tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25209322460165457632024-02-08T05:29:44.872-08:00Observations From The Mind Of A Valley GuyMichael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-88420620891824151092013-07-21T00:09:00.000-07:002013-07-21T00:09:39.752-07:00An Ode To Grandpa
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On many an occasion, professional wrestler Ric Flair stated
that “To be the man, you have to beat the man”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
are very few men who matched my grandfather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A six-foot-two tower of power – until he shrank two inches in his later
years and informed anyone he encountered of his contracted state with mischievous
glee – my grandfather brought his no nonsense sensibility and depression era
youth work ethic to a bustling California economy in the fifties, flourishing
in the warmth and prosperity enough to make it his lifelong home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But that is not to say that just because the boy took
himself out of Pennsylvania that Pennsylvania was taken out of the boy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His love of Pittsburgh sports teams knew no
bounds and this love earned me many a trip in my youth to Dodger Stadium and
his couch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When his teams screwed up and
he was in the presence of women, they were dirty buggers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it was just he and I, they were an
expression that rhymed with dirty buggers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Let’s face facts; an old person swearing is awesome. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When that old person is your grandfather and
your post pubescent youth is spent listening to him redefine colorful metaphors
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>because the Pirates and Steelers took a
downturn in quality?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Travolta playing
Tony Manero and Danny Zuko simultaneously couldn’t match that level of cool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This does not mean he lacked charm and grace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my earliest recollections of what love
is came from watching my grandfather and his wife dance across the Cloud Nine ballroom
in Knott’s Berry Farm. Whenever I dance with my wife – be it in the company of
a dance floor full of fools or the middle of our living room alone – I think of
that image of my grandfather twirling his beloved, though I must confess to
never trying it to his beloved Polka music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Don’t get all smarmy thinking to yourself “How could he leave his
grandson alone in the middle of a dance hall?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was a different time, fuckstick.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My grandfather welcomed my wife with open arms into his
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They shared a love of jokes
that were naughty, but not dirty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An
example:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Grandpa:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What do you
call a German virgin?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My wife:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I don’t
know, Grandpa.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Grandpa: “Gudntight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In my wedding album, there is a picture of my grandfather
with his arms confidently ensconced around three of my wife’s bridesmaids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A certainty exists in his Cheshire cat grin that
states in no uncertain terms these nubile women would know his company behind
closed doors if only he were three decades younger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon
crossing paths later in the evening, I informed him of this visual I had joyously
taken in, at which point he looked at me, winked, and said “Michael, I may be
old, but I’m not dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But as S.E. Hinton once wrote, that was then…this is now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a couple of weeks, I will attend the
annual Sunset Strip Music Festival.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will
think back to the surreal memory of standing in the middle of the hallowed boulevard
for the first time, answering a call from my grandfather, and thinking that if
you asked me to list things I never thought would coexist in my life, the
Sunset Strip and my grandfather would be right near the top of said list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will stand with my wife and my two best
friends, and we will raise a glass to a man who lived a long, full life; one
that we could only hope to emulate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You were always the man, grandpa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, the man becomes the king…and the king
doesn’t have to do a damn thing except sit in his favorite chair and watch his
teams from the Steel City -- Careful of the colorful metaphors until I get
there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-27529497726608567612011-11-09T20:30:00.000-08:002011-11-09T20:30:13.436-08:00Tragedy and Travesty –The End Game at Penn State<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why the hell do I keep thinking of The Wire Season four whenever I consider the atrocities that have occurred at Penn State?</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why do I keep equating the fictional lives of four youths in West Baltimore attempting to avoid the never ending cycle of crime and drugs with that of the all too real expanding roster of boys turned young men who suffered physical and psychological damage at the hands of a monster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A monster that had the unmitigated audacity to brazenly wave a twisted personal double-entendre to his sexual deviancy below our collective ignorance by titling his biography Touched.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I do it because the expertly told novella that played out on HBO in the fall of 2006 didn’t provide easy solutions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t a sugar coated, afterschool special where the kids absconded to lives of gingerbread cookies, white picket fences, and loving homes that wiped away the scars of an unsympathetic culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Innocence was violently taken, never to be replenished.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s what the epilogue will be at Penn State.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s an exercise in repetition to recount what has turned Happy Valley from Rockwellian portrait to ironic description. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t even bring myself to link to the grand jury report that is as shocking as the Starr report was salacious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a big believer in knowledge is power, but there’s been very few documents that have ever left me so powerless to the reality that man’s monstrosities will always defeat its humanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That feeling of ineptitude led me to the harshest reality of all regarding this scandal; the truth that The Wire taught in its entirety, but most cruelly in season four.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;">People will die from this.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jerry Sandusky will die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He will go to jail for the rest of his life and prison justice will see to it that the rest of his life is a finite number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will read between the lines upon learning of his passing, flash our sadistic grins, and allow the dark corners of our imagination to feed our silent blood lust. Then we will hang our heads, for we will know it can never equate to what he selfishly bequeathed in the name of a perversion that has left so many feeling a victim’s guilt for doing absolutely nothing wrong.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Joe Paterno will die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t say that haphazardly or to incite controversy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paterno has said himself on multiple occasions that he has no hobbies, no off season activities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He doesn’t even like to vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All he knows is football.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has even implied that the reason he has coached so long is due to his own fear of an expedited mortality upon retirement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That time is now here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not find Paterno to be the devil incarnate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find him to be a product of a generation that doesn’t articulate its feelings and minds its own business; the product of a year-long military experience at eighteen that molded him into someone that follows the chain of command with blinding rigidity. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are not excuses nor are they meant to forgive his egregious transgressions. They merely provide the foundation that led Paterno to make judgment errors so lacking in any semblance of common sense that multiple lives have been irreversibly altered. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Dan Patrick’s show this week, Chris Collinsworth equated Paterno’s actions with the officers in A Few Good Men; he acted according to the code of the legality, but not the code of humanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To piggy back on the point, I wish Paterno would go the route of Lt. Col. Markinson:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>express in no uncertain terms that these young men were indescribably harmed because he wasn’t strong enough to stop it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After that, the combination of losing the only thing he ever wanted to do with the guilt of why it was taken away will serve as his nickel plated pistol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether this is a fate deserving of his actions is left to the many heated debates still to come.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And whether you choose to accept it or not, chances are some of the victims won’t make it through either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too dramatic?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Consider the following:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The victims are about to relive the most horrific experience of their lives in the most public forum imaginable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They will be subjected to the court of public opinion and the devil may care reactions of internet toughs and non-thinking electronic Neanderthals in their most vulnerable hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Victims of child abuse have ways of coping with their unfathomable pain, the vast majority of which aren’t healthy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You really think that throwing such fragile souls into this pressure cooker won’t inevitably have tragic consequences?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If so, I guess you also think that inner city kids don’t have to jump through hoops to escape their pre destined life and attain the normalcy so many of us take for granted.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Wire Season four ended with three of the four kids it focused on destined for a life that involved crime, violence, and a shortened expiration date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But one of the four had a chance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a promise, not a guarantee; just a chance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s all we have now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A chance to provide these damaged souls with the opportunity to heal as much as one can from such a predatory invasion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we can’t do that, then the only poet who ever got it right about the inhabitants of this big blue marble was Jim Morrison.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Five to one baby, one in five.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one here gets out alive.<o:p></o:p></span></i>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-86433273780453228272011-03-20T16:38:00.000-07:002011-03-20T16:38:42.707-07:00Where I've Been or What's New Pussycat?I know, it's been awhile - and as much as I'd like to be able to regale you with stories of stunning adventure and breathtaking acheivement, the truth is a bit more mundane, though exciting for me personally.<br />
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In short, I've started plying my trade writing for thisorthat.com. Quoting the website, <br />
"This or That was created to help people make choices with the Internet by their side. We bring together editorial and user-generated media so that you can "own the watercooler" in a fun and offbeat way and stay current on the hot trends and topics buzzing across the globe. "<br />
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Thus far I have written 4 articles for the site that I hope you'll check out:<br />
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They’re Comparing Obama To The Wrong Southern Democratic President: <a href="http://thisorth.at/wct">http://thisorth.at/wct</a><br />
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10 Things That Should Have Happened At The Oscars: <a href="http://thisorth.at/19j3">http://thisorth.at/19j3</a><br />
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Rodney King and The LAPD: A 20 Year Anniversary: <a href="http://thisorth.at/1bt3">http://thisorth.at/1bt3</a><br />
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The Real Reason Tiki Barber Is Returning To Football: <a href="http://thisorth.at/1fra">http://thisorth.at/1fra</a><br />
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I'll still be writing here when I have something more personal to say and will be sharing likns to my latest articles, but I do hope you'll take a look at Thisorthat.com and enjoy all their talented writersMichael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-28137044946860774272011-02-04T13:34:00.000-08:002011-02-04T13:34:29.799-08:00Celebrity Is Sought or Shut Up Kristen Stewart<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No matter your point of view on her, recent reports stating that Kristen Stewart turned down playing Lois Lane in the upcoming Superman reboot elicited a strong response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I. like most of you, met the news with great relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stewart annoys me to absolutely no end and it’s for only one reason:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is so incredibly put upon by being a celebrity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must paraphrase Dan Aykroyd in his classic Weekend Update tiffs with Jane Curtain and state:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kristen, you ignorant boob! (Even I can’t go slut on this one; I know nothing about her sexual proclivities)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now a number of you might be saying to yourselves “Michael, it’s not her fault that she became a celebrity.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my twenties, my response to this ridiculous statement would be to sardonically ask you how much cannabis you’ve partaken in and if there is any you wish to part with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my forties, the response is now to simply ask how someone of such limited intelligence hasn’t managed to run into traffic yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>OF COURSE IT’S HER FAULT SHE’s A CELEBRITY!!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Let’s be clear – There have only been 2 can’t miss film franchises that were started in the last decade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2 absolute can’t miss propositions in a business where success is a bigger crapshoot than deciphering Ozzy Osbourne’s verbage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first is Harry Potter (Should you ever wish to gift the Jesus Freak in your life with proof of God’s hand in our world, the fact that those 3 kids went through that rabbit hole of an existence during the most confusing time of their lives and came out the other side without pretense or addiction is exhibit A). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The second is Twilight. (And before you psycho fans of The Girl Who Wore Bondage Gear While Piercing Every Part Of Her Body and Hacking Into All Computer Programs Known To Man start bitching, the American version isn’t out yet, so it doesn’t count.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My point?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If celebrity is something you don’t want, you don’t go after the female lead of one of the 2 sure things of the last decade! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And do not hit me with the whole “How could she know she would be so encumbered by celebrity?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is 21<sup>st</sup> century America – We are a society that bequeaths celebrity to socialites who film in graphic detail their oral copulation skills, then proclaim dim witted ignorance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are warmed by a You Tube clip of a homeless man with the voice of a trying too hard DJ who then proceeds to seek out any and every camera in his sight. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the machinations of our society determined to transform Andy Warhol’s famous 15 minutes line from observant witticism to unofficial Constitutional Amendment, it’s hard for me to fathom the thought that auditioning for the role of an angst ridden, thrill seeking, vampire loving teenager would be done without the knowledge that accepting said role would carry with it an entry into the public consciousness.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I know – you’re starting to come around but thinking to yourself that targeting someone in the acting arena is like shooting fish in a barrel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Say that to the men and women who perform in regional theater all across the country. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actors who figured out a way to express the creativity that burns within without trading it for the public exposure that has an uncanny knack for extinguishing such pure motivations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe turning down the role of Lois Lane indicates that Ms. Stewart has turned over a new leaf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That she will no longer put herself in the path of unavoidable celebrity.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Oh yeah, she just accepted playing the role of Snow White…possibly with Julia Roberts as the evil queen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure </span><a href="" name="_GoBack"></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">stepping into the shoes of arguably the most famous Disney heroine, with the real possibility of playing opposite the biggest female box office attraction of the last 20 years, won’t generate an abnormal amount of attention at all.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I can’t wait for the put upon press junket.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sign up to follow the blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hit me up on Twitter:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>@mrc_truedat</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-55682506005863690772011-01-27T18:13:00.000-08:002011-01-27T18:13:20.258-08:00Halfway Home or I’m A Man, I’m 40<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“And I’m talkin’ to myself at night because I can’t forget.” – Jack White</i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The first time I heard the voice was in September.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dog B Is Love turned 7 and my wife Charger Gal and I celebrated her birth as if she had 2 legs instead of 4 paws.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was during this celebratory moment that the voice first started spewing in my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is nothing new for me; the total tonnage of voices that converse within my mind are enough to blend into white noise most of the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This voice was different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s simple and dangerously affecting sentence was reminiscent of a George Carlin bit that argued “Shell Shock” was a far more effective term for what war veterans go through than “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always respond to moments of discombobulation like this with humor, thus I stated to Charger Gal that within 6 months, all three of us would be halfway home and it’s all downhill from here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charger Gal was not amused and I can’t blame her; it wasn’t terribly funny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This worried me more than anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humor is my fastball – If that’s not working, this emperor has no clothes (Not a pleasant sight I assure you).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A short time later, the voice returned during a conversation with my best friend Cowboy Jelly. He was freaking out one night to anyone in the vicinity of his voice (a far larger radius than the human vocal cord should be capable of covering) about turning 40.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also freaked out about turning 30, so I wrote it off as a Meg Ryan When Harry Met Sally breakdown mixed with a Willy Loman Attention Must Be Paid Temper Tantrum and listened with half an ear while watching the Packers game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The voice took advantage of my distracted state to reiterate its simple, piercing sentence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather than attempt another joke that might fall flat, I chose instead to intently listen to Cowboy Jelly spend 20 minutes lecturing how none of today’s music has the soul of 1987. Yes, 1987 – A year whose number one song was Walk Like An Egyptian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was not going well.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The next few months moved along with the voice making regular appearances, each one leaving me sadder and more disheartened than the last. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t a constant chant, but every time it reiterated its message, it was in a moment where vulnerable was the emotional color of my rainbow. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It particularly loved making its presence felt at night, waking me from the dreams it could not infiltrate and taunting my inability to return to the peace of slumberland. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The voice was taking its toll.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This week, to celebrate my own entrance into the forties, Charger Gal threw me a party. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is an amazing cook – better than Meryl Streep’s characters in Julia and Julia and Its Complicated combined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This being a milestone birthday, she even outdid her usual high quality cuisine and provided a delicacy that had carnivores and vegetarians alike craving more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The soiree was worthy of The Hangover – minus the ruffies and missing friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love parties because it’s the one situation where people from all aspects of your life come together and interact in a melting pot where you serve as the binding ingredient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always allow myself a moment to step back and take a mental picture of the glorious sight of those whom I care so much for together as one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the voice could not crack the unbridled joy of such a scene.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then the party ended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Charger Gal and I prefer to clean up before bed no matter how big a post celebration mess may lay before us (Yes, we go “Cleanliness is next to Godliness” even in a semi inebriated state).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I was separating the abundance of empty bottles and cans into their respective recycling receptacles, a cool breeze blew up through me carrying with it the voice, louder and stronger than it had ever been before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You are a failure.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Told ya it wasn’t exactly “If you build it, he will come.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was tired of the months of consistent shanking upon my psyche and attempted to compose a response that would banish the voice once and for all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What did I come up with after such a lengthy period of hearing this menacing review of the first forty years of my life?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No I’m not.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m a regular Aaron Sorkin character when it comes to verbal combat aren’t I?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my lack of a verbose defense stems from the truth of the matter, which is this:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a good husband and a good dog owner – beyond that I can’t argue much with the voice and its destructively concise argument.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not the professional writer I have yearned to be since I was a kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t been able to lose the excess 30 pounds that has dragged me for years despite a consistent exercise program.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a massive inability to just let things go when someone upsets me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My current employer is facing a 500 million dollar budget cut and the job market could be charitably described as lacking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am on the whole an insecure, neurotic mess that despite sincere efforts to the contrary is halfway to life’s finish line with a distance to success meter that still reads To Far To Count. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is what I have accomplished in 40 years of existence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But they say Life begins at 40 and 40 is the new 30 and whatever other verbal slight of hand they can concoct to soften the blow of becoming, without a shadow of a doubt, middle aged. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I will rise up and I will continue to bleed, sweat, and pay the price that is necessary to bring to fruition the things that must come to pass in order for me to meet my maker and emphatically state “I got life right this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My ticket can be one way.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The real work begins...</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Don’t remind me of my failures, I had not forgotten them.” – Jackson Browne</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sign up to follow the blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter @mrc_truedat</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-20069528191121683932011-01-25T09:11:00.000-08:002011-01-25T09:11:31.374-08:00Oscar Morning or What Are These People Doing Up So Early?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why does Hollywood’s big day, also known as the Academy Award nominations, occur at the crack of dawn?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh yeah, because 95% of Hollywood is insanely insecure, narcissistic, and must make sure everyone on the east coast is aware of their glorious triumphs before the morning shows break for the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here’s what I don’t get (among many things). This is one of the few times that east coast bias isn’t in play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If Hollywood makes the decision that they’d like to sleep in, have a cup of energy drink, and announce the nominees at 9AM local time, you know what the networks and their east coast bias would say?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What time do we cut into programming for a special report?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hollywood moves the needle:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always has, and in our warped sense of what is deemed admirable, always will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you don’t believe me, check out the covers of the rags that pass for mainstream magazines at your local grocery store checkout line.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">These nominations always go down the same way: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An older gentlemen walks out and drones on in such a way that the entire morning is threatened to be derailed before it even starts by everyone falling back to sleep out of sheer boredom (This has nothing to do with the 5:40 AM start as he would be boring any time of the day).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then an actress is brought out, normally either a former Oscar winner or a young up and comer (Code for Hottie). She is attired in a dress that should not be worn during AM hours unless it is in disarray from having been removed the night before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She attempts a joke that she trips over the words of (because its 5:40 in the flippin’ morning), not that it matters because the joke itself reminds you joke writers shouldn’t be working this early either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, the proceedings begin in earnest.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">During the reading of the nominees, there’s always some idiot that whoops it up when a particular film or person is nominated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of these people are journalists who weren’t part of the film and are surrendering any semblance of objectivity with their incessant need to be a verbal part of the proceedings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for publicists who do this, one thing must be made perfectly clear: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have not a single creative bone in their body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their entire purpose on Earth is to be a glorified cheerleader whose relentless repetition that their client is better than someone else’s client is all that separates them from stating over and over again “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy” while drool runs freely down the side of their face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon completion of the nominations, the older man wishes everyone a good morning and states that he’ll see us at the movies (Because after all, there’s nothing crossing my mind at the cusp of 6 AM other than sitting wide awake in a darkened room for 2 hours). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The rest of the day consists of reporters getting hold of the nominees and asking the same question “What were you doing when you found out about being nominated?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stars always try to state they were asleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nice try, but you were a neurotic mess and we know it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Know what I’d love to hear just once?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An actor proclaim “I was so nervous about this whole thing that I just started fooling around with my wife…my girlfriend…the woman next to me whose name I don’t remember…the crease between my mattress and box spring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any hole that was available man!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That would be honest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But if you live in L.A., whether you are in that wacky business, yearn to be a part of it (raises hand), or wish to have nothing to do with it, you know that honesty is never considered the best policy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See you at the movies!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sign up to follow the blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>@mrc_truedat</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-29545562369648002262011-01-20T12:42:00.000-08:002011-01-20T12:42:24.481-08:00The Curse Of Being Right or These Size 13’s Don’t Taste So Good<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I possess a multitude of shortcomings:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m vertically challenged, I have a bit too much girth stemming from my weekend appreciation of adult beverages and carnivorous delicacies, my emotional attachment to my dog prevents my wife and I from leaving her for extended periods of time, and I have the capability of holding a grudge for more years than Joan Rivers has been on the receiving end of a plastic surgeons’ knife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But above all else, when I believe very strongly in a point of view, I have the need to be right.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _GoBack;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At face value, this isn’t out of the ordinary; anyone involved in verbal disagreement seeks to be victorious in proving their point of view.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My need is different – a Michael Jordanesque compulsion. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not enough to just win an argument; I must have my opponent curled up in a fetal position crying “Mommy”,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and even then I have to kick the opponent like they’re Sonny Corleone after being shot 742 times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When engaged in oratory debate, I take in EVERYTHING: What a person says, how they say it, what words make their eyes drift off or their posture fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I proceed to engage in spoken rat-a-tat-tat Snoop Dog would state never hesitates to put a person on their back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tone is destructive, the words piercing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A General Patton level of intensity overtakes me and I do not let up until victory is mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _GoBack;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s not pleasant and I have tried for years to just calm the eff down, but I can’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s an uncontrollable beast inside me that stems from a multitude of places ranging from years of not being heard while growing up to the current challenges of my job and trying to prove my worth to people I’ve recently met who are established in industries I aspire to be in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It always starts the same—an observation or a disagreement over how something should work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am summarily dismissed, which sets the demon within into motion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are times where the slight is over something of major importance; more times than not its root takes shape over something ridiculously pointless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet it is in those inane moments that my compulsion unleashes its wrath the most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I almost step aside my body to watch this angry, anguished filibuster play out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t even see the person I’m engaged in elevated discourse with half the time; I see every single person who told me I’m not smart, I’m not right.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _GoBack;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And that’s the thing:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I AM RIGHT (Most of the time).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _GoBack;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m right because if I I’m not certain, I’m not getting involved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I am certain, I’m not stopping. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m right because the majority of issues I get into have to do with stupid behavior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not ignorant, stupid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ignorant is not having an answer because you don’t know the subject: I am ignorant with regards to the inner workings of brain surgery because I don’t know the first thing about it. Stupid is in knowing something is wrong but replicating the action in hopes of a different result:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A person who continuously has bad results from a particular action but continues to engage in said action is stupid.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _GoBack;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Know what that means?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’M STUPID!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _GoBack;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And therein lay the true conundrum:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do you do when your actions fall into the classification of stupidity but the rationale of why you do it defines your very being?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m honest to a fault; sometimes one the size of San Andreas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a source of immense pride for me that there’s nothing I say behind a person’s back if I’m not prepared to say it to their face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thing is, for all the yearning people have for honesty in their lives, they generally react to such sentiment as if walking around a condom factory when they’re allergic to latex. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Telling someone the truth is delicate business and once the disagreement begins, I become as delicate as Rain Man having a conniption fit in the middle of an airport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That lack of diplomacy has cost me some in life – a lot in certain cases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there is this core fiber to my being; something as clear and vivid as a warm sunrise after a cold spell, and all it says to me is that it may not be right how I do things but I’m also not wrong in what I do.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _GoBack;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And that my friends, is a curse.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></span></span></div><span style="mso-bookmark: _GoBack;"></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sign up to follow the blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter: @mrc_truedat</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-63069425107266728202011-01-15T12:11:00.000-08:002011-01-15T12:11:58.758-08:00How To Balance A Budget With No Vaseline or These Chickens Are A Roosting<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I voted for Jerry Brown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I admit it - I walked into my polling place, held my nose as if encountering a pail full of diapers soiled by babies who’d been exposed to expired milk, and punched the circle for a man not so affectionately known around the state as Governor Moonbeam for his gaze and points of view that at times seemed to stem from a chemically altered place during his previous tenure as Governor of the state of California.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So why did I lean his way -- Because his opponent was ostracized from being CEO of Ebay for activities that would charitably be described as questionable and sounded like Marge Gunderson from Fargo. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Needless to say, it was a lesser of two evils situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As someone who works for the state I was well aware of Brown’s rhetoric about slashing the state budget, but history had shown him to be a friend of education. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly, nobody told me about the Real Housewives style falling out that had apparently taken place sometime between Election Day and the unveiling of the new state budget proposal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now not everyone felt the sting; K-12, armed with an ability to perform non-stop oral copulation on Brown in a manner normally reserved for a Best Of Spank-O-Vision 5000 DVD, has not been touched.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for Higher Ed (Community Colleges, the University of California system, and my little corner of Shangri La, the California State University system), the damage was 1.4 Billion dollars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, B – the same numbers associated with McDonalds customers served.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">CSU’s share of that monstrous sum is 500 million.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Allow me to give you some perspective on this figure (Don’t get too excited at the thought of inside info; these figures can be found in multiple newspaper websites across the state or by performing a Google alert on “California State University”.) In 2009, CSU commenced a 2 year 625 million dollar cut that resulted in belt tightening usually found in a size 32 waist stuck in size 36 jeans, 2 day a month furloughs for all employees for 1 year (Great for catching up with people, lousy for the paycheck) and layoffs that mostly affected management, though a few union employees were let go as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of the belts have been loosened, nor have those positions been filled, thus they are not part of the upcoming budget that now asks for 500 million more in reductions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What did I take from these numbers?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To paraphrase rapper DMX: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Someone’s about to lose their job. Up in here, up in here!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would think such a bombshell would result in an all hands meeting to have a candid discussion about the unavoidable ramifications.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s now been nearly a week with no mention of it in anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like management has taken on the role of The Ministry Of Magic and the budget is Voldemort – That which shall not be named.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not just management either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve attempted to espouse my feelings to co-workers only to have them look at me like Nurse Ratched waiting to lobotomize R.P. McMurphy in One Flew Over The Cukoo’s Nest.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hey, I’m not looking to be the bearer of bad tidings but I also don’t look good with my head in the sand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The evil priestess of life altering change is coming and the “I’m not noticing you” defense isn’t going to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good people are going to suffer and those left behind will be forced into a work overload that will leave them worn out and with sparse time for those they love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And who do I blame for that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ME!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I voted for Governor Moonbeam, only to have him turn into The Gimp and treat me like Marcellus Wallace.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">California – Penny wise, pound foolish.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sign up to follow the blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter: @mrc_truedat</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-74437545967144332822011-01-10T19:22:00.000-08:002011-01-10T19:22:53.273-08:00Starting The Year Off Wrong or Being A Walking Nyquil Ad<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Did you know that being sick sucks?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially when you have teeth rattling shivers normally reserved for a cartoon character in spite of the fact you’re wrapped up tighter than Han Solo during the Hoth sequence of Empire Strikes Back. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This non-stop fever dream leaves a person so devoid of strength and viewing the world through blurred vision they end up doing things like watching 3 Men And A Baby twice in the same day because their dog never ceases to react to the baby, thus providing the only respite from the mind numbing mix lethargic boredom.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How did I get here? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This sorry sequence of sucky sicktitude began the first day back to work after my holiday break. As silly as it sounds, I always get a bit of a kick out of getting ready for the first day of work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It represents a fresh start, a chance to rectify past mistakes, to change people’s misconceptions about me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course this heartfelt optimism goes out the door when I enter my workplace (Known hereafter as The Incubator) and within a few hours begins to feel a shiver that for once is not brought about by the overload of work or certain people I work with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I mention this in passing to a co-worker who I respect, she proceeds to give me the lowdown on people who are recovering from or in the midst of battling a multitude of illnesses. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of these people join in the conversation to provide an unnecessary overview of their ailments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can feel the white blood cells decreasing in me by the moment.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day I return to The Incubator for further frying of my immunity system but can only make it through 2/3 of the way through before throwing in the towel and heading home. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I start to do whatever I can to joust with the aches within.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sit for an extended period in the confines of the steam room at my gym in the hope of sweating out the toxins, but just end up annoyed from listening to two teenagers debate who could stay in the room longer without a drink of water. (Obvious Jersey Shore fans are they.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I come home and take a bath in water as hot as possible while listening to Miles Davis’ Kind Of Blue, but that only throws into my head a yearning to have a voice that sounds like it has partaken in 762,265 cigarettes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I imbibe enough Vitamin C to ensure scurvy will never be an issue in my life, but that just leaves me with the complexion of an Ooompa-Loompa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not going well.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I gut through The Incubator on Friday and settle in for a weekend of becoming a living breathing Pig In A Blanket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is where having a dog is a beautiful thing as my beloved lab B Is Love alternates between laying on my knee and looking up at me with eyes that radiate “Anything I can do daddy?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spend 2 days sucking this in and begin to feel better…then I woke up this morning and feel as I did in the opening paragraph. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I’ll head to bed early tonight and head back to The Incubator in the dim hope that I will finally shake this monstrosity of an ailment and get 2011 going proper. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But first, I’ll have to make room in the Pig In A Blanket – my wife Charger Gal just texted that she’s feeling achy and icky. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sign up to follow the blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter: @mrc_truedat</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-43999448064847418752011-01-05T18:36:00.000-08:002011-01-05T18:38:05.726-08:00Let’s Get Physical Ladies or The Truth About Gym Eye Candy<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black;">To quote David Lee Roth in Ice Cream Man, I'm dedicating one to the ladies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right about now, those of you who made a serious New Year's Resolution to get to the gym are in the midst of your first full week. This means you have discovered the joys of simultaneously cursing your maker of choice for creating the agonizing phrase "physical fitness" while praying to said maker to get you through another 20 minutes on resistance level <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>5.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve also come to realize that the fickle finger of fate always seems to poke a spec of dirt, lint, or eyelash into your eyeball right as you reach the midpoint of said exertion, thus causing you to convulsively blink in a manner reminiscent of Elizabeth Berkley’s sex scene in Showgirls . If you have indeed reached this point, congratulations! It’s now high time to prepare you for the next task in your personal road to better health: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>analyzing your male gym rats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black;">Let's get Carrie Bradshaw about this shall we? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A good portion of you jumped into this odyssey of physicality because you wanted to look better in order to get laid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest of you entered into this out of a medicinal need to improve your interior well being…with an ulterior motive of wanting to look better in order to get laid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As with all situations involving intercourse without procreative intentions, the attainment of carnal pleasure via calisthenics is littered with bad decisions borne out of failing to recognize the meaning behind non speaking cues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Allow this veteran of the gym wars to give you some simple tips to adhere to:</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Any man who continuously grunts in a manner reminiscent of Chewbacca begging Han Solo not to use his blaster in the trash compactor will do the exact same thing while he is atop you, pumping away like gas hurtling toward an empty tank you are no longer certain you want filled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Believe me when I say that you do not have the mental toughness to overcome this no matter how vividly you imagine yourself in the middle of a Brad Pitt-Johnny Depp sandwich.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Any man who has the upper body of Adonis attached to two toothpicks attempting to disguise themselves as legs will have a penis that makes your pocket rocket look like a Big Gulp container.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several female friends have confided this fact to me over the years and attempts to prove me wrong will leave you as unsatisfied as half the Lost disciples after their series finale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Any man who wears a tank top with straps that can double as dental floss has the intellectual capacity of a young Forrest Gump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Ditto any man who wears a weight belt. </span>You can ravage their rippling muscles all you want, but after sharing a meal you will feel like my wife Charger Gal each January after her beloved San Diego Chargers end their football season: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasted my energy on this????</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Any man who looks at himself flexing after every set he completes will never care about you, never appreciate you; it is entirely possible he will not even know your name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only name he will ever shout out in the heat of the moment is his own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>GOD doesn't even have a prayer of escaping his lips during climax.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Any man who over breathes in the steam room like Luka Brasi being garroted or drinks coffee during his work out is highly likely to be equipped with blood vessels so constricted there’s a fairly decent chance he will literally screw himself to death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unless you have a burning desire to be a black window, I’d steer clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Should your sexual proclivities run dark, I suggest the asphyxiation route – same danger/pleasure combo, far less potential for body count).</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Any man who feels compelled to let every patron in the workout area know his feelings about the sport highlight before him will never feel for you under any circumstances what he does for Tom Brady and Brett Favre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not a comment on his sexuality, but rather his inability to put things in their proper perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This will never change -- not even if you are blessed with the oral copulation skills of a first ballot hall of fame pornographic actress. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"> Live fast and true to these guidelines ladies and you could find yourself ending up with Mr. Right and if not…..ah screw it, just find Mr. Right Now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s what everybody else does at the damn gym!</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sign up to follow the blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;">Hit me up on Twitter:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>@mrc_truedat</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 19.2pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 2; text-align: center;"></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-81546819177719402512010-12-31T23:45:00.000-08:002010-12-31T23:45:42.090-08:00A Year Of Milestones or Resolution Time, Resolution Time<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m not much of a New Year’s Eve guy, mostly because I haven’t had a lot of success on the last night of the year. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did the party thing in my younger days of course, but those evenings generally ended up with my face investigating the inner workings of a toilet or lying next to a woman, trying to hide a raging Charlie Horse after having my pass freshly rejected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw Poison and Warrant once (Don’t judge, it was the 80’s), but that ended with a former roommate (who tragically shed his mortal coil this year) attempting to balance on a spike strip, falling the wrong direction, and slicing his foot like Uma Thurman taking out one of the 88 Keys in Kill Bill. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One year my wife Charger Gal was sucked into this vortex of sucktitude as we went to San Diego for her first Charger game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The result:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her favorite player, Drew Brees, had his shoulder decimated, leading to his leaving for New Orleans where he now challenges Jesus and the creator of Gumbo for most popular person in the history of Louisiana. The Chargers were crushed by the rival Denver Broncos, and Charger Gal became deathly ill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now we end the year with our own personal tribute to gluttony:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In-N-Out Burgers and an extra-large bottle of white wine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(You know you’re jealous).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also do our own little year in review with one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(We try to include our dog B Is Love in the proceedings, but the cheeseburger she gets from In-N-Out zonks her out by 9:30.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We also talk about our resolutions for the year ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a significant year for us:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We both turn 40 (Don’t quite look it but feel every bit of it), celebrate our 10 year wedding anniversary (Unless I screw up on a monolithic level, which has been known to happen more than I want to admit), and 5 years of B Is Love being a part of our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such a significant year requires significant resolutions and based on my impeccable track record on resolutions, I have no doubt that at least one of the following has a better than average chance of mostly coming to pass.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Lose 30 Pounds – </b>I know, I know, the oldest resolution there is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because most of us are fat!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m telling ya though, if I accomplish this task, my 1-10 rating shots straight up to 6.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sell A Screenplay – </b>One thing about certain goals; you get to keep listing them until they come to pass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Springsteen once asked “Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true or is it something worse?” This sounds depressing as Hell so I think I’ll just keep dreaming this dream until it does, in fact, come true.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Get A Gig Blogging – </b>Be it freelance or teaming up with a site full time, this is the brass ring for 2011.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve really enjoyed writing for this World Wide Web thing and look forward to doing more of it in the coming year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s the list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll aim to be as observational as Seinfeld, as anti-establishment as Carlin, and as confessional as Pryor with the thoughts and words ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yes, I did just compare myself to three of the greatest comics of all time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One must dare to believe they can fly like an eagle in order to soar above the crowd.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come sign up to follow the blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>@mrc_truedat</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-62514382168988317422010-12-19T18:11:00.000-08:002010-12-19T18:11:17.213-08:00Eviscerating The Christmas Shoes or Making A Sad Song Happy<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was driving with my wife Charger Gal the other day, listening and singing along to the Christmas tunes on the radio (Yes, we’re saps like that).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the speakers of my car began a song that was unfamiliar to my ears, but made my wife explode in the excited proclamation “You gotta hear this song.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes me cry every time.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I myself never get excited by the prospect of being driven to tears, but I respect my beloved’s opinion and listened intently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The song in question was The Christmas Shoes, the tale of a narrator who’s standing in line, not feeling terribly in the holiday spirit until a scruffily attired young boy armed only with a gaggle of pennies explains to the cashier and the narrator that he only wishes to buy a pair of shoes for his gravely ill mother before she meets Jesus tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The narrator is so moved by the child’s plight that he pays for the shoes, thus renewing to himself the true meaning of Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The song ends, and I would be dishonest if I didn’t admit to having a golf ball sized lump in my throat, but I also possess a comedian like need to take the piss out of any situation so I snarkily stated:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And then the kid get to the hospital and finds out his mother is dead.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>To say this comment did not go over well with Charger Gal is equivalent to saying Noah guided his ark through a rough patch of inclement weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the Gods of retribution had it in for me this day, for as we came home and began flipping channels, Charger Gal discovered the TV movie based on the song was just starting (A Hallmark film starring 80’s teen heartthrob Rob Lowe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talk about sticking it in and breaking it off on a guy.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charger Gal proceeded to watch the 2 hour flick (Yes, they stretched a 4 minute song into a 2 hour film) and ended up so emotionally drained it took two hours and multiple glasses of wine to return her to some semblance of normalcy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now call me kooky, but I have this crazy desire to be HAPPY during the holidays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And between the song, the movie, and the post traumatic sadness disorder, that’s 4 plus hours of my life with my wife I’m not getting back. That is unacceptable and thus I must respond.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, for husbands who must endure a morose spouse, for people who wish their Christmas to not be interrupted of its’ Merry, and for the overall greater good, I must now go Ivan Drago and break The Christmas Shoes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Let’s start with the real villain of this song…the kids’ father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The song states that the boys’ clothes are worn and old and he is dirty from head to toe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How about a shower and a new shirt dad? And if, as the little boy states, the mommy doesn’t have much time and could very well meet Jesus tonight, why is the dad letting the kid go out and buy shoes?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shouldn’t the kid be by his mom’s bedside?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Way to go dad! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And just how old is this little bastard?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently he’s not old enough to understand that a crap load of pennies can’t buy you a pair of shoes even at Payless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course if the father was worth anything, maybe he’d give his kid the money before letting him go out and setting him up for failure?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously, isn’t this neglectful Neanderthal due a visit from child services? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Let’s talk about the title object.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does mommy really need a new pair of shoes?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By all accounts it doesn’t seem like she’ll be doing much walking with the precious time she has left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, so now you’re on me to leave the family alone?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fine…how about this scumbag behind the counter?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The little boy tells his tale of woe, the one that moves our narrator to shell out the big bucks for the titular footwear, and the cashier is so unmoved that he/she might as well respond with a W.C. Fields “Go away kid, ya bother me” retort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now you’re probably thinking “At least he can’t say anything to the narrator. Not our bastion of giving and understanding to the true meaning of Christmas.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THINK AGAIN!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are we sure his gesture of kindness isn’t really the ultimate sucker act from one big ruse?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read Oliver Twist, I know how this works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Ok, maybe that’s a bit of a stretch. But it’s December, one can’t help but have Dickens on the mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ooof, that didn’t come out right.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Do you smell that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the stench of retribution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look over at Charger Gal; her mood is much lighter, as if a defense mechanism against ever feeling moved by this piece of music again has been implanted Inception style.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something tells me she’s not the only one.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read? Come sign up to follow the blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>@mrc_truedat</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-57754571993064143122010-12-12T20:55:00.001-08:002010-12-19T21:11:05.864-08:00The 12 Songs of Christmas or Music Not To Slit Your Wrist To<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As is customary this time of year, the music of the season infiltrates our lives in every capacity we can think of:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Commercials feature people with an over/under of 74 ½ teeth displaying fake smiles and a piss poor ability to lip sync. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elevators and department store sound systems take songs that are at best barely tolerable and turn them into mindless musak massacred pieces of soulless synthetic slop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now contrary to the programming of this years’ holiday specific channels, there are holiday songs that exist not sung by the cast of Glee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So in honor of the 12 days of Christmas that represent the homestretch of this season of receiving cleverly disguised as one of giving, I present my personal mix tape of 12 quality Christmas songs for your enjoyment. (Note for the Twihards:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A mix tape is a series of songs with a similar theme that is presented to another person, usually in CD or cassette tape form.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back in the day, this was generally utilized by nerdy soulful types to express affection for females, who usually responded to such gestures with as much appreciation as New Yorkers to a 9/11 joke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that I’d know about such things.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus without further ado…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>12.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">BAND AID</b> “<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Do They Know Its Christmas”</b> – The song from Europe that makes you feel guilty about any success you have in life by a super group of rich musicians. It always gets a listen for hearing which participants still resonate (Bono, rocking the mullet in the video), which you forgot about (Paul Young, also rocking the mullet), and which left you scratching your head (JT from Kool and the Gang?).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, I always find myself singing “Feed them” by the end, which in turn makes me think of Sam Kinison’s iconic Ethiopia bit (NOTHING GROWS OUT HERE!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NOTHING’S GONNA GROW OUT HERE!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>11. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">THE PRETENDERS “2000 Miles” </b>– I find that the older I get, the more I appreciate the soothing hard worn wisdom of Chrissy Hynde’s voice and lyrics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The song is an ode to those who are away during the holidays, thus making it a perfect tribute for the men and women fighting for our country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This opening back to back lament of heartache also underscores the fact that there are SOOOOO many sad songs written about Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do we call it the most wonderful time of the year again? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>10. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">RUN-DMC</b> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“Christmas In Hollis” </b>– Now we’re getting hip and happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember as a teenager that Music Television (Despite all evidence to the contrary, the M in MTV does stand for music) would use this song as a frequent bumper during the holidays <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and why not? It’s such a great jam that will get your head bopping in no time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, your mind can’t help but harken back to the beginning of Die Hard (And why doesn’t that film get brought up in the discussion of great Christmas films? Nothing says Christmas like Bruce Willis, bare feet, and broken glass.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>9. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">Bing Crosby and David Bowie</span> “The Little Drummer Boy/Peace On Earth” – </b>Here’s the 70’s in a nutshell:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the Christmas special this song appeared on, Bowie was whiter than the phony snow on set, and it’s the most normal he had looked up to that point in his career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also proceeded to blow Crosby, only considered to be the greatest American voice until Sinatra came along, completely out of the water in a one-sided display only equaled years later during the Axl Rose-Tom Petty Free Fallin’ duet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bonus:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You Tube the pre song banter between the two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Military fathers and gay sons aren’t this awkward.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>8.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">Relient K</span> “The 12 Days Of Christmas” </b>– And you thought there wouldn’t be any sort of modern music on this list?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The group that answers the question “What would Blink 182 sound like if they were a Christian band?” gives this timeless tale some fresh sounds and asks questions we’ve all thought. (What’s a partridge and what’s a pear tree? /I don’t know so please don’t ask me.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>7.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">Michael Bolton</span> “Our Love Is Like A Holiday” </b>– Yup, Michael Bolton.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The song crystallizes what I imagine musicians who just want to get home for the holidays feel and has a soft, romantic vibe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(And no, it has nothing to do with the fact that I was once a courier who shared an elevator and hung out in a lobby in Universal City with Bolton at his pinnacle and he couldn’t have been a nicer guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing at all.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>6.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-transform: uppercase;">Harry Connick Jr.</span> “Must’ve Been Ol’ Santa Claus” – </b>There’s no doubt in my mind this song was recorded in New Orleans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The jazz vibe just oozes through this tune about a kid who gets to hang with Santa during his annual sleigh ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no tap dance ability whatsoever, but it doesn’t mean Harry and his gang don’t make me want to try. (No matter how scuffed up the floor below me may become.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>5. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">CHUCK BERRY “Run, Run Rudolph”</b> – There have been countless remakes of this song, but none did it better than the Godfather of the Guitar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thing that always stands out is just how clean the solos sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many modern day guitar gods use their tricks of the trade, but Berry always just let the instrument do the talking. (Probably because he had no choice.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus his voice, never technically proficient, is perfect for the playful nature of the tune.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>4. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN </b>“<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Santa Claus Is Coming To Town”</b> – There are countless live recordings of The Boss, but this is the song that completely captures what it is like to see E Street Live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bruce telling the fans a story that doesn’t quite resonate, but is entertaining nonetheless;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The band taking any song put before them and jamming in unison like they’ve been playing it 100 times a day for 20 years; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the uncontrollable joy that manifests itself in the laughter on stage and the smile on your face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That personifies Christmas more than any number of “Ho, Ho, Ho”’s bellowed by the Big Man.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>3. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">THE EAGLES “Please Come Home For Christmas” – </b>Don Henley’s voice has always been a contradiction: soothing beauty swirled with cantankerous admonishment, all hiding the vulnerable pain underneath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That makes it perfect for a tune about a guy marveling in the joys of others around him while asking for his loved ones’ return with more than a hint of edginess. There hasn’t been such a reluctant romantic since Lloyd Dobler held up the boom box in Say Anything. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>2. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">U2 Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) – </b>It’s not Christmas time until the tree is up, Linus has given his spotlight speech on the birth, and I’ve been caught air drumming in the car to the beginning of this infectious two minutes and twenty-one seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bono is in prime voice (and still rocking the mullet) and you’ve never heard a song sound so vibrant when its subject matter is so sad. (AGAIN with the sad stuff!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>1. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">NAT KING COLE</b> “<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Christmas Song”</b> – The Gold Standard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite Spielberg’s attempt to stamp it with tragic overtones in Catch Me If You Can because he can’t get over the fact his parents divorced and he didn’t have a perfect existence (Yeah Stevie, you’re a real ‘effin party of one on that front.), it remains THE song to pour some wine, turn out all the lights except for the tree, curl up on the couch with your wife on one side and your dog on other, and listen to utter cool wrapped in a singular velvety voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that I do know something about.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter: @mrc_truedat</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-48932579514049903602010-12-09T17:48:00.000-08:002010-12-19T21:09:55.666-08:00The Things We Think But Do Not Say or I Love You Stupid!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dependent upon your love for film in general, or more specifically the words of Cameron Crowe, you will recognize the first half of the title above as the name of Jerry Maguire's Mission Statement. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A magnum opus that gets him fired but unexpectedly kicks off his gratifying journey of rewarding self discovery. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When most people think of a phrase of this sort, they usually associate it with negative connotations such as the aspects of a friend or loved ones’ physical features or mental prowess normally reserved for ridicule and disdain. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I see it a bit different. (Kevin Smith is hardly the only person capable of having a view askew.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see <span style="color: #262626; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Things We Think But Do Not Say </span>as representative of our fear from expressing the deep affection we feel for one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think about it for a moment; How often do you hear a person extol the virtues of another with unbridled enthusiasm?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now think about how often the person they are exalting is in the room when they do it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Society exhibits this “He’s a wonderful human being, but don’t tell him I said that.” mentality for a multitude of reasons, almost all of which trace back to the analogous theme of fear. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have become so emotionally fearful in modern day America that if FDR proclaimed the only thing we have to fear is fear itself, a great majority of people would respond by suggesting he attempt to have intercourse with his fecal matter. (People in denial tend to be angry like that.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We fear potential rejection or ridicule when vulnerably looking someone we care for in the eye and telling them what they mean to us because the possibility exists that the reply will be crickets chirping, thus leaving us feeling like a comic who can't get the laugh due to something in their delivery and is now powerless to prevent himself from sweating beneath white hot lights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Conversely, we can tell other people anything and everything about a person we care for, liberated of any potential denial or humiliation and thus free to trip the night fantastic as we wax poetic over the virtues of someone who has carved out a niche in our hearts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You may be getting the vibe that this subject is limited to only the most romantic of situations, but allow me to break into my best Lee Corso impression and state in one singular word “Notsofastmyfriend”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only is that not the case, but I would daresay this happens infinitely more often when the subject is friendship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Put yourself to the test:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many friends have you said "I love you" to directly?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now how many of those same friends have you spoken of in rapturous tones to others and stated, sometimes in so many words, "I love them to death."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the point where you say to yourself in a rationalizing tone: "They know. They <i>have</i> to know after everything we've been through."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take it from someone who early on in life thought he had to always maintain an even strain and learned this lesson the hard way: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes people just want and need to be told what they mean to you as if they have the IQ of Forrest Gump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even a person possessing the most outwardly confident of personality has internal doubt and insecurity that gnaws away at them ever so slightly, waiting for someone to make like Bill Murray at the end of Lost In Translation and deliver a whispering vow of eternal solidarity only they can hear.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Don’t think about style points for they matter not. You don’t need to deliver a Shakespearian sonnet nor do you need to be as melodramatic as a typical character on Grey’s Anatomy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the most heartfelt moments of my life was when my younger brother Excrement looked at me during a New Year’s Eve party and simply said “Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It still makes me smile to this day (Yes, I know nicknaming my younger brother Excrement ruins the emotional punch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What can I tell ya?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He loves the more common vernacular for the word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody said true feeling was perfect.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So take a word from someone who speaks the truth:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look a friend in the eye and speak to them like you would if they weren't in the room. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You won’t be disappointed and may even be surprised by the heartfelt nature of their reaction. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for the warmth that will course through your own veins from speaking in such candid tones, that won’t exactly suck either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to those of you who have come away from this vignette with the observation its nothing more than a self-absorbed plea for the people closest to me to do some expressing of their own… what do you want Sigmund, a cigar? (Sometimes they really are just cigars ya know.)</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come sign up to follow the blog.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>@mrc_truedat</span></span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-86466424709261084552010-12-06T18:07:00.000-08:002010-12-19T21:08:43.823-08:00Why Starbucks Can Suck It or This Tastes Like Coconut<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If you’ve read my blog, you know that I have a major bug up my backside about Starbucks, evidenced by my incessant need to state in a Tourette’s like rant that they can suck it whenever the opportunity presents itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Friends say I sound like a jilted lover when I talk about Coffee Megalopolis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I don’t know why they always have to take their side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where’s their loyalty?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t always this way between us; there was a time where Starbucks and I were thick as Butch and Sundance…and given how things turned out, it makes sense I’d use an analogy of two guys who ended up riddled with more bullets than Sonny Corleone.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We were introduced by my wife Charger Gal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d never given the Java conglomerate with the green lettering a second glance before she led me through their doors. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As she ordered with the glossed over expression of a Stepford Wife, I explained that I wasn’t a hot drink kind of guy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s when she said the words that would alter my life: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They have Frappuccinos.” This ice blended concoction intrigued me enough to give it a shot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And thus I was introduced to what became my signature drink: A Venti Mocha Frappuccino Light, extra-blended, no whipped cream. (I refuse to say the words “No Whip”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may act like a douchebag at times, but I have no desire to be so intentional about it.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I suddenly found myself utilizing Starbucks and their 1,457,692 locations for everything:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meeting with friends, getting out of the house for a walk with Charger Gal and our dog B Is Love, sitting alone to write and people watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How commonplace did it become to see me with this chilled goodness in my hand as the years passed?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Try a hundred dollar a month habit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would deal with any size line or any level of behind the counter incompetence and do so while looking like a smile ridden victim of Nicholson’s Joker in Tim Burton’s Batman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This devotion culminated in a friend of mine giving me a personalized gift card that spelled out my exact order for any fresh faced barista who dared alter the magic elixir.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little did I know that the ultimate sabotage would come directly from the Willy Wonka of Morning Joe.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One day I walked into the Starbucks near work and was regaled with the pronouncement that Frappucinos were now created to customers exact specifications.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t quite get what was so new about this, seeing as how my gift card already performed this task quite satisfactorily. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was told that Coffee Megalopolis no longer delivered pre-packaged Frappuccino mix and that these drinks would now be made from scratch by the workers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now they say you should trust your gut and I have an above average amount of gut to trust, thus my being a big time subscriber to the “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it” adage should have set my Spidey sense into overdrive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But addiction is a monster and mine needed to be assuaged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ordered my drink, retrieved it from the counter, and headed to work before taking my first sip of the new Frappuccino.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">IT. WAS. DREADFUL. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an abhorrent assault on the taste buds that could only have been previously utilized by Jack Bauer to torture terrorists in CTU. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This could not be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It must have been a mistake, a misfire of epic proportion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I returned later that week and ordered again…and again, my sense of taste was overtaken by a tart bitterness that must resemble semi-sweet chocolate mixed with castor oil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it was just this Starbucks that was chockfull of incompetence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began scouring the local stores near my home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One after another, each made my drink from scratch as I waited with frantic anticipation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One after another, each drink was worse than the last, culminating with asking Charger Gal to take a taste (a passive aggressive attempt at retribution for introducing me to such heartache no doubt).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charger Gal’s response was twofold:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That the drink tasted like coconut and it was time for us to make like LeBron and take our talents to Coffee Bean.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Coffee Bean is an admirable substitute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drinks are solid and the local store is a fine place to hang with Charger Gal and B Is Love while reading the paper on a Sunday morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are some drawbacks:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the drinks are a bit more expensive, the baristas have a habit of adding whipped cream no matter how many times I request it not be (Leading me to theorize that every Coffee Bean barista regardless of gender possesses a food fetish behind closed doors), and they charge tax if you enjoy your drink in their facility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How a coffee house executed what the current political administration cannot is beyond my comprehension, but hey, that’s life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As for Coffee Megalopolis, I drive by its stores on occasion…which is to say every 45 flippin’ seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still can’t understand why it had to forsake me in such a way and I continue to harbor a virulent vitriol that I unleash whenever afforded the opportunity. But in those moments where it’s just me and my deepest thoughts, I hope that the day comes when they return to their pre-packaged mixture of ice blended delight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still have the card, just in case.</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-39075628774249843972010-12-02T19:03:00.000-08:002010-12-19T21:07:05.149-08:00Talk Religion To Me or Every Worship Has Its Thorn<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t know… but I know that I don’t know. – Lloyd Dobler<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That line of dialogue, as stated by the protagonist of the seminal 80’s teen flick Say Anything, pretty much sums up my thoughts on religion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By nature, I have a tendency to be decisive on my points of view, but I have always vacillated with regards to religious conviction. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The spiritual side of me has seen the power of faith literally save lives right before my eyes. The pragmatist in me is as cynical as Han Solo with regards to accepting a theology that there’s one all-powerful Force controlling<span style="color: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span>everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This skepticism is brought to the forefront in December; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a month meant to celebrate the birth of the most famous only child in history via our gratitude and appreciation of one another in the fellowship of humanity… assuming we can squeeze in such sentiments between excursions to indulge our worship at the altar of consumerism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Please note:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As you probably just surmised, I’m going Tom Skerritt in Top Gun on this subject: Tough but fair. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve been warned.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It is this type of hypocrisy that sends the scales in my religious perspective tipping downward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mind shifts into overdrive, recalling that while love should be the overriding emotion brought about by worship, NOTHING has caused more death in any lifetime than religion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think I’m wrong?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not a Biblical scholar, but I’ve read the good book enough to know that any literal adaptation of its contents would be rated R for graphic violence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Need something cemented in human history?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Try The Crusades, The 30 Years War, or the founding of a country based on the desperate need of its inhabitants to live in a place that separated church from state. (That would be America for those of you who became confused during the attempted Bush-Palin 21<sup>st</sup> century rewrite.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Need something more recent?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How about an attempted genocide in Auschwitz designed to eradicate an entire people from the planet?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still need something closer to home?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Try a tragic September morning in New York, DC, and Pennsylvania. Face it gang, death in the name of thy creator dwarfs the casualty totals racked up by plagues and pandemics combined. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Speaking of creators, why are there so many?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God, Allah, Bhagwaan, Elohim, Jehovah, L. Ron Hubbard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is there an Omnipotent Hall Of Justice where they all convene to preside over their followers?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, I forgot, the majority of followers are steadfast in the belief that their creator is the only creator and anybody who doesn’t think that will pay a price in the name of said creator, thus returning us to the death by religion theory that started us down this slippery slope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s move on.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I believe there is a time for meditation in cathedrals of our own. – Billy Joel<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The sentiments of the Piano Man bring up another point of contention:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do the most outspoken of followers feel the overwhelming need to dictate how I worship the Lord?(And why do they always seem to do it in front of a camera while collecting money on his behalf?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What happened to the notion of showing your respect and love for your Lord in your own way?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People I have encountered in my life who are amongst the kindest, sincerest, and most comfortable in their own skin are those whose devotion is their own; you would see examples of it in their workspace or home, but never would it be extravagant nor would they attempt to press their personal beliefs upon you. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why does it seem that so few followers find this acceptable? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should I ever succeed enough in life to have my own James Lipton Inside The Actors Studio moment that culminates with the over enunciation of the question “If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m very secure in what the answer will be:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "</span>Just because nobody else understood how you worshipped me doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate it."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sadly, this does not prevent those claiming to be of supremely devout faith from stating in no uncertain terms that anything done to God’s dissatisfaction (i.e. THEIR dissatisfaction) will result in eternal damnation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last I checked we were made in God’s image; have you met a one of us that’s perfect? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Me neither.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s more, if you subscribe to the notion that you must be of a right mind 24/7/365 or risk permanent exile from the Promised Land, then the case can rationally be made that <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>selfless atheists must be the most decent people on the planet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their actions are dictated by an earnest desire to do what’s right rather than borne from dread of repercussions they might receive on the other side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s not to say the non-religious aren’t capable of such rigidity themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s always been ironic to me that John Lennon wrote the lyric “And no religion too”, but broke up the greatest band in history by exhibiting the same “I won’t like you if you don’t do exactly what I want exactly when I want it” sentiments associated with the religious types he condemned in those very words (Come on fellow Beatle freaks, make like Darth to Luke in Empire and search your feelings, you know it be true.) </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the end, for all the ambivalence I feel and all the rational thoughts that would state otherwise, I want to believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it’s just a grown up fairy tale told to console ourselves amid the surplus of pain and hardship we must endure walking our prospective paths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I just need something to explain why a song I haven’t thought of in years magically comes on my radio or when my belief in self crosses the line into over confidence I always seem to trip over my own feet and knock myself back down to Earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I just need to feel there’s something after death besides being a lifetime buffet for earthworms. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe…just maybe…when I’m deep inside my head, asking for protection of the people who mean the most to me and hoping that the goals I’ve set for myself aren’t as unattainable as everyone tells me they are, there’s a voice that will answer:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Life Is A Mystery. Everyone Must Stand Alone. I hear you call my name...and it feels like home.</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come sign up and follow the blog?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>@mrc_truedat</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-65614224588237036522010-11-28T18:13:00.000-08:002010-12-19T21:05:29.896-08:00Setting Up Xmas or You Realize It’s November, Right?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I know Black Friday has been discussed ad nauseum – I even wrote my previous blog on the subject – But there is another tradition that takes place on the day after Thanksgiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It garners no attention in the papers or television, but it transforms my abode into a tribute to the most wonderful time of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Submitted for your approval and entering its eleventh year, the day my wife Charger Gal and I set up Christmas in our home.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’d like to tell you we conduct this transformation at such an early date due to our deep love for Kris Kringle, shiny lights, and the colors green and red, but it’s really based on practicality: We’re both off work and the calendar for December always fills up prior to its arrival.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So with turkey still digesting within my girth and caffeine coursing through my veins due to a run to Coffee Bean (Suck It Starbucks), I begin pulling out the multitude of storage bins in the corner of the garage reserved for holiday cheer.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now at the risk of coming across as self-absorbed, I have always had a fantasy that Vegas<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is fond of setting odds for whether or not I will wrench my back transporting the Christmas bins from garage to house. When we lived in our apartment and I had to climb up and down a narrow flight of stairs to accomplish this task, this was even money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nowadays the distance is shorter but the body is creakier, so call it two to one. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I complete the task without ending up like a retired professional wrestler, much to fantasy Vegas’ chagrin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Charger Gal now begins looking through each bin, inevitably leading to her annual proclamation that something is missing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As she investigates this further, I pop in Elf for its annual viewing and reacquaint myself with Bob Newhart’s hysterical opening monologue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Nobody has ever known how to evoke more gut busting laughter from a stutter as Newhart) The opening credits begin and I turn back to Charger Gal, who has nearly completed to assembling of our fake tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I said fake tree. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw as a child how quickly real trees can go up in flames and destroy property, so feel free to sweep up dead pine needles while waiting for you seven foot match to alight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll be A-OK settling for Charger Gal’s Christmas Tree candle and a slightly off kilter looking oversize phony plant thankyouverymuch.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With the tree complete, our attention now turns to the ornaments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charger Gal has three goals with this process:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Make sure there are enough plush ornaments to hang on the bottom of the tree in case our dog B Is Love gets a hankering to do some unannounced tree rearranging, make sure everything else that goes on the tree is personalized to us and our life, and make sure I don’t break any said personalized objects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are also ornaments whose time has passed, leading Charger Gal to have a Boyz II Men “It’s So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday” moment of remembrance before turning to me and somberly stating “Dump ‘em Michael.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The ornaments are hung on the tree with care, amid hunger pangs that tell us food must soon be fed there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charger Gal and I retreat to the kitchen (singing the “Baby It’s Cold Outside” duet from Elf all the way) to make a couple of plates of leftovers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charger Gal is very specific in creating her leftover plate, ensuring that all components of her feast avoid contact with each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Conversely, I throw everything into my leftover bowl and form a goulash that Bluto Blutarsky would be proud of. (And you wonder why she worries about her sentimental ornaments?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We return to the living room and proceed to set out our Christmas houses, Carolers, snowmen, CD’s, books, and a generous helping of Santas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is done while simultaneously fending off B Is Love from helping herself to our leftover feasts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The final touch of the inside décor is hanging up our initialized stockings. I always place them in C,M,B order in the hopes someone will get the subtle New Jack City reference, but no one ever does. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now we move outside to hang the lights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our relationship’s unorthodox but successful dynamic springs to the forefront as it is Charger Gal who climbs up our made in 1958 ladder and hangs the lights while I hand her clips, hold the ladder steady, and attempt to read the minds of passersby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charger Gal actually gets a kick out of handling the task so I have no problem giving her the moment.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We return inside and settle on the couch to watch Will Ferrell save Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I examine the house, its festive vibe punctuating the completed make over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cuddle with Charger Gal while B Is Love lies at our feet and think to myself how warm and safe this all feels…and how it will all be back to what passes for normal these days in a month. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come sign up to follow the blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>@mrc_truedat</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-18056186239905402482010-11-23T18:11:00.000-08:002010-12-19T21:03:07.991-08:00Black Friday or The Line Starts Where?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Come Thursday evening, when a majority of us are sprawled out in front of the boob tube while allowing the L-Tryptophan to lull us into a food coma of epic proportion, there will be a gathering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will take place in parking lots and in front of closed entrances to giant retail store all across the country and long about the time you and I are waking for our wee small hours of the morning urination deposit, these stores will open to embark upon a madness of their own creation – BLACK FRIDAY.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I didn’t even know what this cavalcade of bargain shopping was until the first year I was living with my wife Charger Gal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember at 4:30 that morning I groggily took in the sight of Charger Gal putting on her shoes, the slightest jiggling of keys captured by my ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I softly asked “What are you doing?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Though I’m fairly certain I included the more common vernacular for intercourse in the middle of the question.) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She kissed me and said she was off to do some Black Friday shopping and that she had always wanted to see what it was all about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She returned 3 hours later, looking as if she had been through the Battle of Hogwarts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Ok fine, she didn’t leave in her Sunday best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No need to get snarky about it.) She regaled me with stories of what she had been through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I listened intently…and went right back to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as I returned to my peaceful slumber, I swore Black Friday was something I would never experience for myself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And then two years ago, I did. (What do you want from me? The economy sucks and it was before I realized most Black Friday pricing can also be found online and the top notch deals are essentially limited to products with a quantity of 2.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I left the house at 7AM, having been warned by Charger Gal that setting out for Black Friday at such time was a mistake before she requested that I please return home with Coffee Bean (Suck it Starbucks).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The morning was foggy; an ominous sign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pressed on, venturing forward to the local strip mall that has within its confines a multitude of retail outlets tailor made for consumer consumption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I don’t know why I just turned into Joe Friday from Dragnet either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Make like Steve Winwood and roll with it.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The cornerstone of this merchandising megalopolis is the trifecta of Toys R Us, Best Buy, and Walmart that occupies a 2 football field stretch along the Northwest end of the strip mall. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pull into the large parking area expecting to have to park a little further back than normal, but there’s no parking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At all. After 20 minutes of motoring up and down the aisles in desperate search for an open spot that is as likely to exist as a Jolie-Aniston sex tape, I remember a little known set of parking spaces behind the Walmart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cross the distance like I’m racing Vin Diesel in The Fast And The Furious. Eureka, one open spot left. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s hit the stores.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I walk around the corner to approach the front of Walmart and am taken aback by the sea of men, women, and children roaming about the front of the store, none of whom are in the frame of mind to drop a verse of Tupac’s I Ain’t Mad At Cha. They curse humanity and deliver rousing damnations of their creator of choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In other words, Black Friday is just like any other day at Walmart, and since I’m not a fan of Walmart any other day, I feel secure in my decision to make like U2 and walk on.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The pavement leading to Best Buy is littered with a plethora of Coke cans, beer bottles, plastic plates and cutlery, and to my astonishment, a turkey carcass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An actual turkey carcass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shake my head, hold my breath, and make my way past the remains of the makeshift feast and into electronic heaven. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take in a store that long ago exceeded the fire code for number of patrons allowed and proceed to make like an NFL running back, darting through and around the customers as each 18 inches of daylight presents itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My best O.J. (pre Bundy and Rockingham of course) turns out to be an exercise in futility, as the things I have come to purchase are all sold out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Defeated, I head toward the exit and pass two men engaged in a heated disagreement over who gets the last cell phone both covet like Gollum over his Precious. These guys probably spent the night sharing turkey and singing Imagine and now find themselves fast approaching fisticuffs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>American consumerism in all its glory.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I walk outside with no desire to even attempt Toys R us and ready to wave the white flag, but I catch out of the corner of my eye the Petco that sits tucked in between the mega powers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is open, near empty, and begging me to spoil my dog B Is Love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I waste no time in doing so and then remember there’s a Sports Chalet further down the strip mall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I drive over and parking is plentiful, the back pack Charger Gal wants is in stock and on sale, and I am rapidly starting to enjoy this whole Black Friday thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I leave the strip mall behind as the fog begins to burn off and head to Office Max.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are out of some merchandise, but have what I’m looking for so life continues to be good.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My last stop is the Target near my home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would think it would be as much of a mad house as the other big name stores I have passed or briefly entered, but things slow down after 8AM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I make my way around the store and study the faces of the employees who have been there since the start of the morning. They look like virgins who have been subjected to a Ron Jeremy film festival.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My good friend Ponyboy has worked at Target for over 20 years and has this face for days after working a Black Friday. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It leaves me scared straight, thanking my lucky stars that retail is not my way to earning a living.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So to quickly recap:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sport Chalet, Petco, and Office Max good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walmart and Best Buy bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope that helps those of you who make this trek to worship at the altar of the almighty deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no plans to join you this year…but I do get the ads emailed to me in advance, just in case.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read? Come sign up to follow the blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on twitter at mrc_truedat</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-57621602235192303302010-11-21T18:23:00.000-08:002010-12-19T21:00:34.279-08:00A Walk Around The Block or I Didn’t Need Those Shoulder Blades Anyway<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It always starts the same way:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She approaches me and sets her head on my knee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looks up at me with big blue eyes that scream “Take me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She playfully opens her mouth, sticks her tongue out, and softly pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can never resist her charms, no matter how tired or busy I am, nor do I want to.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That is the prelude to every walk I take with my dog, B Is Love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(What did you think I was describing perv?)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Once I have committed to this neighborhood excursion, the first thing I have to accomplish is getting B Is Love’s harness on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sounds easy enough, except B Is Love approaches it like a MMA fighter performing a punch avoidance exercise. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I end up in a sweat and she ends up growling with delight and my incompetence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I strap on my iPod as we walk through the backyard and enter the garage. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>B Is Love paces before the garage door with the fervent anticipation of a prisoner being released from solitary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We just bathed in sunlight 10 seconds ago but you’d swear she hadn’t caught a speck of it in a month. This plays into my Larry David level of neuroses about being a bad dog owner so I grab my garage door opener and click. The door opens and B Is Love immediately ducks underneath, leading to my daily 15 seconds of petrification as I wait for the door to open high enough for my stuffed Irish pig behind to squeeze through while thoughts of what would happen if today was the day the door decided to malfunction and separate Breezy and I dance through my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Electricity comes through again however and B Is Love and I are off.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We start off down the back alley leading to the neighborhood, unintentionally instigating the high pitched bark of the Chihuahua in the house across from us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>B Is Love glances with derision at this desperate to be adopted by Paris Hilton, no quiero Taco Bell rat dog that’s the size of the toys she loves to run around the house and chew into oblivion and moves on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We come to the end of the alley where the holding mechanism on B Is Love’s 26 foot leash comes in handy to keep her from running up to the passing cars and introducing herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We cross the street – I never get tired of watching her legs move with the expediency of the Road Runner after foiling Wyle E. Coyote – and we begin the walk in earnest.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With no further crossing of streets, B Is Love breaks into her walking strut, a cross between a peacock and John Travolta and the beginning of Saturday Night Fever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I embark on my own walking boogie woogie wonderland of oblivion thanks to the tunes jamming from the iPod, but this momentary aversion from reality and all its imperfections is brought to a screeching halt the moment B Is Love comes across her first squirrel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next few moments<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>unfold as follows: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The squirrel taunts her like Floyd Mayweather Jr. at a press conference, B Is Love takes off after the squirrel in a frenzy, and my wanna be fifth Beatle singing self gets his shoulder pulled from his socket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>B Is Love never catches the squirrel (Much to my relief) and I rotate my arm in a reminder of why I never need to do shoulder specific exercises at the gym. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now we settle into the smelling and peeing portion of the walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, B Is Love engages in a sniffapalooza that entails more starting and stopping than the 405 freeway during rush hour, culminating in her discovering a preferred territory marker and unloading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now while I find urination to be an agreeable feeling, I must say that I don’t partake in the unadulterated pleasure that B Is Love gets from it: Her joyful eyes and broad smile lead to kicking the freshly sprayed grass into the environment for all to share.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We press on and come across a house with a cat residing in the front yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would think the appearance of a feline would have me prepping my shoulders for another workout, but against all laws of nature, B Is Love just likes looking at the cat as if her appearance is a symbol that all is right with the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is, as Bill Murray described in Ghostbusters, dogs and cats living together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The same cannot be said for the Husky/Akita mix we come across on the back end of our walk that always growls from beneath its fence like the living embodiment of Metallica’s Thing That Should Not Be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>B Is Love makes like Rocky after Mr. T. incites him, thus requiring me to restrain her with all my might while wondering how so much strength can be packed into 70 pounds.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The walk comes to an end and I reopen the garage door to find my wife Charger Gal has come home in our absence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>B Is Love becomes excited and as soon as I undo her harness, she takes off to give her mommy some love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walk in and take a seat on the couch, a touch bummed that being the one to take her around the neighborhood doesn’t warrant such warmth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rationalize to myself that’s life and reach for the remote, but am met by B Is Love’s gaze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We lock eyes and she delivers a series of licks across my face that leaves us looking like Fred Flintstone and Dino.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smile brightly at my friend as I rub her belly in appreciation of the silent thank you that never fails to warm my heart and remind me it is the simplest gestures that are often the most profound.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please sign up to follow the blog</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>@mrc_truedat</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-56758851593799488932010-11-17T18:37:00.000-08:002010-12-19T20:59:29.454-08:00A Sunday Baptism or They Do What With The Water?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Why is it that whenever a person who fails to frequent church finds themselves standing next to one their nervous energy goes into overdrive?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My wife Charger Gal informs me that my best friend Cowboy Jelly is showing all the signs:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hands in the pockets…The rigid posture…The tense shifting back and forth…The inability to look any direction but downward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like a child awaiting punishment. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought this was God’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now granted, if you take the rationale that every church is a home for the almighty, you’ll quickly realize the big man has a jones for real estate that would put Donald Trump to shame. (And no taxes to boot.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that aside, there’s just no reason for Cowboy Jelly to be like this.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I’m gonna tell him that…just as soon as I’m able to loosen my posture, unglue my hands from my pockets, figure out how to look upward, and stop rocking back and forth like Tom Cruise on Oprah’s couch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look, my relationship with God is complicated (We’ll get there in a blog someday…TRUST ME) but this day isn’t about me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend Only Child is having his daughter baptized and I’m here to share in the blessed event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So Charger Gal, Cowboy Jelly, his freshly minted fiancée Dorothy Gale (Named for her affinity for the state of Kansas), and myself venture into the church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dorothy Gale is the only one amongst us who thinks to go dip in the holy water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I consider whether that makes the rest of us heathens, my eyes gaze upon a throne at the front of the church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is ginormous and completely looks like something Joel Osteen yearns to conduct a sermon from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I glance about the church, taking in the other children dressed to the nines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also take in their mothers;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it’s clear based on their looks and attire that a couple of them have previously spent time in this church confessing to sins I only wish I had assisted them in committing during my single days.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My impure thoughts are broken by the arrival of the minister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s a regal looking man of the cloth whose appearance is a cross between Father Christmas and Floyd the Barber from the old Andy Griffith Show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He motions us to head toward the rear of the church, which confuses me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every baptism I have ever viewed took place in the front of the church, the better for the minister to do his best impression of John Lithgow in Footloose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(HE IS TESTING US!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But despite my discombobulated state, I venture back.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The back of the church has open doors leading to a small white room, the centerpiece of which appears to be a beautiful birdbath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I wonder how our feathery friends could make their way inside to use such a lovely watering hole, I overhear others state this will be utilized for the affusion, a process where water is poured over the infants heads to signify the baptism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>E me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It hits me that this is a far better way to perform the service:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each entourage can make their way into the small space and observe the baptism without the prying eyes of strangers who have no vested interest in the child in question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m on a roll with misconstruing each step of this process, thus Father Floyd the Barber Christmas asks all of us to fit into the small room. (Why utilize a room that could house King Kong when everyone can squeeze into a space usually reserved for people with hot plates? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh yeah, the birdbath.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My posse and I stand just outside the room, but with a perfect view of the birdbath, Only Child, his wife The Perfect Teeth (named for her pearly whites that Hollywood stars could only hope to obtain) and our girl of the hour, Mellow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only do mommy and daughter look radiant, but Mellow is so chill in her dad’s arms that she effortlessly twirls her legs in different directions the way John Belushi could maneuver his bee antennas to move in multiple directions. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now Father Floyd the Barber Christmas raises his hands and I’m convinced he’s about to refer to me as a friend, Roman, or countrymen and ask me to lend him my ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ceremony begins and Mellow has her moment of affusion that she handles with graceful aplomb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The conclusion of the affusion is immediately followed by Only Child’s parents breaking for the exit like Usain Bolt in the 100.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have to do final prep for the post baptism party and as the next child begins to bellow tears normally reserved for the acoustic heart of a Target, I wonder if they need assistance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My eyes turn back toward the festivities when they freeze on the sight of Cowboy Jelly checking his phone for football scores with the subtleness of Kobe hiding disdain for Shaq.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grab his hand; tell him it’s wrong, wonder why he has to be so selfish that he can’t let one Sunday of football pass by for his friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, that’s when my eyes catch Charger Gal doing the exact same thing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oy Vay. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Yes, I went Jewish during a Christian ceremony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do you ask?)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I turn back and see Father Floyd passing out candles to each of the parents that each child attempts to grab like they are well lit toys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I settle in for the rest of the service while silently pondering the odds of the church turning nto the Universal Studios Backdraft exhibit.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At least there’s plenty of water in the birdbath.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please take a moment to sign up to follow the blog.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>@mrc_truedat</span></div></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-38540794713351478412010-11-14T18:14:00.000-08:002010-12-19T20:58:09.801-08:00A Trip To Costco or Get Your Free Samples!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It is 9:59 on a weekday morning. I find myself grasping a supersized shopping cart that I instinctively use as protection to remain separated from a large group of people. They surround unopened double doors like sinners with attention deficit disorder, awaiting entrance to a confession they can only articulate via unintelligible babble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They grip similar carts to my own, only theirs contain children who pierce the morning air via lungs capable of sounds no human ear should be forced to withstand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doors open and the masses huddle in to hand over money via the collection plate of multiple cash registers.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It is 10 AM and I am in front of a Costco at opening time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What the Hell happened to my life?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This is hardly the first time I have entered this tribute to merchandise sold in bulk quantity; I’m usually here with my wife Charger Gal, just so I have someone to cling to as I work my way through the horrors within.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I was off and wanted to be the good husband so I volunteered to go it alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course the 54<sup>th</sup> regiment volunteered at the end of Glory and look how it turned out for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So with deep breaths normally reserved for the practice of tantric sex, I move forward.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The first thing I always notice is how it is mandatory I have my membership card out upon entrance, yet nobody ever wants to look at it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I admit it’s not the best picture I’ve ever had taken of myself, but it’s not Lindsay Lohan after an all-night bender either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet there’s the greeter (normally old and bored or young and full of ADD) looking every which way but toward my black and white, half-smiling visage while stating a pleasant “Good morning” to nobody in particular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shake off the hurt from the rejection of my pearly black and white and move into the store, passing the registers manned by employees and managers who smirk at this initial sea of humanity like Tom Hanks waving his cap while cursing fans under his breath in A League Of Their Own.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I can’t blame them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend Mr. Incredible (named for his striking resemblance to the lead character from my favorite Pixar film) works for Costco and has told stories of self-absorption that would make the Housewives of Beverly Hills blush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People walking in with half-eaten pies and demanding a refund under the assertion the pastry didn’t taste very good...then sticking their hand out in expectation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People throwing titanic temper tantrums over false claims of price differentials that wouldn’t cover the cost of 10 minute parking in downtown LA…in the 70’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s nobody I know who has lost more faith in his fellow man during the course of his 30’s due to job experiences than I have…but if I’m playing amateur psychologist (and not even staying at a Holiday Inn last night to do so), I’d bet Mr. Incredible isn’t too far behind me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Of course, you don’t need to have a friend working the inside to notice the insane tunnel vision of Costco customers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve long maintained that the greatest NBA defensive team in history roams their aisles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’ve ever been in one, you’ve seen them. Their carts are always stopped long ways; their arms are forever extended as if eagerly anticipating measurement on their wingspan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They directly block the front of the freezer door containing the chicken breasts you wish to purchase, uncertain if this is the brand they want even though it’s only brand there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They wander around the liquor section asking no one in particular if the white wine bottle in their hand is a good red.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They ogle you with an unnerving Stepford Wife stare that illustrates the lights aren’t on and nobody was ever home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course, they partake in free samples.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Free samples are to Costco what Adam Sandler’s attempts at drama are to his box office record; they seem like good ideas in theory, but ultimately lower the success of a body of work that really wasn’t all that great to begin with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have seen people become so exasperated by the human artery clogs that are the free sample hubs they abandon their half-filled carts and walk out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the bright side, these people are replaced by individuals who have no other purpose but to peruse and indulge upon said hubs. (Because paying customers replaced by freeloaders is always a combo for business success)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My BFF Cowboy Jelly proudly states that the Costco free samples are the cornerstone of a healthy, nutritious weekend lunch – He’s also heavy set and cheap, so take that pronouncement for what it’s worth. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The newest part of this cherry on top of the warehouse shopping sundae is that sample servers now call out to every person that passes by like a carnival barker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They used to catatonically stand like the living mannequins on Santa Monica’s 3<sup>rd</sup> Street Promenade and much like those performers only moved when money was presented to them, samplers only moved when customers partook of their treats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now they’re PT Barnum and every single person that passes by is their next sucker born every minute.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the end, I weather the malaise, reach the register and exchange an emphatic glance with the checker that really doubles as a chance for me to silently plea “I’m not them!” (She wasn’t buying, I couldn’t hold it against her.), make my way to the attendant who delivers a scan of my purchase and marks my receipt with a long pink line that indicates I’m not a crook, and I am free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I move toward my car and breathe in the air of freedom. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Free of the people hopelessly attached to large quantities at fair prices. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it hits me… I’ve got a ton of photos to develop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Take a guess who has the best prices?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please take a moment to sign up to follow the blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>@mrc_truedat</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-27305475932117663932010-11-11T08:11:00.000-08:002010-12-19T20:56:16.123-08:00The Writing Process or Stop Blinking At Me Wretched Cursor<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was meant to write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The way George Carlin was meant to do stand up, Steven Spielberg was meant to direct, and John Lennon was meant to have incredibly crappy taste in Asian women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chevy Chase once said that when you discover what you are really good at, it comes to you rather naturally; no doubt referencing his uncanny ability for picking lousy scripts post Fletch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Writing does come rather naturally to me – always has.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is built into my very fiber of being and I am at my most confident and free when I am in the midst of stringing together words, phrases, and ideas in intelligent, clever ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never snorted cocaine or shot heroin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I only took ecstasy once in the hopes of improving my bond with the girl I had just started dating at the time. (All it gave me was one mind numbing headache, much like she did during our tumultuous time together).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet I can’t imagine any of these narcotics or stimulants holding a candle to this creative addiction for which I have neither the methodology nor the desire to find a cure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So then why in the Hell am I staring at a blank screen?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>While it is true that writers can be procrastinators of the highest order (I have cleaned yards, rearranged garages, and walked dogs and children across the greater San Fernando Valley to be a member of good standing in the order of dawdling), it’s not for lack of ideas – quite the opposite. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A writers’ antenna is wired to transcribe in entertaining detail life experiences both exotic and mundane, resulting in a logjam of concepts that constantly fight for release from the mind like NBA centers positioning themselves for a rebound. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything is in play…and EVERYTHING is daunting. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if you’re afraid, buy a dog. (And there’s my dog now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look, she needs a walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll be back later.}</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So seriously, what happens once one of these embryonic conceptions breaks through the whirlwind and carries its way from the brain to the computer screen via the stroking of the keyboards?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have to make like Ferris Bueller and take the Ferrari out for a spin…assuming it is, in fact, a Ferrari.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like it or not, as you begin to expand on the thought, far more of your ideas will turn out to be Pearl Jam post 1990’s than Pearl Jam first three albums. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hard to decipher or admit when something of your creation is garbage, but much like Andy in Shawshank, you too must crawl through a river of excrement in order to come out clean on the other side, armed with an idea that’s worthy of expansion. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But how do you expand it in a way that delivers what you are trying to say and does so in an entertaining manner?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This part is much like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, looking down at her atrophied limbs and stating over and over again “Wiggle your big toe.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because once you answer that question, the hard part’s over…and now you start cooking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The idea takes shape, expands, binds the points you want to make together, and opens itself up to humorous anecdotes and snarky one liners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before you know it, you’ve completed your piece.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yeah, if you consider completed how you felt when the screen went black on the final episode of The Sopranos.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My ultimate goal in life is to be a screenwriter and if writing is rewriting, than screenwriting is rewriting and rewriting…..and rewriting and rewriting and rewriting some more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There no doubt comes a point that no matter how big a fan of your work you are (and make no mistake, you better damn well be your biggest fan) even you cry out “IT’S JUST EXPOSITION!!!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it’s what you must do to get it right. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finally the moment comes where you have completed your work, taking it from beginning to end with the precision of a car collector rebuilding a ’65 Mustang from scratch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are proud, as well you should be. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You look forward to showing it to people, secure that they too will appreciate its brilliance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only thing is, everybody’s a critic and everybody’s got their opinion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Professionals call them notes; friends call them “I didn’t really like when…” And you know what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More times than not, they’re right…which means you’re going through the whole arduous process again Bunky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And you know what happens while you’re going back through the looking glass?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Another embryonic conceptions breaks through, and you find yourself right back in front of a blank screen, trying to make something else come to life and wondering <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>how you‘re ever going to juggle so many thoughts simultaneously.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How do you think I ended up creating a blog while rewriting scripts?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please sign up to follow the blog.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>@mrc_truedat</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-29792485779514536442010-11-07T16:18:00.000-08:002010-12-19T20:52:56.085-08:00Bringing People Together or Let’s Throw A Party<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Raise your hand if you love a good party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would imagine everyone would lift their appendage in agreement to such a sentiment. (Though you do realize you’re raising your hand in front of a computer screen right?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Raise your hand if you love to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">throw</i> a good party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not so many of you eager to throw your hands in the air and wave ‘em like you just don’t care is there?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now don’t write it off to the hand/computer screen tease above; a lot of people simply have neither the time nor the inclination to host as it requires two commitments most of us would rather avoid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, one must thoroughly clean their home inside and out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For most of us, this task is analogous to having a proctology exam performed by the Gimp from Pulp Fiction. Second, you must put your home, and by extension yourself, on display for judgment from others. Friends, friends of friends, neighbors wondering what the Hell is going on and why weren’t they invited, etc. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throwing a party is chock full of obstacles that Indiana Jones would have trouble negotiating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My wife Charger Gal and I, however, are not afraid.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cleaning tasks for Charger Gal and I are fairly spread out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I handle the outside; this includes mowing lawns and sweeping leaves into piles while my iPod blares at volumes surely causing more hearing loss than the plethora of heavy metal concerts I attended in my teenage years. This is followed by utilizing an outdoor vac that makes me look as close as I’ll ever get to a Ghostbuster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charger Gal handles mopping floors and all kitchen related activities while singing along to her iPod. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her voice is decent, but tends to go one octave above her song of choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We switch off inside vacuuming and cleaning the rooms but she rids the couch of dog hair while I clean the bathrooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’d think this deal would clearly favor Charger Gal, but our beloved black lab B Is Love sheds her fine coat with such frequency that I’ll take scrubbing residual pubic hair and fecal specs and chalk it up as a draw.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now comes the most important part of the entire behind the scenes process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The activity that without question separates “This party rocks!” from “Maybe next time.” Charger Gal’s nap. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A happy cook is a well prepped cook so while Master Chef Charger Gal peacefully slumbers; her dutiful Sous Chef extraordinaire gets everything ready to roll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charger Gal awakens and strides into the kitchen, ready to perform culinary miracles. I make my exit and retreat to the comfort of the DVR.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This lasts until the inevitable moment that a fury of expletives is released from the kitchen, signaling that I will be taking a trip to the market to pick up a missing key ingredient needed for one of the appetizers for the party. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Upon my return, the guests begin to arrive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are all greeted by B Is Love’s best impression of Dug the Dog, jumping up on them and proclaiming “I have just met you and I loooove you!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charger Gal and I have tried keeping her down from people and time has certainly mellowed her, but she loves guests and isn’t afraid to show it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s better than a bite in the ass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The guests make their drink requests, take a seat, and relax.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now the old saying goes “It’s not a party until something gets broke.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At our house, it’s not a party until B Is Love shocks someone into reflexively lifting their glass before encountering her tail o’ doom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This canine attachment only whips across our coffee table a couple of times, but does so at speeds normally reserved for Gulf Coast Hurricanes that FEMA fails to pay immediate attention to so drinker beware. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>B Is Love mellows and the vibe turns decidedly chatty; people who have never met get to know one another, people from different avenues of my life catch up on what’s new since the last time they saw each other at a previous party. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take a moment to step back from the festivities and gaze at the panoramic view of the people I am so fortunate to know happily coexisting in one place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is my favorite activity of any party we throw and I revel in it like Tony Soprano savoring a stogie.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This mental photograph gives way to the taking of actual photos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Candid shots, group shots, couples shots, B Is Love jumping on people shots, and harmlessly risqué poses while grinning like a Cheshire cat shots. You would think this compulsive need we have for taking pictures would necessitate a secret photo lab, but it doesn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We just like to have memories of everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Charger Gal and I are 75, holding hands, and swinging in a rocker on the front porch while drinking lemonade spiked with some sort of alcoholic chaser, we’ll have these photos to serve as the touchstones of our lives and the people we shared it with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes, I know this is starting to border on a melancholy Daniel Stern voiced Wonder Years monologue, but what can I say?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the smartest of smart asses has a maudlin moment now and then.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like what you read? Sign up to follow the blog and tell your friends.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on Twitter: @mrc_truedat</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-39252050690441398132010-11-04T20:08:00.000-07:002010-12-19T20:49:05.553-08:00Born To Stop or A User’s Guide To L.A. Traffic<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I hate traffic.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Let me repeat that, because psychiatrists feel you should always repeat things you feel passionately about (or so I’ve been told): <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I. HATE. TRAFFIC.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So why do I have a job that’s 50 miles from my home?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I’m an idiot?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I have some deep seeded need to inflict pain upon myself?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes and yes, but that’s neither the point nor the explanation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I took the job, I was 3 months into being laid off and was offered a gig with a 15% raise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s hard to turn down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now its 8 years burning down the road and I’m still schlepping my cookies back and forth each day across the expansive reach of greater <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Los Angeles</place></city>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do it because…well have you read about the current economic climate in <state w:st="on"><place w:st="on">California</place></state>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re deeper in debt than the combined worldwide grosses of Batman, Lord Of The Rings, Star Wars, James Bond, and Captain Jack Sparrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re the Pictionary definition of the guy from Monopoly with his shoulders shrugged and his pockets turned out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When your home state is in that kind of dire straits you stick with the devil you know.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now traffic is not to be confused with driving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I actually don’t mind driving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s something liberating about jumping in a car, cruising down the highway, and allowing a multitude of thoughts to roam free until they organically meld into the formation of ideas that clarify life, jokes, and blog topics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Traffic is altogether different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Traffic is a soul crushing excursion that seeps the life out of you in a manner reminiscent of a colon cleanse performed by Harry Potter’s Dementors. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you combine John McCain’s sadness upon realizing what he was in for by choosing Sarah Palin as a running mate with Dirk Diggler’s desperation during the Church Parking Lot sequence in Boogie Nights, you have a starting point for what sitting in <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">Los Angeles</place></city> traffic feels like.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The first thing that occurs when I hit traffic is the grinding of my teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It started as a subtle tick that I didn’t notice and grew to a point that I began to file down my teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This perpetuated a trip to a dentist, who fit me for a form fitting mouth guard that cost 500 bucks out of pocket and lasted a whole month before I unintentionally snapped it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I just incessantly chew gum like Violet in Willy Wonka.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It works most of the time, is much cheaper, and I have yet to turn into a blueberry.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now the dull discomfort of the left knee begins. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a recent occurrence stemming from years of the appendage being stuck in the same bent position, day in and day out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s always followed by attempts to stretch the left leg back and forth to get blood circulating again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re not terribly successful, probably because I’m attempting to perform the task in the contained space of a car. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All it really winds up doing is causing the knee to crack with the repetition of Chinese water torture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The right knee never has this issue as it’s too busy performing the vehicular equivalent of dancing’s <date day="2" month="1" w:st="on" year="2003">1-2-3</date>: Brake-Gas-Brake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On occasion, the cracking knee and grinding teeth are capable of symmetrically combining to transform me into a virtual one man band of rhythmic harmony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In these moments of self created docile tones, I take it upon myself to catch up on some kegel exercises.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t be surprised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any man worth his salt performs these non pharmaceutical performance enhancers with regularity, especially if you’re a guy on the cusp of putting the 30’s in your rear view mirror.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For all you know, I may have just ripped off a set of 50 while typing this paragraph…I’m just saying.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>While this internal whirlwind of activity occurs, I’m alert to keep a keen eye on the vehicle operators around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are many types of drivers that come into view during my trek and when you’ve been doing it as long as I have, you can capture everything via the subtlety of your peripheral vision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here are a few examples of what’s out there:</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Guy With The 500 Yard Stare</span></b><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> - He’s most likely to either break out a gun and retrigger the freeway shooting craze in <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">L.A.</place></city> or break into hysterical tears as if watching Field Of Dreams for the first time on the day his father died.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Singers </span></b><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">– They are blessed with all the passion of I Will Always Love You Whitney but possess the driving skills of Crack Is Whack Whitney</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Cell Phone Users </span></b><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">– Those drops in the bucket fines only serve to raise these peoples crank factor, considering 99.9% of all cell phone users seem to be pissed off at whoever they’re talking to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Seriously, when is the last time you saw someone on a cell phone in a car happy?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they hit a dead zone, they seem to believe bringing your cars together can provide uber coverage.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Self Converser </span></b><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">– Unlike cell phone users, these people are talking to nobody. Loudly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their wrath generally seems to focus on spouses, co-workers, or God for blessing them with the ability to procreate. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They will complete their thought across as many lanes as necessary and, much like DeNiro told Pacino in Heat, you will not get in their way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not for one second.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Of course, there is a group of people who need their own delineation: The Motorcyclists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know, those people piloting two wheels of fury who must announce their presence with the rev of an engine so pervasive that it could wake the dead…in Japan…who died in Samurai times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now in the name of fairness there are some motorcyclists who will give you a wave of thanks if you move over to give them an easier path to pass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of them however prefer to whiz from side to side, passing cars with the expediency of a pinball and doing so through a space that could fit anorexic Siamese twins…if they were on a diet. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s far too many of them who still think they’re </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">too sexy for their helmets</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> and it’s always a 50/50 proposition that your side mirrors will escape unscathed.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But if I survive this living Donkey Kong screen known as the L.A. freeway system, I pull into a parking spot at my place of business and breathe deeply. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, it’s right about the time I finish exhaling that I realize in just 9 short hours, I’ll be out there again.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hit me up on twitter: @mrc_truedat</span></div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520932246016545763.post-62656605125724936552010-11-01T12:41:00.000-07:002010-12-19T20:48:17.788-08:00It’s Election Time Charlie Brown or Good Grief, These People Again?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There are 4 truths to any election cycle:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mail carriers will gain 10-15 pounds of muscle due to the myriad of propaganda pieces they must carry every day. TV ads will air ad nauseam and leave you with your thumb on the mute button like a gunfighter ready to draw. The phone will incessantly ring, leading you to yell at it to stop even though it’s an inanimate object. Gas prices will fall in the 2 weeks leading up to election day. (3.13 on October 15<sup>th</sup>, 3.03 this morning)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If you live in California like I do, you’re probably yelling at the computer (Much like the phone, an inanimate object) to add to that list the following:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The candidates suck!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look, I’ve bemoaned on record via Facebook for over a month that we should all go the Brewster’s Millions route and vote “None of the Above”, but that was a movie, and not even a very good one. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re stuck with these people. You know it, I know it. Of course this doesn’t stop every blowhard on every political show, local and national, from espousing with ferocious intensity their castigation of the candidate from the opposite party, followed by a passionate defense of the candidate their joined in political lockstep with. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We can be just like these blowhards, but with a twist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously, they can sooth their fragile egos with half assed, mostly made up proclamations about who they are all they want, but there’s nothing superior about their mental acumen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We could do exactly what they do, and I say we can do it better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s how:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-Grab a box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any box will do as long as it can hold your weight.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-Write in front of the box in big bold letters the word SOAP.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-Stand on box.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-Espouse your viewpoint with ferocious intensity</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">See?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We rock!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now that we’re up on this box, how about we do some espousing? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m a registered Independent, which means that during the election cycle, both parties court me like I’m the hot chick at the school dance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll be honest; having never been hot or a chick, it’s rather flattering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But much like what attractive women have to go through in life, the attention is ultimately disappointing because the big men on campus eventually have to open their mouths, rendering their attention unfulfilling and unwanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(It’s just so hard for us to find a good man isn’t it ladies?)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Being Independent also means I have the audacity to reject conventional thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never understood the pack mentality that dictates you must support someone, even if your instinct says they are awful, simply because they have D or R in parentheses next to their name. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I actually believe it’s conceivable to be liberal on some issues and conservative on others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, I do not smoke pot nor am I gay, but I’m completely in favor of legalizing marijuana and gay marriage. I also strenuously support abortion and a woman’s right to choose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Conversely, I’m all for capital punishment and believe that the moment someone forcibly enters your home, you should be able to kill them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, kill them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Oh look, it’s the bleeding heart liberal thought balloon you all had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just popped.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know, you’re silently saying to yourself, “That’s rather politically schizophrenic of you.” Yes it is, but at least it’s consistent on the matter of life and death. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have you looked at our two party system when it comes to abortion and capital punishment?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Republicans will do everything possible to ban abortion, citing what a crime it is to take an unborn life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the moment that fetus is exposed to smog infested air and does so much as jaywalk, they want it injected and gassed and fried and marched before a firing squad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s try the other side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Democrats are all for babies dying at any point for the duration they are in a woman’s womb, but the moment that child is out and proceeds to live a life of such violent depravity that Hannibal Lecter would hiss “That’s disgusting Clarice.”, somehow Mike Farrell ends up on every news show known to man pleading for a permanent stay of execution.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Who’s schizophrenic now?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Look, I’m not going to share my candidates of choice, mostly because they’re not my choice as much as they are the ones I consider to be the lesser of two evils.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I plan on approaching the ballot box with a clothespin pinching my nostrils shut same as most of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if I may be so bold, let me ask one thing of each of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">VOTE.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It doesn’t matter if you play Eenie Meanie, Minie, Mo, mark C on everything like it's an old school Scantron test, or find a way to write in Batman and Sue Sylvester. Just don’t shirk it off because you had a long day, you think the line will be too long, or you think it won't make a difference anyway.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because too many people who you and I never met made the ultimate sacrifice for us to still have the right to be able to do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If for nothing else than as a tribute to them, we should all make our way to the local fire house or church and punch a few circles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They gave up a Hell of a lot more than a night’s TV.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(And the TV won’t be any good anyway because it’ll all just be election coverage.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Viewpoints espoused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can somebody help down from this box?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
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</div>Michael Clydehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02694092560581827103noreply@blogger.com6