wish to do before you die:

1. Prove to the world that I’m not a loser.
2. Get paid to write something.
3. Pull off a prank that will garner national attention (A.K.A: ‘the big one’)

Places you want to go before you die:

1. Beyond the Horizon
2. Above the atmosphere
3. Where no man has gone before

Things you fear the most:

1. Death
2. Horses
3. Falling

Things that make you happy:

1. Orion Slave Girls
2. Hot Asian chicks
3. Both of the above, simultaneously.

Things that you wish to excel in:

1. Telling jokes
2. Helping others
3. fighting the good fight

You feel strongest about:

1. My privacy (That’s right, all you psychologists… make sense of that).
2. Freedom of speech and expression (in the form of beer can siding)
3. Learning from my own experiences.

Your favorite quotes:

1. “The principles of freedom must apply to everyone or they are meaningless”- James T. Kirk
2. "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." -Edmund Burke
3. “God heals, and the doctor takes the fees.”- Ben Franklin

Tag 'em:
Anyone who has a blog that doesn’t post comments on mine.

Where's Robbo?

YOWZA, work has been busy since I got back. It’s been getting so it’s next to impossible for me to get in a full six hours of goofing off lately.

What? You think I actually work?

So, where did I go? Away. And I still didn’t get sand and surf under my feet. I figure instead of filling your life with the gory details, I’ll make it a fun, quiz type thingie for y’all instead.

My vacation involved:

Spaceship one
The Wright Flyer
Devil Dogs
Red Sangria
Dwarf Planet Pluto
Burlesque shows that left a friend covered in glitter
Freak shows that I vicariously attended
The "Peanut" M&M dressed like Chewbacca
Bagels
Mike’s
Telling stories about the blasted hurricane (grrr)
A mad dash to catch a plane
Frank Sinatra
Ducks that fart at midnight

Best theory posted in the comments as to my whereabouts gets a special DOA article all about them, suitable for framing. Those that encountered me on my travels are inelligible.

The 40,000th post on a blog today titled “a year later”…

As many of you are well aware, today is the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina’s landfall. What pisses me off is that all day… Katrina has been all up in my grill. I woke up, the first thing on the clock radio is the DJ saying what he was doing a year ago. I turn on the TV and instead of the morning traffic report, I find the local station is doing a SIXTEEN HOUR Katrina retrospective, pre-empting all their programming for the day. I get into my car, and every DJ on every station was yammering on about hurricanes. I popped in my Green Day CD for the morning commute instead. (something I NEVER DO!) I go to check my e-mail, and Hotmail has all these disturbing Katrina pictures. At work, the company plans to throw a “lunch picnic” of sorts to commemorate the occasion. My boss is downloading pictures of the devastation to decorate as we speak. I log onto bloglines to see what up in the world, and Everyone whose blog I subscribe to (with the exception of Drew, who never updates his blog anymore) has written about Katrina.

Sheesh. Now I have too. I feel like such a lemming.

The crime of it all is that I woke up in a good mood today. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, my next road trip is a scant 48 hours away, my weekend was spent creatively, and all in all I felt good. This is impossible to maintain when surrounded by people saying things like “we must never forget” or “yeah, the water was up to my waist before I could react” or the ever popular “the government did nothing!”. It’s bad enough that whenever I have met someone new for the past year, the initial conversation is ALWAYS about flooding, hurricanes, evacuation spots, FEMA’s ineptitude, evacuation plans, or how many relatives are currently crammed under your roof. And psychologists around the country are wondering why so many of us here in “the Big Hard” (not Easy anymore… trust me on this) are ready to snap?

I admit… this has not been an easy year. My bills are still behind, I changed jobs about as often as people are supposed change the oil in their car, many of my friends moved away from me (either physically or emotionally), and either the floors in my house have gotten weaker, or I’ve put on some weight.

Now is the Indian summer of my discontent. I need to get some sand under my feet this weekend, and some sun on my tummy. If anyone says the word “hurricane” to me on the road trip, I swear I will end them.

Of course, according to the weather channel, Tropical storm Ernesto will be following the path I was going to take… (Sigh).

Focus on the beach, Rob. Focus on the beach.

So, Rob... where are the cartoons?

Good question. The answer is that my cartoon-writing talents have been focused lately on helping Dave produce new, slightly brilliant and irreverant Dynoman comics. This weekend in fact, I went to Hammond and Dave and I spent the entire day writing at least fifteen episodes of Dynoman... and only stopped when the concept of Skeletor sitting on King Kong's lap yelling, "Quick! Take a picture" had me laughing too hard to write anything down. I promise the next few weeks of the strip will get exponentially funnier, particularly for anyone who was a "Masters of the Universe" fan.

At level ten on the weird-ometer today, I processed an order for sheet metal piping to be shipped to "Angola Prison Death Row". It raised the question of course, what the hell do they need the stuff for? I'd hate to think that I was party to a refit of the gas chamber...

Holy Crap, Annette! Duck!

More Videos on KillSomeTime.com

My reactions to this video were two:

One, how cool it would be to be lying on that beach as the plane came in right over me.

Two, how embarassing it would be on said beach when I crapped my swimsuit.

Saw an interesting movie this week....

This week, the good ol' Netflix queue delivered an unusual movie to my doorstep. (Unusual in that I am simply itching to discuss it a bit with some other folks that have seen it) The movie is called CSA, and is a mockumentary about an alternate history where the south was the victor in the Civil War (or as some of my neighbors would call it, the 'War of northern agression') It was labeled comedy, but only had a few laughs in it... still, I loved it, because it was definately one of those movies that makes you think for a while.

As I said, it is presented as a mockumentary by the BBC being shown on american (confederate) television for the first time, and comes off a bit like something you would see on the history channel including commercials, which provide a lot of the film's lighter moments. Products for things to keep your slaves in check, as well as ads for trade colleges (like devry) where the trades are things like 'slave sciences' 'overseeing' and 'breeding' make you laugh while your jaw drops. The Mockumentary traces the pivotal points of the civil war into the big change (England and France are convinced to back the CSA) and through to present day.

I don't want to go into too much detail here, because I would like for y'all to go out and rent this one and tell me what you think of it.

What a difference five years makes....

ROB AT AGE 1: Spent a lot of time in the playpen, and destroying my parents furniture piece by piece. Did in the TV by opening a coffee urn my mom placed on it… did in a lounge chair by spilling my Dad’s model paint on it. The house was sufficiently childproofed by the time my brother arrived a year later.

ROB AT AGE 6: I wanted to be an astronaut, and had a crush on the cute brunette girl up the street. My time was mostly divided between playing in the back yard with the neighborhood kids and watching TV with my Dad.

ROB AT AGE 11: Discovered I was good with my hands, and had a fascination with flying. Started to become a bit of an introvert when I discovered comic books. Daydreamed entirely too much in class, and was classified as “gifted”. Thank goodness these were the days before ridalyn. Still watched a lot of TV.

ROB AT AGE 16: Wanted to be a cartoonist and a writer. Went to Brooklyn Tech because standardized tests said I should. First “published” cartoon in the school’s foreign language department magazine. Involved hot dogs attacking a castle. (the francs attacking allsace-lorraine I think) Dreamed of seeing more of the planet. Found friends that were just as strange as I was. Figured that the people I knew then would be in my life forever.

ROB AT AGE 21: Decided college was for chumps, worked at Aid Auto. Moved out into my first apartment shortly after getting my first car. Lost touch with a bunch of high school friends, made new ones. Still not a published writer, but a pro at getting rejection slips. Joined my first ‘fan’ organization.

ROB AT AGE 26: Second year at UNO. College no longer for chumps, and I’m Big Man On Campus. (Well, I’m a big man anywhere, really.)The legend of the Big Kahunah is born. Met Charity, but refused to date her because she lived with her boyfriend. Made a bunch more friends, lost touch with most of my NYC friends. Still not a published cartoonist, but manage to sneak a cartoon into the school newspaper that almost gets me fired from my job in the residence hall.

ROB AT AGE 31: Engaged to Charity, working in tourism. Still want to be a writer, and a cartoonist. Lost touch with some of my friends from college when I moved into my Algiers Point digs with Charity, made more friends working at Steamboat. Make statements about how stupid the average customer is on my website that almost get me fired from Steamboat. (the no talking about the job on the blog rule is born)

ROB AT AGE 36: Divorced from Charity, and have a crush on the cute brunette girl in the corner pub up the street. Slowly destroying my own furniture a piece at a time (spilled model paint on one… cosmic irony totally in full effect) Finally seem to have patched my life back together after hurricane Katrina. My free time is divided between playing video games with a friend and watching TV. Can feel some of my friendships growing more distant as time and circumstance takes folks in different directions. Strangely okay with that.

I started this post as a filler... seems everyone is posting to their blog today, and I didn't want to feel left out. It got strangely deep though, which I don't regret. Strange how cyclical it all seems, isn't it?

Idle hands, they say....

So, after seeing my ability with photoshop, My boss asked me if I could create a part we don't make. "Sure." says I. the result, the "reindeer flange":
But of course, I could not leave well enough alone. I was also really bored. so, I proudly present "Reindeer flange out for sunset stroll on beach with Angelina Jolie":

I laughed for twenty minutes at the concept.

In other news, I have decided to archive my cartoon efforts for your viewing pleasure. It will make it easier to find them when I tell people that I do indeed cartoon and post the efforts on the internet from time to time :)

Fun with photoshop...

So, been working on the company website, and I'm finding that a lot of the parts I want to put in the catalog are too big to photograph. Case in point, gutters are normally ten feet long, and would never fit on my desk. This looks like a job for photoshop! I found a part that resembles a small version of what I needed, and went to town.

Before- a piece of halfround downspout.

After- a piece of halfround gutter, but small!










I called my boss and coworker over to check out my handiwork. My boss said "You photoshoped the shit outta that!". My coworker refused to believe that it wasn't a small piece of gutter that I was kidding them with, to the point where he started searching my desk for it. I looked up, smiled and said "It's okay... I'm familiar with the old computer geek saying, 'DOES NOT COMPUTE'"

Lovin the job, folks.

New Orleans update.... Hurricane plans and lack thereof.

Well, here we are looking at month twelve removed from hurricane Katrina. Here in the big easy, the news is getting better… traffic signals are functioning, businesses thought shuttered forever are opening their doors, people are moving into their homes after months in the FEMA trailers… but the good news keeps being punctuated by the horrid, like the fact that they’re still finding bodies in New Orleans East almost a year later. The mood is weird, but each day you realize that despite setbacks of stupidity and greed, New Orleanians are a robust bunch. This city will endure.

Unless of course… the city gets wiped from the face of the earth with the arrival of the next hurricane. Speaking of which, hurricane Chris churns somewhere east of the Caribbean, the first storm of the season with the potential to break into the Gulf of Mexico and wreak all sorts of havoc. Even though it’s barely a Cat 1 at this point, everyone here has an eye on it. Half the guys at the factory brought in weather band radios to keep updated, and it’s still at least a week out.

The good news is my cupboard is full of canned soup and veggies. The bad news is that I think I’m still too close to that cold I had to be welcome at my “evacuation point” at Casa Spiehler. The fact that Ace is coming home is still wonderful news, but Mama Stacey is gonna insist I wear a space suit until three at least doctors certify me germ-free.

It may be easier to just drive to New York should the hurricane head my way. If it wasn’t for the gas prices, I probably would make that my plan. Damn hurricanes. Damn Gas prices. Damn instinct for self-preservation. Shoulda moved to outer Mongolia when I had the chance.

Further updates as events warrant.

Better now...

Sometimes, all you really need is some cookies and milk.

What it's like to be Rob.

It's a rainy tuesday in the big easy, and I feel like doing some rainy day whining.
If you have a low tolerance for such things, look away now.

Being me is frustrating sometimes. I feel like I pound my head into the same brick walls over and over. I see the limitless potential within myself, and yet I have no direction or focus to bring it out. I see things I want, but can never see the path to attain them. I see the successes of those around me, yet I never seem to achieve any myself. I see the way others look at me, and detest the pity in their eyes… but completely understand it. I am the guy that feels alone in a crowd. I am the guy that always wishes that his life could magically be made easier somehow. I try to make good choices, but nothing I choose ever seems to work out. Too many times my heart and sould have cried out in frustration as the rug has been pulled out from under me again and again. I know I’m not stupid, but sometimes I wonder if I am dumb.

I know life is not built on dumb luck. I know that hard work is supposed to count for something. I believe in my abilities, but always feel like I haven’t found my niche. I look at my life and those around me, and feel like I don’t fit in with any of it.

I want to be happy, but seldom am. I want to be self-made, but continually have to rely on the generosity of others. I am proud of what I’ve done in my life, and still feel an endless shame that I haven’t done more. I know what others think of me, and feel like I have been misjudged. I hear the words of friends offering their support, yet I have never really felt it. The real me screams from within, trying to correct their misconceptions, telling them that nothing seems to work for me like it does for the rest of the universe, and yet I play the part to which my life has lead me never complaining to anyone, trying to be the best me I can.




It's raining. give me a break.

Go home, space honkeys.

So, I went up to Dave's house this weekend and this was the result. enjoy.

An idea for a morbid buisness...

Feeling better. Back at work. Life goes on. I used my period of bedridden conjestion to do some writing, and a whole lot of thinking.

It occurs to me, in this era of information sharing and communication, that there are a lot of people out there that care about me that I’ve never even met. I know that a lot of you tune in to my rantings because you have some connection to me, be it friend of a friend, distant cousin, or whatever… but there are others that I only know through the internet, and that only know me through my blog.

Sometimes, this worries me. Specifically, it worries me that something could happen to these people that I have come to care about, and I would never know. Conversely, if anything was to (god forbid) happen to me, who would let my readers know?

I know it seems minor, but for those of us that live far from our relatives the problem is even worse… If I was to get seriously injured (unlikely, I know… Dizzy has put forth the hypothesis that I am Unbreakable) I’d like to think that someone would call my parents if I was unable to, but what about my friends that are now scattered across the country? How long would it take before ANY of my friends even noticed that I was missing? When I was married, this was never a problem… Charity generally knew what time I was coming home, where I was, etc., and would raise the alarm if I didn’t show after 24 hours or so… but now? Okay, so it worries me much more than it should for a healthy man that no one “checks up on me” with any regularity. Not really what I’m getting at.

I think it would be a neat internet subscription service that could, in the event that something does happen to you, e-mail everyone on your list, and update your blog, informing the world that something bad happened, how you are, your prognosis, and in the event of your demise, your funeral/memorial arrangements. I would call it e-surance, but I’m fairly sure that name has been taken.

Of course, I’m a little unclear what would trigger it, too. I’m thinking a weekly “reply or we start worrying” e-mail would prompt some sort of inquiry when unanswered. There’s probably some way to make it automatic, but I confess I’m not bright enough to figure this out. If anyone else wants to take the ball and run with it, just cut me in for ten percent and check up on me once a week, and I’ll be happy.

Posting while ill... I must love you people.

If this entry seems to be disjointed and make little sense, well tough. I’m sick, and it makes my normally ordered, fun-loving brain work a bit wonky.

I hate being sick. It totally takes the fun out of life to be stuck wheezing in bed for a few days. I also hate the way being sick screws with my dreams. Last night I had a lengthy one about Pee-Wee’s playhouse preparing to wage a full on war against Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. I woke myself up when Pterry started screaming “Death to the proletariat!!” while strapping on a bandolier of grenades. The night before, I had a similar dream about the Venture Brothers and Johnny Quest. I don’t know why my brain even bothered with that one… It’s pretty obvious Brock Samson would just kill Race Bannon and eat his heart. Anyway, no more Adult Swim until I feel better.

I also have noticed the fact that I’m kinda dense. Sometimes I feel like that chick in the Wendy’s commercial where the guy is telling her about how he was eating a chicken sandwich, when he happened upon a real, honest to goodness unicorn. Then after hearing this, she turns to him and says “they have a chicken sandwich there?”

I too, tend to be oblivious to the unicorn. Particularly when it comes to relationships. It takes me forever to recognize the signs of a woman being interested in me, and even then I tend not to believe it. Charity always said that it was because I’m “too much of a gentleman” to assume something that would lead me to smooching without being hit over the head with a sledgehammer. One thing I have found about women, though… is that no matter how smart, funny, and charming you are, with some women it simply will never be enough. I have also found out that going out and pounding back a few brews after noticing this never helps the situation.

Like I say, I’m kinda dense. Now I’m dense, sick, and just a little hung over too.

I did, however notice this… absolutely brilliant. hmmm… I wonder what I have lying around to trade….

With apologies to Peter Griffin...

Some things that grind my gears:

1)Trains. I have a love/hate thing with them at this point. I love the roar of a diesel locomotive at speed as it runs at 60 mph down a long stretch of straight rail. I hate having to sit in traffic for twenty minutes on my way to work at the rail crossing.

2)Fast food places and gas stations that haven’t opened since the hurricane because “not enough people have moved back to that area” completely neglecting the thousands of poor, helpless commuters that pass by the place every frickin day dreaming of Kentucky fried goodness.

3)Songs that have sound elements in them which sound EXACTLY like my turn signals, engine problems, police sirens, or my cell phone. Tweeting birds or other things that probably aren’t, but could be, in my car aren’t much better.

4)People that think they’re brilliant because they know Marilyn Monroe cut off the heel of one shoe to develop her sexy walk. Then beat us at pub quiz due to this fact. Try knowing the specific gravity of Boron, asswipe.

So, what grinds y'alls gears?

New Orleans update....

Well, here we are, ten months removed from “the storm”, about to enter the height of the gulf hurricane season and so far, so good. I have learned not to joke about storms in the gulf of Mexico, though. People here are still very skittish. The population is still only about a third of what it was pre-katrina, but there are some good signs…

This weekend, I awoke to an odd sound. Or more accurately… the lack of sound. Every morning I have had the opportunity to sleep in for a few hours lately, I have been awoken by the sound of hammers, nail guns, and the occasional whistle of construction worker at a female jogger.

Maybe it was just the holiday weekend, but it was encouraging that with all the damage done and still to be repaired that someone decided that what was left in my neighborhood could wait a day. Maybe… my neighborhood’s damage has been fixed. So, today I had a look see before heading to work. I saw a marked lack of blue roofs in my walk around the neighborhood, and couldn’t help but smile.

Another good sign I think, is that there are a number of people that are complaining that they’ve moved back into their homes, but FEMA hasn’t come to pick up their trailers. There are still thousands of people waiting for these things, and yet FEMA can’t seem to pick them up from the front lawns of the thankful (yet irritated) and give them to those in need. Most folks are afraid that their FEMA trailers will be unseated in a good storm, and do even more damage to their homes than all the flooding did. I also noticed a story in the Times-picyune last week about one guy who wanted to just buy his trailer outright (to use as a camp out in the swamp someplace) but was flatly denied by FEMA.

Me, I would just find a family that needs one and move it myself. Cut out the middle man.

The other thing I noticed this week is all the migrant workers. On my commute, I pass along Claiborne, near Napoleon, and am amazed that a scene I had always associated with southern California seems to be playing itself out daily on the streets of the big easy. Hundreds (not exaggerating) of Mexicans sit near a deserted gas station every morning, waiting for contractors to come by and pick them up for whatever job they need done that day. I’ve been told that if you slow down in a pick up truck near that corner, you’ll wind up with a few workers in the back, if you need them or not.

Amazing. I had never felt that the current immigration issues effect me at all, but here I was staring it right in the face.

Well, my mood is cautiously guarded now. I’m starting to be just a bit more optimistic about the recovery, and my small part of it. Who knows… if we manage to avoid another big storm this year, I may just stay after all.

The 4th of July

Independence day is a holiday when we are supposed to celebrate our nation's founding fathers, and revel a bit in the liberty their courage and foresight has bestowed upon us, be we Republican, Democrat, or hedgehog. (long live the Hedgehog liberation front!)

Me, I think of my Grandpa... Joseph Ferdinando. Grandpa was a tough, self made man, who started his own company with his own two hands and his wits, and built it into a thriving plumbing company. Of course time and distance dulls one's memory, but there are two things that always make me think of him... Magic tricks and the Fourth of July.

Jay, Grandpa and me circa 1978


Grandpa loved the Fourth, and every year, would go completely overboard arming his friends and family with enough fireworks to blow a conneticut-sized hole in the eastern seaboard. This always included my brother and I, who were in hindsight, way too young to be playing with fire, much less explosives. It was a much different time. I still remember the year I lit a pack of Jumpin Jacks in my hand, intent on throwing them in the direction that my brother suddenly blocked, and me, with my head ringing with my Mom telling me just moments before to make sure Jay didn't get hurt, let the pack explode in my hand. If it had been firecrackers I probably would have lost a finger, but I only got a few third degree burns and a lecture.

Grandpa only gave us "safety" fireworks after that, but that may have been more due to my Favorite Grandpa story, which I think was the following year...

It had been a dry summer in the big apple, and we had all settled down after an afternoon of barbequing on the front lawn of 81 Ravenhurst to watch the old, drunk italians shoot off the "big" fireworks. There were fountains... there were high altitude splashers, and there were pinwheels.

One such pinwheel surprised everyone when, after Grandpa lit it, it flew off the telephone pole, and into one of the two bushes that adorned the front walk of Grandpa's house.

I had always thought till that point that "Fwoosh" was just a sound in a comic book.

The Bush burst into flames. One of my Uncles (I don't remember which) was a quick thinker, and through the haze of beer that had been steadily imparing his judgement all day, thought to throw the cooler on the fire to try to put it out.

The cooler filled with cans of beer. That started exploding due to the heat. Adding alcohol to the fire.

No one had called the fire department, but no one was surprised when they arrived, as we were sure that those Astronauts in Skylab probably noticed the flames (which were at least 50 feet in the air) and radioed them. They just let it burn itself out, forever leaving a bush-shaped hole in Grandpa's lawn for all time.

I also rememeber my Mom getting quite the glare from Grandpa after making a "burning bush" joke or two, and Dad trying really hard not to just burst into fits of laughter.

Happy fourth of july to all of you, and may your memories be as interesting :)

What a surprise....

Your results:
You are Superman

Superman 100% Spider-Man 85% Iron Man 70% Green Lantern 65% Supergirl 60% Batman 50% Robin 50% The Flash 50% Wonder Woman 45% Hulk 35% Catwoman 20%

You are mild-mannered, good, strong and you love to help others.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Test

A Super rant.

A message to the current crop of hollywood directors:

I know you have movies that inspired you to make films. I know you love these characters. I know you want to pay homage to the writers and directors that made you want to grab your mom’s super 8 camera and start shooting.

Please stop.

Making a longer movie doesn’t make it a better movie than the original. If you want to make new movies about these characters that you and I both love, please make them NEW MOVIES! Don’t just re-create your “vision” of what a classic movie scene should have been. Don’t just string together what you think will be “iconic” moments. ADD SOMETHING NEW TO THE STORY!

And not something stupid, like the infamous “apes on ice” scene in Peter Jackson’s King Kong.

And furthermore, don’t lift lines of dialogue directly from the original movie(s). WRITE NEW ONES!

Bryan Singer, I’m looking at you. Don’t try ducking behind Ang Lee. You are damned lucky I don’t have heat vision!

And please guys, find some comic book geeks to coach y’all the next time you make a super hero movie… or barring that, just let Kevin Smith give it a once over, okay?

Tim Burton’s “re-imagining” of Planet of the Apes, while not a critical success, was still original, and fun… An entirely new take on an old concept, while keeping the spirit of the original. This is the kind of movie you should be making, guys… try something new! Be a little daring! Stay true to the freaking characters or at least the concept!

Yours Truly,
Rob Cerio


Sorry, I needed to get that off my chest.

So, Dizzy scored us a couple of tickets to an advance screening of “Superman Returns” Monday night. When she told me she had the tickets, she was astonished to find out that I can make a “girly squeal” of delight. She knows how big a Superman fan I am, but had never seen me actually get giddy about something before. I was looking forward to this movie more than I have looked forward to…well… almost anything. (I was gonna use an example there, but it would have made my more sensitive readers blush)

I was completely unprepared to be so disappointed.

The movie is visually stunning. The effects are absolutely incredible. But there are five things about it that really bugged me. One, it was too long, and really dragged (almost 3 hours). The whole movie is long on effects, but short on plot. Two, while Bryan Singer did a great job of making Supes feel real, it was more like you were a citizen of Metropolis watching from the outside. When I see Superman fly, I want to feel like I’m flying alongside him, not just watching him zoom past. Three, I have issues with a major plot point of the movie, which I will be happy to discuss in the comments, but won’t spoil for anyone who hasn’t seen the movie. Four, there are some great scenes in the movie ruined by dialouge lifted directly, word for word, from the original Superman movies. There were opportunities there for really memorable new moments spoiled in the name of 'homage'. And five, the love story between Lois and Clark seemed way too forced. While I know that B.S. was going for the feel of the romantic flight that Lois took with the man of steel in Superman I, it just didn’t work. It dragged.

Guess I’ll just have to make my own damn movie now...

It' all about Meme Monday...

Culled from Stacey's blog, who apparently got it from myspace. What you do is answer the following in the comments section of my blog, then post it on your own so that I may have my revenge. Have fun, but please try not to give me a heart attack, okay? (y'all know exactly what I mean!)

1. Who are you?
2. Are we friends?
3. When and how did we meet?
4. Do you have a crush on me?
5. Would you kiss me?
6. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
7. Describe me in one word.
8. What was your first impression?
9. Do you still think that way about me now?
10. What reminds you of me?
11. If you could give me anything what would it be?
12. How well do you know me?
13. When's the last time you saw me?
14. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn't?
15. Are you going to put this on your blog and see what I say about you?

This is brilliant....

I love Al Gore... he has such a great sense of humor about himself.

A little reflection... and other maudlin crap.

So, I'm really enjoying the new job... it's an interesting departure for me to have an office job, but I admit I miss my job at Steamboat. Yesterday, my new boss asked me about my time there, and I went on a twenty minute tirade about how cool it was to work in the heart of the french quarter, for one of the city's many cultural icons. I must have made an impression, because today he comes up to my desk and offers to get a CD of the Steamboat Natchez Caliope music to play for me if I felt homesick...

Quite the wise ass, my new boss.

For almost 7 years, twice a day, I would have to hear the "loud, happy music" of the authentic steam caliope that adorns the Steamboat Natchez. Emphasis on the loud. I would plot daily new ways to sabotage the darn thing, and have my whole staff laughing at the prospect.

I will admit that when I first came back to the point after katrina, it brought a tear to my eye to hear the caliope's dulcet tones wafting on the breeze from across the river. It was a sign of hope to me, and I realized right then that someday, my city will be back as strong and vibrant as ever.

Of course, that was before being jaded by the past few months of the realities of post-katrina New Orleans. the state of the city has not improved very much, nearing 9 months after the storm. The Regional transit authority has stopped many of the city's bus lines and is planning on ending one of the streetcar lines, the national guard has been called in to help stem a rising wave of violent crime, people are worn and beaten with their daily lives, and the wait time in Burger King is still a half hour. While basic services have been restored to most of the city, many of the flooded homes still sit untouched while their owners try to get their lives back together, to a point where they might be able to start the rebuild. The other half of the city is in the world's largest trailer park, despondant, and without much hope. Summer only brings a new wave of misery with the usual intense heat that oppresses us as it does year after year, and the daily talk around the coffee shop tends to focus on the threat of the "next big one". Word is that they will evecuate the city if even a tropical storm heads this way. Not a bad idea with all the trailers... after all, high winds and FEMA trailers just don't mix.

I'm not in one, but would be pissed if a storm knocked on on top of my house.

Right now, I'm thinking of leaving New Orleans. Life here is more costly, and annoying than I ever believed it could be. Most of my friends have left for better opportunities, and it's difficult to not think that maybe I should do the same. I like the new job, and would hate to leave, but man... life is hard right now. I long for life as the rest of the nation is experiencing, where life is going on much as it has for many years, with hurricane Katrina a memory fast fading. Somewhere, kids still play, fast food is fast, and people don't talk about last year like it's some far off magic kingdom. Basically, as much as I love my hometown, I'd have to be an idiot not to at least think about looking for greener pastures.

Maybe I just need a vacation. I would ask the new boss, but he'd probably just install a heat lamp and a palm tree around my desk, and hand me a bottle of sunscreen. It's karma, I tell ya... years of picking on my staff with my goofy sense of humor have come back to haunt me.

It's a Meme Monday....

Culled this from Javafoofoo's blog... She didn't tag anyone in particular, but This one sounded fun and chock full of opportunity for wise-ass responses. Anyone who wants to pick up on it can.

The 55 things Meme... learn 55 things about your friends, and let them learn 55 things about you.

55 things about the Webkahunah...

1)How old do you wish you were?
367- a century for every year would be nice. Party at my place Feb 5, 2337!

2) Where were you when 9/11 happened?
on the sofa, about to check my e-mail.

3) What do you do when vending machines steal your money?
call the number on the machine and give em a piece of my mind. Thank god we live in an age where anyone can be annoying to another human being anywhere with the touch of a button.

4) Do you consider yourself kind?
depends on what we’re talking about. If it’s about a plaid shirt being worn with striped pants, I will not be kind about it. If we’re talking helping a friend fix a flat tire or paint a nursery, I suppose I am.

5) If you had to get a tattoo, where would it be?
a superman symbol on my left bicep.

6) If you could be fluent in any other language, what would it be?
knowing italian would stop those generations of Cerios from spinning in their graves.

7) Do you know your neighbors?
All by sight, about half by name… Keylee and Jack are my favorite ones though:) Best neighbors ever!

8) What do you consider a vacation?
a few hours on the open road, preferably with good company.

9) Do you follow your horoscope?
No. The stars have as much effect on my life about as I have on theirs, which is to say none at all.

10) Would you move for the person you loved?
In that I would get up off the sofa and get them a soda from the kitchen, yes.

11) Are you touchy feely?
Sometimes. Depends on the touchee.

12) Do you believe that opposites attract?
Yes. It is a proven law of physics that a negitively charged particle will attract a positively charged one. Unfortunately, the collision of said particles tends to lead to mutual anniahlation. And spelling errors.

13) Dream job?
Voice over talent for a hit cartoon series

14) Favorite channel(s)?
Sci-Fi and Discovery

15) Favorite place to go on weekends?
to my couch for an uninteruppted nap.

16) Showers or Baths?
Showers.

17) Do you paint your nails?
not willingly.

18) Do you trust people easily?
No.

19) What are your phobias?
I have pretty intense fears of Horses and Death.

20) Do you want kids?
a rug rat or two would be nice, but doesn’t seem to be in the cards.

21) Do you keep a handwritten journal?
Yes. Under lock and key.


22) Where would you rather be right now?
On a beach with a cold beer in my hand, the sun on my tummy, and a beautiful woman on my arm.

23) Who makes you feel warm and fuzzy?
Well, I’m warm and fuzzy without any help, so I guess my genetics.

24) Heavy or light sleeper?
Light

25) Are you paranoid?
Only because they’re out to get me.

26) Are you impatient?
I can be. Particularly in traffic.

27) If today was your last day on earth, how would you feel?
Depends on why. If it was the end of the world, pissed. If I was dying to save others, pretty good about it. If I was gonna just drop from some unforseen illness, kinda annoyed.

28) How do you feel about interracial couples?
I don’t think that Klingons should be allowed to mate with Vulcans, but other than that I’m pretty okay with it.

29) Have you been burned by love?
Not once, not twice, but thrice.

30) Whats your favorite pick up line?
50lb test nylon fishing line.

31) What's your main ringtone on your mobile?
”basket case” by green day.

32) What were you doing at midnight last night?
trudging across the dune sea on tatooine in search of water for my sky bike, while Jennifer Love Hewitt kept trying to get me to listen to some poem she wrote. (stupid dreams!)

33) What did the last text on your cellphone say?
”have I ever told you you’re a sex god?” HA! I wish. It really says “Ok, I’m not going to argue the best superhero, cause that would be futile. But box office? Supes wins hands down. But that does not make it a better movie!” Batman fans are way to easy to mess with.

34) Whose bed did you sleep in last night?
My own. Who the heck would admit to otherwise on their blog?

35) What color shirt are you wearing?
plaid

36) Most recent movie you watched?
Spider-Man.

37) Name three things you have on you at all times?
Duct tape
Keys
Cash

38.) What color are your bed sheets?
Tan

39) How much cash do you have on you right now?
seventeen bucks.

40) What is your favorite part of the chicken?
The breast, of course. Always been a breast man. My favorite part of any chick :)

41) What's your favorite town/city?
New Orleans

42) I can't wait till:
Superman Returns.

43) What did you have for dinner last night?
Two salami sandwiches and some macaroni salad

44) How tall are you barefoot?
6’2”, and I can do whatever I want to.

45) Do you own a gun?
No, but I do own a B’atleth. I’ll take a Klingon sword over a human pistol any day.

46) What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Coke

47) What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?
”The Look”… which I have not unleashed upon the women of the world since I met Charity, some 10 years ago.

48) Where do you think you'll be in 10 yrs?
With so much uncertainty whirling around me, I dunno. I just hope I’ll be happy.

49) Last thing you ate?
More sandwiches… More Mac salad.

50) What songs do you sing in the shower?
”coming to your city” by Big & Rich, “Volare”, and “like a prayer” by maddona.

51) Last thing that made you laugh?
A pidgeon Giving a Nazi Salute. (saw the Producers yesterday)

52) Worst injury you've ever had?
I’ve never had one. I mean, scrapes bruises and such, but I’ve never Broken a bone or had any serious injury. Kinda odd now that I think on it…

53) Does someone have a crush on you?
I’d like to think there are a few… but probably not.

54) What's your favorite candy?
Reese’s peanut butter cups, or chocolate pretzels.

55) What song do you want played at your funeral?
“Faith of the heart” by Rod Stewart.