Snarky musings from the shadows

Local Laryngitic Leper Alarms Barista

2009-12-14T06:11:00.001-08:00

Speaking of shutting me up, I seem to have lost my voice. Professionally, not a good thing. I sound like a dolt when croaking out orders for my team. It sounds like sort of a cross between a difficult puberty and a ghostly haunting. . .

My local baristsa seems to think it may be contagious, she now utters "Dios mio" whenever I arrive in her line for my morning pickup. I have tried to allay her germy fears, but alas, my throaty utterances only make it worse, so my charming assurance, "Really, I'm not contagious" comes out sounding like "You will die in three days time. . ."

Looking at it from a strictly cynical wit point of view, losing my voice is not necessarily a bad thing. For the moment, it helps keep my acidic musings in check for when my "appropriate comment" filter is overloaded with all the neat things I could say, but shouldn't.

I hate being sick. It seems like more often than not this last year. On the plus side, I can still scribe dazzling titles to my posts, (maybe I should be on staff at the New York Post) which tells me I still got a little life left in me. . .

SA

How to shut Sarcasm Abounds up

2009-12-10T06:59:00.000-08:00

A dinner at Morimoto last night, too much wine and Japanese cocktails, preaching on about the future of search marketing , blah blah blah. . . Apparently a little known effect of combining those two liquors together can turn Sarcasm Abounds into a self-righteous zealot.

I talked until I was hoarse, and now my voice has been reduced to a husky, Kathleen Turner-esque timbre to it at the moment.

Great.

Collini out.

Google Real time search works!

2009-12-09T12:31:00.000-08:00

Well, well. It works as advertised:

Less than 5 minutes to show at top of results. I find that impressive. You know what this means, my sarcastic niblets. . .

I can saw what I want and broadcast to a global audience in real time!

Hello Readers.

2009-12-09T12:16:00.000-08:00

Ok, I admit, it's been awhile. It's not that I don't have anything snarky to say, it's just that I have a lot of other stuff do do now. In Colorado, I could finish a days work by 11 am, giving me plenty of time to muse. Now in NYC, I gotta move my ass to to keep up.

All that may be interesting or not, but the main reason I dropped by today was to see if I could prove if Google's real time results were working yet as advertised.

So, let's say something that should be considered unique content:

Sarcasm Abounds triumphantly returns to his sarcastic throne, to mete out cynical judgements and justice on the numbed masses.

Sufficiently interesting, Let's see what the Google algorithm thinks. It's 3:25 EST on December 9th, 2009. I'll check back in when I see it post to top Google results.

Speaking of Moving Your Ass

2008-11-17T11:38:00.000-08:00

So, hours after my last snarky post, I am reading on the train en route to my shadowy lair. Suddenly, a gloom-filled voice crackles over the PA system. "Attention Passengers, Attention! A suspicious package has been found on this train. We are evacuating this train, NOW! Please exit this train, NOW!"

Wow.

9/11 wasn't so long ago that New Yorkers don't haul ass at the mention that they may be in danger. The fleeing torrent of humanity had taken me 100 yards away from the train in 40 flat.
In their collective defense, they did act nonchalant and bitch loudly about it, once they were a safe distance away.

I imagine that thirty minutes later, the bomb squad blew some poor lady's cashmere purchases to kingdom come....(And if you remember from yesteryear, the cashmere is more dangerous)...

Ah well. Safety first. Even if it means reminding you that you COULD DIE AT ANY MINUTE!!!

SA

New York Is Not For Lovers

2008-11-13T06:27:00.000-08:00

If you ever met me (which is unlikely as I am garbed in comforting shadows) you would probably be assume that, despite my best efforts, I am a nice guy. Six months ago, I would always hold the door open for you, regardless of gender. I always say "please" and "thank you," generally remember birthdays and anniversaries well, and try to be a helpful human being. I generally hold back the biting wit and dark thoughts, reserved for close friends and outlets such as this.

Skip ahead six months...

New York City. The Concrete Jungle. The City That never sleeps, etc. etc...

8.11 AM.

When the train doors (known as subway doors to you) creak open, I move my ass. Thousands of other well-dressed lemmings are pouring from every orifice on the train, and there is only one outlet on my 53rd and Lexington stop: a three story climb to the surface, either via escalators or some steep-ass stairs. No one is talking, everyone is just queuing into the funnel to begin our ascent. Every morning, I hum "Sixteen Tons"to myself as I climb step after step as fast as I can.

Once we hit the surface, free to go out separate ways, I break from the herd and hustle towards my office, slightly bent over, as if I am heading into a strong wind. My head down, I just move with the flow of other proletariat pedestrians. Every body knows their place in this dance, and we pull it off without flaw.

Until this:
The Thundering Herd screeches to a halt, blocked by these looky-loo lovers. They stroll right down the middle of the sidewalk, shambling aimlessly along, gawking at the sights surrounding them. "Look honey, a falafel cart, and over there, a faux handbag stand, and if we look in the nearby store windows, it's the exact same crap we can buy just about anywhere else we might be in our homogenized society. Neat!" (I may be paraphrasing)

They are completely oblivious to the pile-up of humanity they have created with their bottleneck.

My eyes dart quickly about, looking for an outlet to slip past. My only choices are edging past them by the dirty and sharp edged ubiquitous scaffolding on the right, or certain death by oncoming traffic on the left. I shuffled behind the slowpokes, seething at the delay.

Finally, as I was about to attempt human "Frogger" with the traffic, another trenchcoated denizen of the city just snapped, and said what I was thinking. "Fucking Move!!" he growled, and the startled tourists parted, and the logjam flowed between them.

As I slid past at my customary pace, I caught the woman's eye, and with a knowing look and small nod, she comprehended my meaning on my kind, nice guy face. Welcome to New York, stay outta my way, or I'll shank you. . .

I think I AM becoming a New Yorker!

SA

Circus Nomore Us

2008-11-07T06:25:00.001-08:00

Hello Blogosphere. I'm back. Wow. Harder than I thought to just show up here and say that.

Let's see...what's new? Ahh yes, about three months after my last post, I was called up to the Big Show. In NYC now, shepherding a flock of of SEO/SEM geeks. My people. Same job, but now for clients all well known globally.

I'm sure I could blather on about the things that have happened in the meanwhile, but if I cover it, I'll go into a "flashback" post.

The main reason to return is to draw attention to and mourn the loss of a cultural icon: Circus Animals has gone on to that three-ring circus in the sky. Since childhood, this colorful treat has comforted me, and many a frosted little animal has met their end in my gullet. My parents would never buy me something this garish and delicious, they were more of the macaroon type of folk. (*Urp*) I can't even say the word "macaroon" (*Urp*) without gagging. . . They may not have been high-flautin' cookies, but I would like to think of them as Redneck Ambrosia.

When I first lived on my own, this was my treat of choice, partly for their buttery goodness, partly because I couldn't afford Oreos.

Now the end has come my friends. The economy has claimed a new victim. Their parent company, Mother's has closed their doors. They cite the cost of sugar and flour skyrocketing, but I know the real reason. I haven't bought a bag of them for five years.

I'm sorry I let you down, Circus Animals. I'll miss the frosted goodness and sprinkles to lick off my hand...

Of course, by NOT eating these trashy delectables, I will most live longer. I just won't enjoy it as much...

SA

P.S. Some other blogs of concerned citizens lamenting the fate of Circus Animals:

Dessert First

The Naked Loon

Baking Bites

P.P.S. Thank you for all the nice posts and well-wishes from my readers over this last year. Sorry I never responded to them, and there were quite a few more of you other there than I even dreamed of.

I Quietly Slink Back. . .

2008-01-21T11:39:00.000-08:00

With no announcement and little fanfare, I quietly slink back. I want to thank each and every one of you who commented or sent me an email, and wished me well. I was terribly sick with this cold/flu combo pack (anyone who has had it this season can testify,) and it knocked me flat. But that is not the only reason I have been absent. . .

A bit of a tough holiday season for me and mine, and I just didn't know how (or want)to present it in a blog format I was comfortable with.

My spouse and I are enduring the trials of infertility, and the ordeal of in vitro. This was our third time with no success, and it has been tough to find ways to console her in this time of personal grief. There are of course bigger and more horrible things to endure in this life, but this has been the biggest one so far for my marriage, and not really sure how to describe the tough spots we are navigating through. . .like commercials about babies every two minutes, parents melting down on their kids while shopping, forced close contact with family during the holidays while getting the inevitable incessant "How'd it go? How'd it go?" All served as reminders of a life we most likely will never have.

All of this was expected and frankly, unavoidable. But I could not find a way to be snarkily musing while really bummed out. I remember how sad I was when one of my favorite bloggers, The Domestic Minx, just dropped off the face of the earth. I thought to myself that something very tragic must have happened to abandon her loyal fans, otherwise we would have heard by now. After I dropped off for awhile, it became clear how easy it was to let go while I hid out.

If it is any small consolation, you loyal readers are not the only ones I have been ducking. I don't think I have made more than one public appearance since Jan 1st, much to the annoyance and chagrin of my pool of loyal friends.

I apologize to those of you who came to be entertained, there are enough blogs on personal pain that I wanted to create something different, and I have not been able to be true to that end. However, if you bear with me, I shall slowly return to my former fun self.

Rereading this, not my best post ever, but hey, I'm rusty. Sue me.

SA

P.S. For those few who were looking to contact me directly, the best way will still be sarcasmabounds AT gmail.com. This will forward to where ever I am.

grrr...sick

2007-12-26T07:27:00.000-08:00

I hope you are all having a lovely holiday season. We had a white Christmas here in Colorado, and have 8 inches of snow on the ground. I now have a wicked cold to go with it. Sorry for the slow posting, I will try to be back up to the 2-3 a week postings soon.

SA

Someone else could use your support today

2007-12-16T15:32:00.000-08:00

While trying to catch up on my neglected blogging friends, I found this sorrowful news on blogging icon Bossy's blog.

If you have a moment, please stop by Bossy's and think good thoughts for the recovery of her daughter.

SA

PS Decided to remove Bossys daughter's picture here, it seemed creepy for me to post it without Bossy's consent.

HP Webcam by Revlon?

2007-12-15T13:13:00.000-08:00

I just realized that there is a streaming webcam built into my laptop above the monitor. As I am not shooting a porno, what the heck is it good for?

Then, another use dawned on me. Come on girls, tell me true - would you use it as a make-up compact??

SA

A Bone to Pick with Colbert Nation

2007-12-09T12:35:00.000-08:00

While I have pledged to keep posting about Stephen Colbert at least once a week, I see that it has been more than a week since my last post. Looks like I owe you two this week.

This one is an open letter to Stephen Colbert and his entourage:

God-King, while I remain one of the faithful, I have a bone to pick with you and your "#1 and #2" fan site, Colbert Nation. While you are basking away on some Bermuda beach, your nation's website is quickly spiraling out of control. Since the writers strike began, there have been no new postings here, perhaps to show solidarity with you, which is fine.

However, even with the void that has been created with no new news on the website, there are still many who comment on the last post. I first noticed them when I found a link from the Colbert Nation's comments to my little blog, which I greatly appreciated, however my appreciation soured when I began to read through the other comments and find quite a few anti-Semitic and racist posts spread throughout the comments.

From my very first post for this blog, "The Sweet Midwest Girl" I made it clear where I stand on racism, be it actively hostile or passively permissive.

Now Stephen, I know you aren't responsible for every annoying poster that feels the need to spread nonsense and hate, but I absolutely hold you and you due-designates responsible for not policing your public posting site. If you promote it, and it sells your products, you need to take a moment from in absentia and make someone deal with it. This is for the betterment of all, but especially the children. What is more American than that?

Take this happy young lad, for example:

This is JCH, the son of my blogging pal Meleah from Momma Mia, Mea Culpa. You are a hero of his. While he is enjoying your new book, what if he decides to head over to Colbert Nation to see what else you might have that is interesting? What is he going to think if he reads some of the hateful bile some posters have left?

I promise it won't take more than a few minutes for you to sort this out, and you can climb back up on your golden throne to pass judgement on all you survey. Otherwise, I will be forced to declare my blog the #1 and #2 fan site, as I am serving up fresh and racist-free content on all things Stephen Colbert.

Respectfully,

SA

A belated Turkey-Day post.

2007-12-03T22:27:00.000-08:00

Started this on Thanksgiving, forgot to post. Anyway, a few moments of TG at SA's hidden (but well lit) lair.

- The Tour -

The calm before the storm:

As you can see here, we are well stocked for a guest list of 40. Sadly, we only have nine coming. I smell leftovers!

You will notice that I have some Jager on the left. It may be the last thing left that is mine, all other personal items have been systematically deleted from the home.

I don't drink it (it's probably 5 years old), it just hails from my youth...

And here we have a giant bird cooking, covered with a pomegranite molasses glaze. More like an ostrich than a turkey...

I may go vegan after the horrible things I had to do the that poor bird's body cavity.

The kitchen preparing for the flurry of food prep that is to come:

The table is set with expensive china and an assortment of eclectic (read: folding) chairs:

The chair I've never sat on:

Fuzzy parasites that are cute enough to be allowed to cohabit this lair:

And finally, we come to the staple of all inimate family gatherings - the booze:

I hope the foodie holiday was good to you and yours.

SA

You are Missed, Mister Colbert

2007-12-01T10:18:00.000-08:00

As I pledged to do in "Speaking out for a Muzzled Hero of Mine", I will post something on Stephen Colbert at least once a week until his triumphant return at the close of the writer's strike. (Which now has to last at least through New Years, as that is how many posts I have partially written so far. . .)

So, Stephen (forgive me for being so informal, calling you God-King sounds too sycophantic, and we don't want that,) in your downtime, I imagine you are spending time with family, pouting about your denial in South Carolina and playing excessive amounts of World of Warcraft (no doubt as a hunter, skinning bears.) Perhaps you can use this time more constructively by wandering over to your old stomping grounds at the Daily Show and do some tradin' to give up one of your old bits, "This Week in God."

Now, I know Samantha Bee has tried admirably to continue the tradition you started with this bit, but it's just not the same without you. I am not particularly religious, but I really looked forward to seeing the God machine rise to do your bidding (no whammies,no whammies!) and cover the theological topics of the day. A chill would descend my spine when I would hear the haunting sound of the God Machine (beep bop bop bor beep.) Without your canny observations of all things holy, the fervor for this topic has gone right out of me, and I have returned to my secular ways with no knowledge of current religious doctrine.

Really, The Daily Show has no need of it without you, and you could fit it in between Threatdowns and stories of Monkeys on the Lamb. You must have something they want. Maybe some of your less patriotic ties for Jon, or Papa Bear's microwave, or heck, Jimmy. He won't mind making the sacrifice.

Just food for thought, Stephen Colbert. Which is probably all the food you should be eating after a month off. Your suits might start to get tight otherwise.

SA

Well, can't you see that's the last act of a desperate man?

2007-11-28T13:29:00.000-08:00

Forgot to mention, my swan song as I exited the building. I set up my computer speakers in a hard to reach place, maxed out the volume, and set off "Charlie the Unicorn" as I exited the building. As I drove off into the night I could see several folks standing in my office, no doubt looking for the off switch.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Charlie the Unicorn, behold!!

It is impossible not to smile or question your grip on sanity while witnessing this fine animation. And it gets better with repeated applications. Soon you and all your friends will be calling "Charleeeee" to each other.

SA

Bart: Well, can't you see that's the last act of a desperate man?
Howard Johnson: We don't care if it's the first act of Henry V, we're leaving!

-Blazing Saddles

Last Day in Office

2007-11-27T10:07:00.000-08:00

One of those things that have been keeping me busy and not posting regularly is that I am changing jobs. And today happens to be my very last day at my current position. While it had become clear that it was time to move on, there are things I will miss.

I'll miss my colleagues for sure. While they are all irritatingly younger, more attractive and healthier than I, they are also a rather entertaining lot. If you spend eight hours a day with the same folks, make sure you like them, they become a little like family (maybe better, because I would dread eight hours a day with my family.) I'll even miss aspects of my job, I did enjoy feeling like I was helping a prestigious non-profit modernize some of their processes. Welcome to the late '90s, soon-to-be-ex-employer. Embrace the future!

I will not miss the commute. Two and a half hours a day on the road really begins to make me feel like I am missing a lot of life. That's 27 freaking days a year, just driving to and from work!

However, now that I have the opportunity to work from home, I will miss my office.

Here I am pondering some of life's deeper mysteries on my last day...

Now it is time to pack up all the important personal possessions:

Done.

Can't forget my aquatic art....

Look out the window one last time....

And meander down the long hall one last time. . . (like horror-movie long)

And leap into the unknown. . .

SA has left the building!

Speaking out for a Muzzled Hero of Mine.

2007-11-19T09:17:00.000-08:00

As you may know, the Hollywood writers strike looks to bitterly continue for some time, and while many shows are now affected, the ones I miss the most are the late night talk shows.

For me, (being their target demographic and all) none are missed more that the Daily Show and Colbert Report. I enjoy both, but I feel that Jon Stewart can ride out this strike with relative ease.

It's Colbert that I worry about.

Being a marketing professional for most of my adult life, I have seen many glossy pitches, heard many speeches delivered in dulcet tones that invoke a feeling of wanting to be part of whatever they are hawking (that's sales and marketing in a nutshell, folks.) But in my short tenure on this planet, I have never seen such a brilliant self-promotionalist as Stephen Colbert.

Now, some of you may argue that Stephen Colbert is normal a man, or just a character he portrays, or a talking head that reads what ever his brilliant writers put in front of him, but I say there is no need to parse up his identity. He is all those things, and he is set forth up this world to entertain me. (OK you too, but more for me. :P )

I imagine Stephen Colbert as more like Xerxes as portrayed in "300." Sitting upon his giant golden throne, God-King supreme, his every wish and need fulfilled by a countless horde of adoring slaves. All he asks from the rest of us is our subservience and love, and he will make all our wishes come true.

Now many of his adoring slaves have abandoned his golden throne and joined the picket line in Hollywood. How can the God-King survive this drought of endless love??

Fear not, mister Colbert. There are are those of us that lurk in the shadows who will support you during this time. Allow me to show my bonafides:

I am waiting to surrender it, but no one more famous than I has meandered by yet.

So Colbert, I am here to keep your name in the news, starting with my tiny daily audience. Perhaps others will be inspired to take up the challenge of keeping you in the spotlight. I pledge to mention you at least once a week until the strike is over, and then you won't need my humble offerings.

You may think that he will never know of my support, but thanks to the power of Google Alerts, he or his duly designated majordomo or hunchback sidekick will see my little post sooner or later. And yes, he does already have an adoring fanbase that can be readily found at Colbert Nation, but they offer nothing as insightful or snarky as I can.

And Stephen, (may I call you that, or do you prefer God-King?) should you feel the need to get some pressing news tidbit out though a trusted news source, I stand ready to pass it on to the adoring proletariat masses.

SA

P.S. Being a hand model is harder than it looks. I never knew I could be so vain about shots of my appendages, this was the 5th take, before I lost the light...

The Dark Horse Gains from Behind

2007-11-15T12:17:00.000-08:00

Now that I am out of my funk for a moment to post regularly, there has been a surge in visitors to my little blog. I wanted to say thank you to each and every one of you, but that is rather time consuming, so let's settle on a blanket THANK YOU! to all, shall we?

I especially I want to thank you to some of the newest members of my MyBlogLog Posse.

Due to your efforts, I have been propelled into the top 100 in the "MyBlogLog Problogger Contest!"

It is an honor just to be mentioned, and to be in the top 100 is all I hoped for. (how many blogs are on here anyway? 106? :)

I see that some of the leaders in this contest are offering possible rewards for joining their little cliques. For any prospective members thinking of joining mine, let me make it clear that I offer nothing but snarky musings and occasional humorous photos (although it seems to me I promised an award on my "Pushing Daisies" trivia. I'll get to it...)And really, isn't that enough. . . ?

However, GorrillaSushi's prize of 184 kittens is rather tempting. . .

And for those of you that have been members for a long time, or have been so good to award me trophys or mention me elsewhere in the ether, I've been making my list of links to your blogs out there. As many of you already know, that is also a rather tedious task, but I'll get there.

SA

How do you Say Lazy in Spanish?

2007-11-14T09:20:00.000-08:00

*SA climbs onto his tattered soapbox*

Hello all, and welcome to another installment of things that irritate me that I must now point out and lambaste for the collective good.

You know what I really despise? When an accomplished blogger that I like falls into a rut, and starts showing endless Youtube clips or meme lists of what they like or dislike and whatnot instead of using their personal energy and creativity to entertain me. Dance for me monkeyboy, dance!!

C'mon people, bloggers are supposed to be the untamed voices of the free peoples of this earth, the creative artistic spirits empassioned with the need to share their views with others, not the third-grader class clowns passing on silly jokes during science class.

Pay attention smarty pants, or you'll end of in the seventh cirle of hell on earth:

Retail.

I digress. Where was I?

Oh yes, I was surfing Youtube and found the most romantic video yet. Here, let me jump off this box and show you. *jumps off*

Now, I'm only kitchen bilingual, but that is hot, right? The way "biblioteca" just rolls off his tongue...just magic. The ladies must line up for that one.

Course, in my day, I found this to be a much hotter bilingual song. You know, when I was pitching woo. . .

SA

P.S. Are soapboxes really safe to be standing on in the first place? It's just a box. Maybe they just don't make them like that anymore. I can't imagine one single thing that I would feel safe standing on from the Container Store.

These are the thoughts that keep me awake at night.

Hold me.

Are you there God? It's me, Sarcasm

2007-11-13T07:00:00.000-08:00

Hi God,

I know I don't come calling often, and when I do, it's because I want something. Sorry, but that's the deal. I mean really, what can you get for an omnipotent being? Socks?

Look, here's the reason I am invoking your attentions today. I want to talk to you about the fairness of biology.

I realized some time ago that I was never going to reach six feet tall. I can live with that, I am still the tallest male my family have produced in at least 150 years.

I furthermore realize that my swimmers body has gone to seed with my own innattention to excercise and love of guacamole, but I'm working on it.

Now my red hair has gone grey, leaving me with a dusty brown pelo. It's kind of distinguished, I think. I was hoping for more of a Dashell Hammett silver on the sides with silky locks on top, but it looks okay. I was rather hoping to look that way when I was in my mid-40's, but I am not vain enough to rub shoe polish in it.

Now...I have reached my tolerance limit with your so-called biology. While recieving a haircut from a heartless harpy (say that five times fast), she uttered the words that turned my blood to icewater: "You know, we do have some shampoo products for men with thinning hair...?" Gaaa! Nooooooooooooooo!

Look, I understand that my paternal and maternal grandfathers were both shiny bald and that this day might come, but not yet! I've been taking care of these folicles!

To be honest, I hadn't noticed. I have a busy life, and I hadn't obsessed about my hair since the days when I went to clubs four nights a week. However, I refuse to yield in this issue, and I plan to defy your will on this! There will be a victory of science over God here, and if a lotion/potion/poultice/torniquet exists will do the trick, I'm so there.

However, if it comes down to joining the Pubic Hair Club for Men or strapping a dead animal to my head...well...then usher me in the Bald Brotherhood.

And God... if I take your name in vain (a lot) during these trying times, please don't judge me too harshly.

SA

Push the Little Daisies, make them Pop Up!

2007-11-10T06:15:00.000-08:00

While I have been very busy as of late, I am quite the couch commando in the darkest of night. Sorry books, no time for love.

Over the last couple of months, I have mentioned a couple of shows on TV (Dexter, Meercat Manor) that I am really enjoying, and now it is time to add to the list. There is a single show on network television deserves my snarky attentions, and it goes by the name of Pushing Daisies.

If RoaldDahl and and Edward Gory had a literary lovechild,(Think James and the Giant Peach vs The Gashlycrumb Tinies) this would be it, as narrated by Lemony Snicket. Every character, even the most mundane never-will-see-again wallflower has a deep back story.

The main character, Ned (a.k.a "The Piemaker") discovered at a tender young age that he had a special gift. If he touched a dead thing, he could bring it back to life. If he touched it again, it would stay return to being dead, and nothing could bring it back. However, if he allowed it to live longer that sixty seconds, something else would have to die in it's place to restore the balance.

And so when his Mother died unexpectedly, he brought her back. Unfortunately this act killed his best friend's Dad instead. Then, his mother touched him and died again, so his efforts were for naught. Bummer.

Skipping ahead to adulthood, Ned now owns a pie shop, but really pays the bills by going halfsies with a crafty private investigator (love watching Chi Mcbride) on solving bizarre deaths. Ned brings them back, questions them on how they die, and then they split the cash. All is going well in their morally gray scheme when Ned gets the news that his childhood best (well only) friend Chuck (a.k.a. "Lonely Tourist Charlotte Charles") has been murdered.

When Ned revives her to find out what happened, he finds he cannot bring himself to let her slip back into death, and so Chuck lives on to join their team, at a price. However, as their love grows deeper, so do the many complications, as Ned can never, ever touch her again. Comedy ensues.

Besides the decent chemistry between our lovelorn leads, the narrator is a brilliant part of the show, with his lightly delivered deadpan announcing what is going to happen, right before it does. Even the most gruesome death is rather hilarious when an off camera narration foreshadows the goings on on-screen.

This show has everything Mr. SA needs: snarky, cynical, dry, creative, witty and sweet. Oh, and the best named clubhouse to hang out in:

It even inspired me to re-read James and the Giant Peach and defy my parents and corporate masters at every turn. I see that ABC has just picked it up for a whole season, lets hope the writer's strike doesn't crimp it.

While I wholeheartedly encourage you to watch this show, be warned! I too have a gift and a curse. While I have the eye to spot really good television, and the creative talent to advocate for it, I also have the uncanny ability to enjoy shows that are DOOMED!!!

So many litter that cemetery of not-on-the-air-long-enough shows, Profit, Briscoe County Jr.(hey I liked it!)Wiseguy, Firefly, etc. The only exception being Northern Exposure, which really should have been done two seasons earlier.

This earns my Snarky Seal of Approval (I'll make one in Photoshop)and time will tell if the curse stays true to form.

SA

P.S.

Trivia bonus! You to could earn said seal if you can tell me where the title of this post comes from.

P.P.S.
It is my goal to have a fresh post every weekday this week, to get some of the post ideas rolling around out of my head, finally, and to reward my loyal fans who patiently wait for me to recover from life burnout. Let's see together how that goes, shall we?

My Apologies

2007-11-06T09:53:00.000-08:00

Hello loyal readers. (or newbie stopping by for the first time)

I am here to apologize for the sporadic updates over these last couple of weeks. My schedule have been really full as of late, and I haven't had a good stockpile of snarkiness to unleash upon the world.

I know you are asking yourself, "Well, what the hell does Sarcasm Abounds have to do that is more important that entertaining me??"

Well, I work full time, I consult a bit, I am trying to finish my degree (I walked away in '92 from college) and I drive to and from work 2 1/2 hours a day. Oh, and I am a slum lord, gotta go shake down tenants for the rent, although that has lessened as we just sold the house that was was killing me (2 diff tenants in 15 months = 15k in damage and 7k in legal fees = nothing recovered yet.)

Normally, I can laugh all that off and muse about whatever crosses my creative mind, but this last two weeks have been a bit much even for one as snarky as me. Family matters, which we will cover another day, when I can find how exactly I want to put it.

So, there might be a bit a a gap in my musings, but if you bear with me just for a bit, I promise the best is yet to come. I have not yet begun to snark! (going for the John Paul Jones riff there...)

Until then, please enjoy my cat enjoying being the remote commander.

SA

Rocktober Bandwagon: Please drop me off at the Park-N-Ride

2007-10-31T08:32:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned here, I donned my fair-weather-friend ball cap and proudly jumped on the Colorado Rockies bandwagon during their amazing ride through the playoffs and into the World Series. Now, here at the end of Rocktober, time for me to hop off.

I had planned to report in during the playoffs, but both games I had (still have) tickets to never happened as the Rockies swept in three the first series and then four games the second, and alas, I had tix to game four and game five, respectively.

Then they themselves got swept.

Getting swept happens more often than not these days, so no big deal to me there. However, three poorly handled events are making me jump off the bandwagon today. First was the complete debacle of how they handled ticket sales. Then, covering their error, they blamed Internet boogie men for trashing the site,(woooooo scary)and although that's a Federal crime (i think) they never officially reported it to the police or FBI or whatnot.

Really guys, poor show, and as a longtime hardcore (since you started winning) fan, may I say I deserved better.

Then there was the whole business of the team management trying to trademark the term Rocktober. Gee, you're right, I never heard that term before. . . well unless you heard any classic rock radio station ANYWHERE doing a "Rocktober" music marathon.

Today is the last straw for my hardcore fandom. This morning, on Halloween no less, they announced they would be having a Rockies rally at noon today downtown. At a park that has ZERO parking. And it's 34 degrees.

Yeah, um, let me know how that turns out, lads. I'm getting off at my stop right now. The local morning show radio personalities, Lewis and Floorwax (the Masters) on 103.5 the FOX fm were speculating on a low turnout of 5000-10,000 or so.

Ha! I'll say 2500 or less of the hardcore fan base. The ones without jobs. Or kids who want to go trick or treating. Or are immune to frigid temperatures. Let's see who will be right. Watch live here.

Anyway Rockies, see you next year. Well, you know, if you look like you are doing well and all that. I can't be hanging around if you're not winning, we're clear on that right?

SA

P.S. I try not to be a hater, but after watching him dance for awhile, Dinger is very annoying as a mascot. Purple + Dinosaur = Barney flashbacks.

I Do Loves Me Some Smooth Sales Pitch

2007-10-25T10:52:00.000-07:00

I've been working on the Internet since it was invented (thanks Al,)and I have seen many the snake oil salesmen and corporate shills pitch me their intagible products and services for some time now, but none so smooth as this:

That is a first class pitch. This will change my life. Thank you Gabe and Max! Not to be confused with Sam and Max.

SA

Wordless Wednesday

2007-10-24T15:31:00.000-07:00

A post without words? Sure, I can do that. Oops! Damn.

Anyway, this is what it looks like outside right now. How can I possibly stay in the office? A crime, I tell you.

Hmmm. Looks a little hazy, not doing it justice. I'll try in the morning with the sun at my back.

A view pulled back a bit:

You can see the little prairie dogs* popping up their heads on this one.
SA

(*What I like to refer to as the "little furry Hot Pockets of the plains.")

Sarcasm Answers

2007-10-22T08:30:00.000-07:00

Well, that bit wasn't quite dead, but not what I hoped. I'll slip it back onto the shelf for now.

OK kids, the answers you've all been waiting for.

Jackie - Yes I will, mostly. Not good at that topic. What do you want to know?

Joanne - 1. Squid. Professional courtesy. 2. I filled out that on my profile for you. Currently enjoying these.

Dawn - No, in that case, he is exempt from fault. But he better suck it up and ask for directions to get out of the woods.

Minx - Yes. Yes? Yes. Try again soon.

Dating Tales - 1. Smartass: No one likes one of these. Snarky: Sophisticated humor, must be European. 2. Most likely you will have to settle in civil court, but get a good lawyer nonetheless, it makes the endless paperwork easier. Pay a reasonable retainer, and then just roll his/her costs into the suit when suing for damages. If you don't recover damages, he/she only keeps the retainer.

Tee-Plate - African or European? Hmmm, let's go with European. The average airspeed velocity of an unladen European Swallow is 10 meters per second.

That everyone?

SA

Sarcasm is Good. Sarcasm is Wise.

2007-10-19T08:35:00.000-07:00

I've been sluggish on finishing the other two posts I've had in mind for this week, so I've decided I would open up the floor for a moment. I've been meaning to start some recurring bits here, let's try one, shall we?

Hmmm. Title. For the moment, let's call it "Ask Sarcasm Abounds." Not particularly catchy, but it will do in a pinch. I'll work on graphics in a bit. Meeting first.

I've had several meme tags which I have ignored out of hand, but if you really want to know something, now is the time to ask. One question per customer. Results may vary. Think of me as a snarky "Dear Abby"

Keep in mind that I am reasonably smart and very wise for a man of my years, and have been showered with awards, (I'm a Cat's Ass, beat that Mr. Gore!) and will be happy to address any burning questions you might have about advice, love, life, trivia, science, etc. Or you can squander your question on asking me about some mundane facet of my life, which I may answer truthfully or disregard out of hand.

So come closer...

Closer...

Hi.

What can Uncle Sarcasm answer for you today?

SA

(Of course, this bit has the potential to die horribly if no one asks any questions. In that event, I will amuse myself by answering any questions that come to my mind.)

Blog Action Day

2007-10-15T11:52:00.001-07:00

This is to honor the Blog Action Day post that Joanne from The Laid-Back Buddhist requested.

While I am not as eco-concious as I should be, I do try. I no longer get newspapers or magazines, I try to re-use plastic bottles for awhile before I set them in the recycle bins, and I take our city's light-rail system when ever possible. I planted 10 trees in my yard in the last two years, and I keep our heat and AC systems off for as long as possible. If I can cut down on my red meat intake, I can smugly strut about in the knowledge that my carbon hoofprint is offset.

However, another brewing environmental disaster has reared its horned and shaggy head, and this one hits me in the softest part of my underbelly. (Purrr.)

If you've been reading here a bit, I have tried to make it clear that I wasn't raised with a silver spoon. I was raised by poor ex-hippies super liberal types who tried to instill their view of proper values within me. For the most part, it took.

However, as I have gotten older, and more able to sustain myself and my family, some of the "finer" things in life now call to me. Red Wine, a housekeeper, massages, and...cashmere.

Now, it's not like my folks dressed me in rough spun burlap sacks and shuffled me off to school each day, but I never had very nice clothes, mostly hand-me-downs or secondhands. I never had anything besides cotton sweaters from the Gaaaaap (in my best "Pat" imitation) and a couple of super itchy wool sweaters my far away auntie sent on Christmas.

That is, until I got older and could dress myself. Then one crisp fall day, back in '99, I bought my first cashmere sweater. Glorious would be the only way to describe the sensory output from this black v-neck, and soon we were in love. I wore it as often as I could without people starting to comment.

("What, this? No this is a different black cashmere sweater, I just happen to own three....")

Sadly if I only had carefully read the cleaning instructions, I'm sure we would be fast friends even to this day. . .

That type of article of clothing was as close to being metro sexual as I would get, but it started a love affair of all things cashmere for me. As I get older and have run out of things I want or need for any gifts, cashmere __________ is my stock answer. I now have ten sweaters, a scarf or two, even cashmere lined gloves! It's eight times warmer than wool, hard to wrinkle, has less pills and gets softer as you wear it. There are several sources of cashmere, but the largest and cheapest now comes from China.

Now, it has come to my attention that my love affair with this natural textile is bringing about the destruction of civilization!

Apparently, there are actually other humans on this planet as fond of cashmere as I am. This has spawned a huge boom in the farming of the goats - who's hair cashmere is made of. The demand is so great, the goods have actually gotten much cheaper.

These goats are very voracious consumers (much like my pugs) and will eat all the vegetation down to the very roots, strip bark from trees and woe betide anyone suffering from narcolepsy who goes down nearby a herd. They will wake up stripped of their flesh.

(Ok, probably not really, but still not a good idea.)

The mass expansion of these farms have now greatly contributed to the desertification of a large portion of China, which in turn causes more dust storms, which affects weather patterns worldwide, and especially in North America. All because of our need, my need, to consume.

So, in response to this global concern, I can act locally. I will no longer request cashmere, which will no longer be purchased for me, which will no doubt cause a worldwide glut of these goods, which will cause these farmers to switch of to far more sustainable crops, thus reducing the vegetation loss, and possibly return that grassland into a veritable paradise.

So, in years to come, if you see me strolling down the avenue in my ill-fitting, threadbare and ancient cashmere sweater, don't think of me as a poor dresser. Think of me as an environmentalist. I sacrificed so that future generations can still enjoy a fertile earth and breathe without a respirator.

You're welcome.

SA

Some sources that cover this topic in a more serious and scientific manner:

Chicago Tribune article on the true cost of cashmere

Treehugger article also covering it, and how to feel good on your purchasing decisions.

The Deep Blue (maybe a little green) Sea

2007-10-12T15:31:00.000-07:00

This is for dear Domestic Minx, who is not too fond of the Big Blue. I recently traveled there myself for some scuba, and I can report on the denizens of said enviroment.

Now if I was a professional underwater photojournalist, I could hope that my photos looked like this:

I constanly fear this:

But as I was using a $30 camera with a pathetic flash, even 30' deep looks like the darkest abyss:

This albino starfish was as big a spare tire.

The scariest thing down there:

Me.

Please note that the shadowy tenacles behind me are in fact giant kelp, and not the giant squid that inhabit my nightmares.

SA

Saying Goodbye To An Old Redneck Friend

2007-10-09T08:15:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, I said goodbye to an old friend. We had been together since my childhood, through good times and bad. Now, evil land developers have determined that we part ways. . .

I am speaking of my old redneck friend, the Cinderella Twin Drive-In. . .

My parents were not, shall we say, wealthy, and this became a major source of family entertainment. Many a Saturday night we would roll in, crunching through the lot in our '77 VW Rabbit, pull in and stick the clunky crappy speakers on our window. As a child, I saw "Superman 2" here, "The Aristocats" (which I still mistakenly refer to "The Aristocrats" as,) "Return of the Jedi", and countless 'Trek flicks.

Nothing gorgeous about this place, but it's been a comfy local landmark since the late '60s, and has survived as one of the last drive-ins in Colorado. Perhaps redneck is not the proper term for it, not just white trash either as it caters to all ages and ethnicity, but it has a distinctive run-down blue-collar feel to the place. A place where the adults drink Pabst Blue Ribbon, and the children eat Fiddle Faddle and Cow Tales.

In my childhood, they had some of the rustiest, most dangerous playground equipment know to man right in front of the screens for the kids. If you got hurt,(which I did on several occasions)there was no rush to the emergency room, no litigation, no first aid. Your folks would just wrap a sock or some such around the wound, and you would have to grit it out until the end of the double feature.

The playgrounds were long gone by my late teens, when my friends and I could borrow the family car, (still the Rabbit) so we would head there, perhaps with a couple of friends stashed in the trunk. Usually, we met up with others our age and formed large teen mobs, no doubt a source of irritation for the other patrons.

I made out with my first serious girlfriend there ("Moon over Parador", I think though I remember it not.) After our inevitable 2nd breakup, I watched "Say Anything" there with my consoling pals, and it seemed to help cauterize the wounds.

Then, as an adult I became involved in the endless singles scene, and never went back until I got married. We originally went as a nostalgic lark, however we had such a good time watching trashy movies and yelling at the screen in the privacy of our own car that we made the journey at least a couple of times a summer.

Sometimes we'd bring out camping chairs and sleeping bags, and watch under the beauty of the stars. And it is the only movie theatre in Colorado that you can take a $20 to the concession stand, buy a full load of junk food for two people, and still come back with change.

Then, late this summer, it was announced that the City of Sheridan, the crappy, should-have-been-annexed-ages-ago suburb that the Cinderella resides in, had decided to cancel their lease and rezone it. For high-end condos. In this market, where 1 out of every 7.5 homes in this country is vacant. And absolutely guaranteed to get worse. Insane. You should see the rest of this particular 'burb, godawful doesn't even begin to do it justice. Better they scrape the rest and leave just the drive-in. Any locals want to bear witness to my testimony on it?

Hearing this was the last chance to go, I packed up my sick wife in her two-piece jammies and a big comforter and headed to see the old girl out in style. We weren't alone, the place was packed. We got a triple feature of trashiness. "Underdog," "SuperBad" and "Balls of Fury." I was Mclovin "Superbad", but I was a teenage nerd boy once, so I could readily identify.

And so an era ends for Colorado and myself. Not the blaze of glory I would have liked, but a memorable end. My wife rallied for most of the outing, then happily snoozed away the end and the ride home. I personally would have preferred a triple feature of the Indy movies or some such, but I will always remember all the great times I had here.

So. . .goodbye Cinderella Twin, I will miss you. Thank you for all the great times you've given me, at a reasonable price.

And Sheridan, I know you are perhaps trying to modernize your ugly burb, but I hope you eat it hard with this deal. Perhaps it will bring down your glorified HOA regime.

SA

You're killing me with the cute animals. . .

2007-10-05T10:18:00.000-07:00

If I wasn't snarkily musing from the shadows, you would be able to see my eyes roll whenever someone humanizes the cute animals. From my wife with the dog costumes (look for future rant) to meercats, otters and penguins. Especially on TV, where everything begins to look credible.

Just because you named a Koala "Bob" and raised him from a wee lad doesn't mean he won't fuck you up at the slightest provocation. Yes, otters have cute humanlike hands, but they won't be playing Xbox with you anytime soon.

Feeding Bambi with your teeth? Awww...and what could possibly go wrong?

I would find myself more in the "Crocodile Hunter" category. Animals are amazing and beautiful, even the really ugly ones. However they live in a different scale of reality than we do, and should be appreciated for what they are in the wild. They can't be judged from a human sense of morality for how they behave.

However, you already know I am rife with hidden vices, sensitivity and contradiction. The snarky always do, we're very complex that way. . .

All that being said, I was very sad when Flower died on "Meercat Manor" She was a good leader, and if danger threatens my family, I can only hope to go out fighting as bravely.

*Sniff* So long Flower...

*Sniff* Good thing it's dark in these shadows. . .

SA

We Are Among You

2007-10-02T13:45:00.000-07:00

We slip in silently, blending into the crowd. Unnoticed by the gathered horde, we begin to imitate the mannerisms of the faithful around us, until we are virtually undetectable from the real thing, our social camouflage complete. With a little preparation we memorize enough to even pass cursory trivia examinations administered on the spot, as the die-hard core attempts to detect us. If we are caught, humiliation is certain, we will be cast into the harsh light. However, we cannot be stopped. We are among you.

I am among you.

You know us by many unflattering names, but my choice of titles is “Fair-weather fan.”

That’s right folks. I too am a fair weather fan. Sue me.

Those few that follow closely would know that as far as sports go, my time is limited, and I have narrowed my perennial favorite to one team: The Denver Broncos. We all have our guilty pleasures in this life, and they are mine. With 16 games a year, plus a few playoffs if we are lucky, I can find the time to follow. I am there through good times and bad, and “Never say die!” is my motto.

However, another local team has risen from the shambles of more than a decade of terrible seasons. As victory approached, I read the signs correctly, as the bandwagon lumbered by, I hopped on. I bought my tickets and slipped into a sold out-stadium, to stand witness to an amazing win, an emotional spectacle for all who had gathered.

Some may despise me for my Johnny-come-lately ways, but I don’t care. I was there at the moment of triumph, and I’ll be there for the playoffs. In this town, only a handful could have the gall to call me out as a fair-weather fan, every one here is. If they say they’ve been a hardcore fan for years, it is a near certainty that they are lying. . .this is a football town, through and through.

All that being said….

LET’S GO ROCKIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'll report in from the playoffs, as a loyal true fan would do.

Unless of course, I scalp my tix! ;)

SA

P.S. I'm back baby! Thank you for the well wishes, I'm feeling better. During my malaise, I thunk up a batch of neato posts for my homies (I'm trying out my street vernacular) and I'm ready to bring it in October!

Call me Mr. Snarky October. Well, just call me.

No, really.

Under the Weather

2007-09-29T06:32:00.000-07:00

Sorry my friends, not feeling too well these last few days, I'm having trouble mustering up the adequate snarkiness. I'll return soon. Until then, please enjoy this photo I took at Garden of the Gods recently. . .

SA

Generous People are Selfishly Crowding Me Out

2007-09-24T15:01:00.000-07:00

One of the loans I sponsored thru KIVA paid off early, so I went to find a new third world business I could invest in, and came up short! Apparently, with Bill Clinton's new book Giving, and also a feature spot on Oprah Winfrey, all the loans are pretty much sponsored right now.

Thanks a lot, generous people! Shouldn't you be saving your cash for Halo 3 tonight? Junior is going to be upset when he finds you spent it on the poor. . .

How will I be able to feel good about myself if I can't anonymously sponsor a third world business today? Now I'll have to give blood or participate in my neighborhood food drive, and as it's a cold drizzle outside, neither have immediate appeal. I like to stay dry when I'm in a philanthopic mood.

I like Kiva, they never send me endless bulk mail requesting more donations, (unlike Doctors without Borders, who clearly spent ever dime I ever sent them in more mail to me, and the Red Cross, who misled me and countless others on my donation and used it for other "pressing needs" programs as opposed to the 9/11 familys I sent it to them for.) Just an email from each lendee once a month, letting me know their progress.

I pick who I want, and when I want. Kind of like Netflix.

Zombie Dog Kills Again.

2007-09-21T11:51:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in my "I'm thinking my dog just might be a zombie" post, my pug puppy is apparently a brain-sucking zombie, and I am at a loss to stop him. Well, short of actually doing anything, having a zombie dog is kind of cool.

While on a quest to find more stuffed toys for the Zombie dog to destroy and leave us unbitten, I stopped by a trendy high end pet store in our neighborhood.

Unfortunately, he escaped and killed again:

Here he is displaying his supernatural zombie strength, as he weighs 11 pounds soaking wet, and this lab was about 45 lbs.

This lab's owner was busy picking out a new Kong for her precious pet, and didn't see the terrible event, so I didn't have the heart to tell her that her doggie would soon rise and crave more than a Kong, unless she filed it with brainnssss

Rounding up ZD, I went about my day, whistling a merry tune. . .

SA

P.S. The flash made this dog's eye glow with unholy menace, no Photoshop required. It still makes me chuckle every time I see it, but I am disturbed like that.

P.P.S Almost forgot. Thank you to Dazd from "Dazed and Confused" for picking my entry in last week's caption contest. I love that shot.

Also, a thank you goes out to S.O.S. from "Someday Satori" for her post she dedicated to me here. Consider my head fed.

Viva La Rojo Pelo!

2007-09-19T11:18:00.000-07:00

See how bilingual I am? Most of my spanish comes from my time from working as a waiter, so I could discuss fuego chickas and bet on football with the line cooks. (Who incidently, largely bet on the Raiders, to their collective misfortune.)I can also order "Dos margaritas, por favor."

Just last week, I heard a radio news story crop up again, the one that redheads will be extinct in 100 years, as our Chinese Overlords blitzed the world population with their monocolored genes.

Ha! I say. Ha! again, for you will never rub us out. We are like roaches, we are hard to kill and we do poorly in direct sunlight.

Doing some research, I found this article refuting those findings. Again.

So, brunettes, don't get your hopes up, we're going to be around for awhile.

That being said, I apparently am getting a jump on evolution, as my red hair began to go grey last year. Cripes, I'm only 37, can't it wait?

I just can't bring myself to go all metrosexual on it, I like to think that it will be considered distiguished. However, as I alluded to in my lambasting of divorced men I am sure that if I ever found myself single again, that I would cave and get my Queer Eye makeover, and be as red as Howdy Doody

So future overlords, prepare for redheaded Chinese to start cropping up.

Heck, even if extinction was knocking on our doors, it's not like we are the only species of redheads...

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Pinnacle of Glory

2007-09-16T17:43:00.001-07:00

Gather 'round, people. Even more praise had been heaped on my snarky, yet humble head. Sunshine, from "...and the pursuit of happiness" has bestowed another award to me.

Behold my newest award:

Now that's a kickass honor! I always knew that I had some purpose, a density...um...destiny to fulfill. Now it has fallen to me to measure up to the awesome responsibility of a feline's hind end.

I will do my best, Sunshine. I will pick up your torch and attempt to fulfill your greatest wish, to see the term "Cat's Ass" enter modern vernacular, and someday be uttered by world leaders. Obey her wishes, before she applies "The Shocker".

Trust me, you don't want to know.

SA

PS. The Cat's Ass really is the pinnacle of glory. This should fill out my trophy cabinet nicely. I shall retire with my awards, undefeated. No more are necessary, unless you plan to start an all out awards match. I WILL WIN.

Serial Killer Causes Awkward Moment in a Marriage

2007-09-14T08:29:00.000-07:00

My wife woke up from a dead sleep, no doubt from the disturbing sounds emanating from our TV. I was sitting at the end of the bed, watching it from 3 feet away. She had just caught me watching my secret passion.

Slowly, she sat up, then crawled to where I sat, over a pile of protesting Pugs. (Say that 5 times fast.)

"Why are you watching this?" She said, rubbing her eyes.

"I like it, I think it's fascinating," I replied. A nude figure appears upon the screen.

"Aren't you cold?" She asked.

Perhaps this would be the appropriate time to tell you I was in the nude, eating a chocolate pudding pack. "Mmm no, I'm okay," I said, scraping the spoon in the plastic cup to pick up any chocolate I missed. Delicious!

What?? I was snackish, and it was too hot for jammies. . .

Turning her attention back to the TV, she watched for a moment before asking another question.

"Who is that man?"

"That's Dexter," I responded. "He's the antihero of this show."

"Why does he have that other naked man wrapped in plastic?"

"It's part of his ritual," I said attempting to spare her the details.

"And who's that man on the table?" She asked.

"A vicious serial killer."

"I've never seen you watch this before," she frowned.

"Well, I know it's not your cup of tea," I replied. I usually waited until she was asleep before I pulled it up.

"Um, why does Dexter have that saw. .?" She said slowly, as the scene before us began to play out.

I shifted uncomfortably for a moment before replying; "Well, Dexter there is going to pass judgement on Mr. Sicko killer here, deliver his monologue, and then merrily saw him into little bits while festive music plays."

She paused for a long moment. "He's a serial killer too?"

"Oh yeah, but for justice. He only kills serial killers," I said, then added "Mostly."

"Let me get this straight. Dexter is a serial killer who chops people up, and you find this funny? That's awful," she exclaimed, glaring at me.

"Well, gee when you put it that way...it sounds a little disturbing. But really, it's so much more!" I went on to explain the complex relationships Dexter has to weave through, the great internal dialogue, his damaged beginnings and why the unfolding story arc was brilliant. Not since "Profit" got pulled has this type of dark dramedy been allowed to exist.

I could tell that this explanation had about the same effect as a man trying to explain to his wife that he only reads Playboy for the articles.

"Look honey, it's just a show, why don't you go back to sleep?" I pleaded.

She looked at me sideways. "I think there's something wrong with you," she said.

Dexter ended, and I switched off the TV, and crawled back into bed.

She tossed back and forth for awhile, and just as sleep began to overtake me...

"I can't sleep now," she grumped. Then: "I think I heard a noise. Did you check the locks?"

"Yes," I said, from beyond full awareness.

She shifted some more. "Go check again. I don't want to get hacked up in our sleep."

Groan. "Fine." I shuffled of into the darkness, using my bat-like senses to keep from barking my shins on our furniture.

When I trudged back, I find her still awake. I jump in, roll over, and as blissful sleep begins to overtake me, I hear: "You went all the way downstairs and you didn't get me a pudding pack?" she pouted.

Groan.

No rest for the wicked . . .

SA

(come on, for a second, you thought I was watching SkinaMax, didn't you? Sickos ;)

20% Award Speech

2007-09-12T10:10:00.000-07:00

Let me get up on my soap box, so I can expose these rampant blogger awards.

These awards are out of control! They are mostly shameless ploys for reciprocal linking, as well as modern versions of those evil chain letters of yore. And really, lets face it, they are popularity contests, so you send them to all your friends, and you can all win awards. It's like high school all over again, and I for one refuse to partake in the festi. . .

Huh. . .what was that. . .?

I won an award???

Magnificent! Sue from Sue's Daily Photos has awarded me with the coveted "You Make Me Smile" award, the blogger equivalent of the "Palme d'Or". Clearly my brilliant writing, charming demeanor and acidic wit has moved Sue to bestow this singular honor on me, setting me head and shoulders above all othe.....

What? She awarded more than one winner? No! After reading mine?

Well. . . that's OK. The blogosphere is a big place, and I am humbled to be chosen for this award, and will place my 20% of it in my ether awards cabinet, to sit next to my Dating Tales award.

My self and my co-winners will now head off to fight boring content and sad clowns, much like the Justice league, until the day comes where we must pass on this heavy mantle to the next generation of bloggers.

*Reads fine print*

Now? I have to award FIVE more now?

Well, I really smile at:

Someday Satori, great writer and shutterbug.

The Laidback Buddhist Joanne doesn't do knee slapping hilarity, but is a wonderful and introspective writer.

Oh the Joys, my mommy blog fix. An advocate against giftbags. Through her, I can experience the joys of parenting, from a safe distance.

...and the pursuit of happiness. Sunshine is hardcore, straight out of. . .Iowa.

Predator Press. Lobo and I must have gone to the same humor finishing school.

*kisses both cheeks of each*

There is so many I didn't get to mention that I read every day, I only hope another award shows up soon so I can honor them as well.

Thank you Sue.

I remember.

2007-09-11T08:23:00.000-07:00

No humor today. It will return tomorrow.

Early May, 2001:

The dot coms were collapsing at an exponential rate, and I found myself bounced out along with a quarter million others that year. Near-total industry meltdown. Everyone I knew, every contact I worked hard to make was gone along with me, my career and job title meant nothing, and the 50K in shares in three main companies were now worth exactly . . .dick. The day I got laid off, the company promoted my longtime colleague girlfriend, and that spelled the end of our casual relationship.

After 4 weeks of feeling sorry for myself, calling everyone I knew, and going on major bender, I decided that I could not just hang around the house, or I would be dead by Christmas. I had just recently managed a trade show staff of six for thirty tradeshows a year, had a 500k budget to oversee, as well as expert SEO knowledge. Worthless. The main jobs now available in my chosen industry were either as IT gurus or sales monkeys, neither of which I craved.

I decided to go, in honored tradition, to the career Limbo that many of us have chosen at one time or another: Restaurant work.

As a busboy, at 31 years old. . .

I took a job at a 5 star restaurant that I had been going to for much of my life. It felt safe, I would still eat well, and everyone there drank like a fish. Most of the core staff regarded me as an mutant, as I was the only male non-Moroccan busser they had, older than most by 5 years, and they didn't know what to make of me. I persevered, struggled with the breakneck pace, and worked my way up to the decent shifts.

Within a month, I lost 20 pounds, and was absolutely ripped for the first time since 25. Another month, another 20 pounds, and I made the jump to waiter. I am good at memorization and can be charming when the mood strikes me, so I was going to be decent at it. The cash you can make as a 5 star waiter is actually pretty good. I took between $150 and $350 in cash per shift, and if I hadn't been pissing half it away drinking after hours, I would have been making more than a mid-level dotcom exec. And I got to wait on famous people: Our mayor, our former mayor our Governor, 3 congressmen, every weatherman in Denver, Aerosmith, Al Gore, etc.

With fall fast approaching, I was having the most fun in five years. No faxes, no meetings, free food, toned and fit, and all the female companionship I would ever require with no messy relationships. Actually I felt a little like Tom Hank's character in "Big", I was having a great time, but I felt there was a life I was supposed to get back to.

Sunday, September 10:

I took a girl I was seeing out for dinner for her birthday, and we drank and partied until the wheels came off. I made it back home from her house around 4:30 am, and since I wasn't on until the night shift, I planned to sleep until 2:30 pm. . .

*Ring* ... *Ring*... *Ring*...*Ring*

6:58 am

No way was I answering that. It might be some fool who wanted me to cover his shift, and I was in no condition for that. Ice picks were stabbing my skull from every side.

I check the display: it was my roommates’ girlfriend. Reluctantly, I picked up.

"Hellllooooo?" I said in a groggy voice. I was severely hung over.

"Is Trent there?" she said. She sounded like she was crying.

"Mmmm . . .no. . .Sorry . . . he left for work" Lying thru my teeth, as I knew where he actually had spent his night.

"If you hear from him, please tell him to turn on the TV right away!" She sniffed some more, clearly sounding sad.

"What channel?" I sighed.

"Any fucking channel." She hung up.

That got my attention. She never cursed.

I woke up enough to shuffle down to the living room and switched on the TV.

9-11-01:

Attacks in progress. Both towers were smoking, and I sat down with the rest of the world to try to get a grasp on what happened. They showed the second plane going into the tower over and over. I switched channels. She was right, it was one every network, and many of the cable channels. All were showing the exact same footage, over and over. I saw a man standing in a gash on an upper floor jump to his death, and I wondered why he couldn’t wait for the rescue crews to get to him. I imagined news crews everywhere in the US scrambling to get to the scene to capture all the lurid detail, as they had with Okalahoma City and Columbine.

I remembered that we had just executed Timmy McVeigh for being the rabid dog that he was last month, and I wondered if some of his militia cronies were behind this.

Like many others, I was shaken to my core. I had recently been part of a massive global economic expansion, and I foolishly had really believed that the world was never going to see another massive war again. That the major countries were becoming so interdependent on each other for trade, war could never be risked. And possibly, it was becoming clear to all that with massive technology breakthroughs, conventional war was not a winnable option. The best you could hope was to fight to a standstill. Did not Korea and Vietnam clearly show this?

When the towers collapsed, I cried. I was sad for the victims, and I was sad for America. Who hated us so much as to attack civilians?

And where were the Air Raid Sirens? It had been ingrained since birth to listen to for that irritating warble, to warn us of impending attack and violent weather, and I never head a peep from them. Wasn’t this exactly what we’ve been drilling for all these years?

Another call. The girl I saw last night called, and we talked about the scene playing out before us on TV. She wailed bitterly that this tragedy was going to ruin her birthday from now on. Being moody and hung over, I told her that she was a self-absorbed brat, and to pay attention to the big picture. Obviously, that is not what she wanted to hear, and so began the slow spiral of the end of our burgeoning relationship. Nice job, Sarcasm. I moved on, I had other things to worry about anyway and the premature death of that relationship allowed me to meet an intense smart-mouthed young woman who would eventually become my sweet wife.

As everyone did, I hurt. I always have a snappy comment or running joke that I can fire off at a moment’s notice, but it felt wrong. It felt right just to morn for awhile. I couldn’t be funny. Also, watching CNN headline news 24 hours a day for a week straight wasn’t healthy. If you don’t kill yourself within two weeks doing this, check your pulse, you must already be dead.

September 20th, 2001:

When regular programming finally returned on September 20th, the first show I watched was the Daily Show. Jon Stewart’s emotional opening seemed to speak to exactly how I was feeling and by the end of that, I felt cleansed. I turned off CNN, took a long shower and got my shit together. Thanks Jon. Then I began to send out resumes again. While restaurant life was fun for awhile, it was a job with no future, except certain alcoholism.

This national tragedy was a sign for me that I had to better myself as a person. I found new employment, lower that what I had become accustomed to in the heady dot com boom, but stable and low stress. I met my wife, and I reenrolled in school, partially to finish the degree I left so long ago, but mostly to try to gain more wisdom, more insight, and find a way that I might personally better the world in which I lived.

Time will tell.

I tell you all that to tell you this. I remember 911. I know how it personally changed me, and I don’t forget. I rail against the politicians and talking heads of all stripes seek to use that event for their own purposes, first to unite us as a nation, then to divide us into smaller and smaller squabbling groups. I remember a leader who squandered the collective goodwill of the world and the trust of a united nation when we might have needed it the most. I remember every promise made left unfulfilled. I remember the Red Cross using the money I sent them to specifically help the families who lost loved ones on 9/11 for shortfalls in their other programs. I remember the specific stepping stones set to lead us down the inevitable path to war with Iraq, and will most likely lead to further war with Iran. I remember that our nation's actions have subjected another nations citizens to unimaginable horrors in the name of my protection.

I feel that 9/11 was a very personal moment for each of us in America, unique and yet unifiing, and something that can not be assuaged by the vague platitudes of those who crave power.

I remember and will never forget, I do what I can to improve the world around me with insight and occasional humor.

What do you remember?

SA

I'm thinking my dog just might be a zombie.

2007-09-07T14:03:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, I was mauled by a big dog.

I was four, and he plucked me off my Big Wheel and shook me like a ragdoll. I ran home, and I got a line of stiches on my right arm, and a cool scar that I carry to this day. It sucked, but I did get a 12" GI Joe during recovery, so it wasn't all bad, IMO. Never underestimate the power of toys in times of trauma.

I vowed never to own a dog. Ever.

Then I got married.

I married into a pair of pets (package deal, you see) and when it came time for me to choose a pet of my own, I wanted to start with something small, something that could never maul me.

Meet my puppy:

A googlie-eyed Pug with endless energy, and a love of water. This dog will take a shower or bath with you every single day if you let him. He has an older Pug brother that he spends his days with locked in eternal battle for either high ground or favorite toy.

Every so often, in an effort to protect our valued possessions, I stock up on new toys for him to chew on.

Here is his newest toy:

A nice little toy with two squeakers and a rope running through it for endless tug-of-war. I felt this was the perfect toy for them, it should last for quite a while, and I smugly went about my life.

36 hours later, I happened to find this toy on top of our comforter, except now it looked like this:

Oh my God. . . he sucked out it's brains!! There is almost no stuffing left in this thing. He even ate the squeaker.

I am afraid to sleep at night, I'll have to crate him before he kills again. . .how can I protect myself and my family?

The only thing I know about doing in zombies I learned on "Kolchack, The Night Stalker". It required packing it's mouth with salt and sewing the zombies lips shut, but that seems a tad cruel, and no way am I putting my fingers near his rows of fangs. The bite might cause me to become a zombie.

What to do?

Ahh Politics, I Weep for Thee (Part One)

2007-09-05T10:05:00.000-07:00

I am going to delve into politics for a moment on this blog. Being such a polarizing issue at this time, I am inviting criticism, however I don't feel I can tell this story without giving you insight into my political leanings. If this is not your cup of tea, but would like to look in on me in the future, I recommend perusing this website until I return to my next nonpartisan update. (You can thank Tee-Plate for that.)

I would like to qualify the following story by telling you that I am a Lefty, as was my mother and father before me, as were their parents, and their parents before them. Cops, Journalists, Bar owners and Teachers. People with actual jobs, not the "Civilization of Middlemen" that the Internet has helped spawn.

I was brought up to be aware of the policies of the government under which I live, to be objective, and to be civic minded. I was also taught to be suspicious of leaders who put money and God before education and common sense. It would have saved me a lot of time if they could also brought me up to cook and balance a checkbook, but I digress...

We discussed politics at the dinner table quite a bit. My parents were both free spirited Hippies from the Summer of Love, who now found themselves saddled with jobs at which they had to be responsible, and as parents. Looking at them now in their '50s, you would barely recognize them as they were then in their lifestyles now. Liberal Conservatives would best describe them, although both words have now been so mutated as to become direct opposites.

Skipping ahead to adulthood, trying to be the good citizen, I have voted in every election, shown up for (almost) every jury summons, donate to my party, send wanted items to the specific soldiers I know serving overseas, donate blood regularly, and volunteer when and where I can. Living in beautiful Red State Colorado, and specifically Tancredo's District 6, I live in a fairly affluent community in harmony with my predominately older Evangelical and Mormon Republican neighbors. I could live in a superlefty part of town, but I choose central air, low crime and plentiful parking over community gardens, flash mobs and dilapidation.

I would like to think that I am either a local saint or a wussie liberal, depending on your individual perspective.

My personality does have it's share of quirks, which would explain why I have always been deeply attracted to conservative women (cashmere cardigans and stylish glasses, mmmm, that's my brand). Sorry, flower children. We can still be friends! :) I even married a staunch Catholic Republican, and it took me two years to draw her into my world view.

Which brings us to the story at hand: The 2008 Democratic National Convention.

Now in my mid 30's, when I heard that the Convention would be held locally, beyond being excited that my hometown would see some action, I felt that it was my civic duty to volunteer. As soon as they announced it, I jumped onto the Colorado democratic party website, and volunteered. A week passed, and I got an email from them telling me how excited we should all be, and at the end of the email, it asked me to click the link if I wanted to volunteer. I did, and went about my life.

Another week passed, and I got a further email from them, basically saying that if was interested in volunteering for the convention, I should attend the kickoff with the Democratic Chairman, Howard Dean, scheduled a week later. At this point, I was a little confused, as I had now twice volunteered exactly as they had asked. However, I decided to take the day off and go down to the event, thinking it would be fun to see the excitement when Dean and the local Dems came to speak.

That morning, I went downtown to the Democratic Party headquarters to pick up my ticket for the event. As I was in the HQ, I thought I should donate, and wrote them a check for $100. As I handed the kindly chap manning the HQ my check, he in turn handed me a little white card, saying that if I was interested in volunteering for the convention, I should fill out this card. I happily explained that I had already done so online, twice. He hesitated, then said that it would be better to fill in this card, as they might be having problems with their online submissions. Sighing, I complied, and headed off to the event.

You starting to see a theme here, people?

In part two of this piece, we will cover the actual event, groupies, subpoenas, more volunteer opportunities, and what I would like to coin 'casual incompetence' of my party fellows. The part of the story where I delve deep to find the humor, so I don't openly weep.

Mmmm...Pie...

2007-08-29T13:07:00.000-07:00

You Are Lemon Meringue Pie

You're the perfect combo of sassy and sweet
Those who like you have well refined tastes

What Kind of Pie Are You?

Well, that explains everything now, doesn't it? I'm not sure sassy should be applied to a man, but I'm not sure how a snarky pie would taste. I like how it also sucks up to you (the audience).

Really, this bit is just filler, and what is a better filler than pie? I'm working on a few posts, but with the long weekend, its taking me a bit to hone my wit to razor sharpness.

SA

Attention Babies!

2007-08-29T11:08:00.000-07:00

This is an open letter to all babies, present and future:

Yes, very cute. Now stop posing for a photo op every 10 seconds and crawl over here. I want to talk to you. No, we can play Peek-A-Boo later. You adults can stay too, if you like.

*Sigh* You babies these days have sooooo easy. I just finished shopping for a gift for a friend's new baby off her registry, (which BTW was 18 pages! What, is this baby taking a voyage overseas, she needs 100 sets of jumpers?) and picked an item off this list that met my "appropriate gift size", in the $30-50 range, and looks huge wrapped. A blanket.

One blanket cost $35 bucks? For a baby? Come on! And no, I didn't bring my better half, I want to get out of Babies R Us for under $200, thank you.

Then I found this blanket.

Have you seen this thing? This blanket almost defies proper description. So soft, so fuzzy, so cuddly. The nerve endings in my fingers began to short-circuit from sensation overload. If pure joy could be rendered into tangible form, it would be this blanket!

I held it to my face for several minutes. A man. Alone in a baby store. I'm sure the nearby shoppers thought me a deranged Pedo, but I didn't really care, I was communing with the softest element in the known universe, even softer than a puppy's belly. . .

Which brings me back to you, babies. Stop chewing that! Here, chew on the froggy rattle.

Awww. . .

Where was I? Oh, right.

Look, this blanket is far too soft for you to appreciate. My baby blanket wasn't nearly this soft! My mother unearthed it out a couple of years ago, and in comparison, it feels like rough spun burlap drug thru a gravel pit. And, it's not like I was born in a cave, it was the '70s! Back then, adults knew better than to coddle us. Or cover electric sockets.

I can tell you right now, if my blanket had been this soft, I never would have matured past the larval stage. I would have just lain my chubby pink body on this blanket, weak from atrophy, until I expired from pure ecstasy. Much like a shmoo. You babies are too young to know what a shmoo is, but I am dead sure that Disney will buy the rights sooner or later, and resurrect the mighty schmoo! In digital format, starring Brad and Angelina, no doubt. But I digress. . .

In conclusion babies, this blanket is no good for you! The world, in fact, life in general is not like this blanket. It's harsh and itchy and covered in bacteria! Just like my old blanket! Best get used to it now, so the shock won't overwhelm your proto-brain when it finally shows up to break your favorite toy. Please, give your blanket to an adult, who really needs this amazing softness as an escape from the harsh reality.

I'm telling you this for your own good. No. . .please don't cry. . .*sigh* Alright, fine, keep it then, pouty face! You are such a baby. . .

Thank you, Datingtales.net !

2007-08-28T08:46:00.000-07:00

I just won my first blogging prize! I want to thank Sara at Dating Tales for the $25 gift certificate for my entry, "The Sweet Midwest Girl" into the "Worst Date Ever" contest. Apparently there were multiple winners, but let's gloss over that. My story was better :p .

I created this blog so I could enter the contest, and I enjoyed writing it so much that I have continued. I have to say that I was very surprised when people started showing up here and commenting.

Thank you to all who have stopped by, I'll try to keep you entertained. I really enjoy several of your blogs as well, it has kept me mentally stimulated over these last weeks, and that is the first time in a long time that I can say that.

Manly Men Doing Manly Things

2007-08-24T09:00:00.000-07:00

"Laddie, do you know what a true Scotsman wears under his kilt?" -Random jolly man

"Here. This $10 is yours if you don't tell me. Again. Please." -Me

Ahh, the Scottish Festival, home of the Highland Games. My wife identifies herself as being of Scottish descent, and loves knowing all about her genealogy, her clan and their history. Being as she tolerates my random hobbies and interests, I feel compelled to accompany her each year to our local festival. The workers manning the festival are interesting characters, consisting mainly of Renaissance festival carnies eking out a living while awaiting Haunted House season to open next month. Then they are off to their retail jobs at the Mole Hole and ski lift operations until next year.

Here you can find all things Celtic, (yes, those Irish aren't satisfied on having their own freaking day, they too must set up booths to peddle their green wares.) As I peruse the endless supply of tartans and broadswords, I always have Mike Meyers as his Scottish SNL character running in my mind, declaring: "If it's not Scottish, it's Craaaaap!". This causes me to chuckle to myself as I wander, making the passerby think I might be a little touched.

Beyond the goods, bagpipers and godawful food lies the fields of battle: The Highland Games. Here is where you can find the manliest of men( and some women), participating in competitions who origins have been lost in the mists of time. Or not, as told by assorted miked MC's.

There are 3 games I always enjoy: The Sheaf toss, where they try to toss a 20lb hay bag over ever increasing heights, the Weight for Height which seems to consist of heavy drinking of single malt scotch in the hot sun, then tossing a 60lb weight over your head, and trying not to bean yourself, and then the Caber Toss, where huge men toss telephone poles down rage. This is hands down my favorite.

There are apparently 3 basic sizes of cabers: wee, not so wee, and Frickin' Huge! (More chuckling to myself, causing the woman in the tie die kilt and fringed doeskin boots to move over a bit and eye me sideways. Oh yeah, I'm the freak here, lady. . .)

One of the four bag piping sections in residence takes the field and plays the haunting traditional Scottish hymn: "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" as the contestants fill in their lengthy insurance waivers covering hernias, heatstroke and crushed skulls. Then, let the games begin!

The goal is to toss these suckers end over end down field, with their final position being as close to 12 o'clock as possible. The biggest caber in the 3rd round is 22 ft long and 145 lbs. I missed a photo of it, but at the end of this 40 yard field where these cabers are being tossed is a pair of mothers sitting cross legged on the ground with their strollers next to them, chatting away in the partial shade, not paying attention in the slightest. Yeah. . .good plan. . .

The worst injuries on this day are broken fingers and a rolled ankle. But fear not! There is another festival only a month later in our fair state for those who can't get enough.

I have to say, there is a really wide latitude for consideration of what consists of Celtic entertainment. When I first started going to these 6 years ago, there was an event: "Dogs of the British Isles" As promised, there were English hounds, Irish Wolfhounds on hand, and assorted other dogs lumped in, but there was at least a theme going. This year, the festival had a dog agility course and Flyball tournament as well, which is stretching it, to say the least. Also seen, a junior martial arts demonstration and an artillery battery firing at the top of each hour, DRESSED IN CONFEDERATE CIVIL WAR UNIFORMS! I wish I could say I was embellishing, but no...*Sigh*

I'm just sayin' that if I show up at the Dog Agility Championships with a bagpipe and start wailing away, I will not be welcome. . .

A Musing Dilemma

2007-08-20T10:27:00.000-07:00

Musing. Definition:

muse/myuz/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[myooz] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation verb, mused, mus·ing.
–verb (used without object)
1.
to think or meditate in silence, as on some subject.
2.
Archaic. to gaze meditatively or wonderingly. –verb (used with object)
3.
to meditate on.
4.
to comment thoughtfully or ruminate upon.
[Origin: 1300–50; ME musen to mutter, gaze meditatively on, be astonished <>muzzle]

from: Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1)

Ok when I first started this blog, I put about ten seconds of thought into the title, picking words that I thought would be interesting and unique, just like me. I like the word musing as I feel it adequately describes my thoughtful yet humorous ponderings transcribed to this blog.

It took about a week of sifting through other's blogs before I found how sadly wrong I was. I am not a zen wordsmith, I am just another schmuck who used a neato word to show how verbose I am.

The word "Musing" may be the most overused non-lingo word out there in the Blogosphere.

Reading other sites with the word musing in it, I came to realize that "musing" apparently has a wide variety of definitions as well. One man's musing is another man's irritating rant, or more likely a thinly veiled (like prosciutto thin, at best) marketing pitch.

The Current Stats from my www.bloglog.com: 15 bloggers with musing in the name, 781 sites ID'd as part of the Musing community.

Here are some of my favorites in my brief research:

Caustic Musings: http://maggiewang.com/ a promising name, but without the really acidic writing I was hoping for. Plenty of delicious meals and hardcore exercise regimens, however.

Fireplace musings: http://fireplacemusings.blogspot.com/ an actual muser of of New Zealand that I enjoy.

Amy's Musings http://www.amysmusings.com/ - A mommy blog, one of many I enjoy, for no reason I can adequately explain.

A Musing D'Bergeracs http://bakeryofthepoets.blogspot.com/ - a diary blog of sorts with a font I hate.

Merri Musings: http://www.merrimusings.mu.nu/ Current news stories mixed with yummy sarcasm for flavor.

Black musing sheep. http://shinmiao.blogspot.com/ Don't know what to make of this one, but I do enjoy the name. Do black sheep muse?

Here are some ones that I have trouble understanding how "Musing" became affixed in their title:

Bittersweet Musings: http://sugar.splitsys.com/ Technical and Xenophobic

Business Musings: http://www.businessmusings.com/ WSJ with musing, if musing is to be regarded as any opinion whatsoever.

Collegiate Musings: http://collegiatemusings.com/ Not even trying to pretend it's a blog, just a passthru to a linkfarm. (or mabye linkghetto)

Divakar's Musings: http://divakar.blog.com/ A daily affirmation blog best describes it, I think.

Any other musings out there I just have to add to the list?

So, do I take musing off the title of this blog so I won't be lumped in with others that I find less than amusing? (yuk yuk) Or do I keep it as a shining beacon to the standard of what true musing should be? Thoughts from my loyal reader...er..readers?

Blow me, Visual Verification!

2007-08-20T09:44:00.000-07:00

OK, with the state of the Internet, I know there has to be some checkpoint measure taken to make sure that a human is filling out a comment on a blog, rather than a sophisticated program, but fuck!

I was trying to ad my pithy wisdom to one of my favorite blogs, and after pouring out my soul in the comment section, thus adding to the Human Experience, I was confronted with the "Visual Verification"(addressed hereafter as VV, as I hate it so much), which was so completely impossible to read that I got it wrong three times before I finally pulled it off. (This may be my favorite run-on sentence ever, so I'm leaving it! I talk like a run-on sentence.) I don't have time for that! I gots things to do.

They make it much harder to read, I'm going to need a freaking program just to read it for me! I love the justification for VV, that it makes it impossible for a machine to read. Oh really, wise Internet security experts? Ever heard of OCR software? My crappy digital pen can translate my left-handed scribbles,(far worse, most likely than the VV can produce) into plain text with a 95% accuracy. I'm thinking that a diabolical spammer can come up with a remedy to your infallible VV measure pretty darn quick, if he felt it was worth his time.

If spammers are ever going to be stopped, it will be as a formal declaration of war against them, and destroy their means of spewing their porn, virus and get-rich-quick schemes at the root, namely their ISP access. A case can be made that they are elusive and unstoppable, but money is always traceable to and from a source if your work as a collective to uncover it.

Of course, when that day inevitably comes, and the World Police finish them once and for all, our world will become that more homogenized and uninteresting. Be careful what you wish for.
Oh, and make sure you copy my visual verifier before attempting to post. :)

P.S. Or is it just me?

I always thought myself more Rowlf the Dog

2007-08-15T06:00:00.000-07:00

Fozzie the Bear?

You Are Fozzie Bear

"Wocka! Wocka!"You're the life of the party, and you love making people crack up.If only your routine didn't always bomb!You may find more groans than laughs, but always keep the jokes coming.

The Muppet Personality Test

However, I drive just like Fozzie! Hands on top of the steering wheel, singing "Movin' right along" at the top of my voice.

Bumper Sticker Mysteries

2007-08-14T08:57:00.000-07:00

While I was sitting in traffic this morning, I looked over and saw this Bumper sticker on the back of a Chrysler Pacifica:

You girls are such scamps! That made me laugh. At least until I pulled up next to the driver, and found that it wasn't a woman, but a man in his mid '50's! With very little hair. And a sour expression.

As we were sitting in traffic together, I began to wonder how he came to be driving this car. It didn't seem to fit him. He looked more like the old beige Volvo or new red Convertible type to me. As we were incarcerated in traffic hell, I had time to speculate.

Was he the Walter Mitty husband, nagged into driving his wife's car to the dealership for servicing? Maybe she finally remembered to tell him the oil light was on for the last two weeks. . . again. She was driving him to an early grave, and at this point, he was welcoming it.

Or perhaps he bought this car for his daughter, away at college, and he was driving her car to her out-of-state campus, because he couldn't let his little girl drive all the way by herself. The sticker on her car makes him very uncomfortable, but he'd be too embarrassed to mention it to her. He was already mortified that his neighbor Frank swore that his saw her on a "Girls Gone Wild" video his son had hidden in his closet.

Or, after sizing him up for a bit, I decided he could be a vicious carjacker. He probably waited around a stop sign near her home, and when the fem hipster came tootling up, he pulled out his gat, New Jack City style, and forced her from her car. Now he was on the way to the Chop Shop to meet his evil cronies, drinking her Chai Latte half-caf and listening to NPR's "Talk of the Nation". No, wait. . .that's not on until 2, must be "Morning edition". That's probably road grime on the car door, but it could be dried blood.

Or maybe he was an old hippy with a sense of irony, and this sticker reminded him of the good old days of free love, psychedelics and occupying various administration buildings, his long hair in his eyes whilst strumming the only cord he knew on his battered guitar.

Or it could have been that he was a cross dresser who goes by the name of Margie Manhands on the weekends. After cruising a bit and finding a suitor, he likes his um, she likes, her wig pulled. That's how Margie gets down.

*Shudder*

Then the traffic began to move again, and he cut in front of me without a blinker or even a courtesy wave, and I was sure of it: Henpecked husband. No killer carjacker or Transvestite would have been foolish enough to draw attention to himself like that. I would have flipped him off, but er. . . just in case I was wrong, I decided not to. I don't want to go out like that, yo.

SA

In Search of an Avatar

2007-08-10T09:07:00.000-07:00

There seems to be a wide lattitude on what is an acceptable avatar these days, everything from faces, pets, random image photos, and I even saw one today of an up-close shot of a thong peeking out of someone's jeans (No doubt a MLM blog trying to lure me in)

I am in search of an avatar that defines me, and until I find one suitable, I made this one. A shadowy figure, but one of the good guys, perhaps. What do you think?

SA

P.S. Hmmm he's not animated anymore here...I'll have to work on that.

Hey Google: Thanks for the free Blog

2007-08-07T14:54:00.000-07:00

It's nice to be able to post my thoughts for free, and know that thanks to Google, they will never, ever be destroyed. When the Earth finally is no more, our Galactic representatives will be roaches and Google, no doubt by then a self-aware sentient program. Know where your towel is, guys.

Anyway, thanks.

Did I tell you that I met Sergey Brin once? No, of course not. It was a Search Engine show in San Fran, I think in '99 and Sergi was working their little booth, handed me his card, and told me that they were going to be big some day. I had an appointment with an Alta Vista rep who my employer had a large contract with, I had a cold, I hated San Fran, and so I kind of blew him off, but I did wish him luck. I wonder if I still have his card in my rolodex. Sergey, I wish I had paid better attention.

SA

P.S.

Hey Sergi and Larry, please come up with an alternative to the MLS and forever break the Realtor lobby's spine. We don't need travel agents or stockbrokers anymore, we don't need these guys sucking up 6% of every house sold. Apologies to all of my realtor friends.

Oh, and thanks for the Dance.

Divorced Men

2007-08-06T13:34:00.000-07:00

Not one myself, I can only observe, and hope that if that sad day ever comes, I can handle myself with a little more dignity. For some of you, it can be a tell-tale checklist.

Being a thirtysomething, I have been immersed in the subculture of middle-class suburban couples, and after a decade knowing the same married couples, some of those marriages are inevitably breaking up. Let's just skip over the general divorce stuff, who did what to whom, and talk specifically about the poor bastards back on the scene.

Really, if you have been married for a good length of time, you are not cool. Not even close. You might be fat, bald, and while probably a snappier dresser after a woman got ahold of you, you are not prepared for dressing like the single hip folks. If you have kids, the factor of uncoolness is multiplied for every two kids. Now, though these guys are back on the scene, and after an appropriate length of time, (Read: 30 seconds into separation to years after the divorce is final...) they are trying to attract a new mate. All have different methods, but there are some general steps in this process I have observed.

First, they go for the total makeover, trying recover the body they once had. Fitness results are mixed, but then comes the next step: do all the cool stuff they were dying to to, but never got around to. Buy a motorcycle, go hang gliding, get some tattoos, leather fringe pants, shark cage diving, etc. This seems to help butch them up from years of being housebroken, and restores their confidence enough that they are ready to hit the dating scene again.

Here is where it branches out the most. Some of these guys start with modern technology, (the very thing that helped destroy many of their relationships in the first place) and will create their profiles to let the lucky women out there know that they are available again. One friend of mine is under the impression that this is a numbers game, and more is better, (probably correct, if not hollow and deeply cynical ) and has eight separate profiles up. As I am perceived to be an Internet expert, he asked me to look a couple of them over to improve, and I foolishly agreed. *shudder* At least he didn't have any nude photos up, that would have been too much to take.

Others reach for the stars, and drop by their local strip club to let the lasses there know that a 'Man of means' is in the house, and shopping for a hot young thing to accompany him around town. Most sadly, will spend long months and immeasurable resources before they come to the conclusion that these ladies are not looking for men like them, and will move on to one of their other options.

The only thing sadder is one of them who actually does land a dancer. Now to be fair, many of these girls are very nice, I dated two dancers in my life, (one even became an ER doctor, just like she said she would :) , but the limited collective experiences of those I know who have dated them has been pretty ugly. Not all of these girls are all there, both intellectually or emotionally, and many more are relentlessly hooked on an assortment of drugs and tanning beds.

To a single twentysomething, these isuues are not a big deal, they can overlook some or all of these for a time, but for a divorced man, these will present too many challenges to overcome. You can show this beautiful girl off to your envious pals, yes, but you can't introduce them to your parents, your children, or your remaining couple friends. Many men don't realize all the other things they have grown to need from a woman besides a hot bod.

There are a fair few that will attempt to cannibalize your herd. They couldn't make it work with their spouse, but the main women they have been exposed to for years and years are other wives of their couples friends. You can generally spot these dudes easily enough, as they are the ones who will come over from their dingy bachelor apartment to watch the big game with you, but will end up in the kitchen talking your wife for long periods of time, trying their flirt out. This can lead to some hard feelings and the occasional gunshot wound for the least subtle among them.

And now we come to the saddest bastards of the lot: those that try to pick up where they left off at the 'clubs. You've seen 'em. The older guy with grey in his hair, usually wearing something inappropriate like a Hawaiian shirt and khakis, or jeans with a button down and dress shoes. Always at the edge of the dance floor or at the bar with the gold card out, trying to buy a drink for a 22 year old. The one most likely to try to out-drink shots with newly found young friends, and end up with a DUI. I despise these lads the most, probably because I know that would be me if I was ever in that situation. I loved the nightclub scene, and live music in particular. But I digress...

The common theme for most of these divorced men is spending amazing amounts of cash trying to attract a new mate (except the cannibals, unless they suddenly have huge medical bills ;), which is the one thing they usually don't have loads of! People only sometimes get divorced because they fall out of love. Many more split because of the financial mess they have created for themselves, regardless of whose fault. Now they are out there again, probably paying hefty child support (if they aren't a-holes), possible alimony, their new living space with all new furnishings (you know their wives made them toss all their bachelor furnishings long ago) , new expensive man toys, and new a hefty bar bill whenever they go trolling. Plus all the things they have become accustomed to that they have to buy, like cable, Internet, blackberries, prescriptions, food, etc.

Then, when they finally find a new mate, and it may be months or years before she finds out her free-spending Mr. Right is financially screwed, and she finds that she is his new Sugarmamma, whether she can afford to or not.

I bring this all up as another recently divorced man, more of an acquaintance than a friend, was hanging out a friend's BBQ, discussing his new freedom, and how I should hook up with him to head downtown for some "Man time" with the boys, and all the hot spots they were going to, in his brand new hummer h2, the chicks he had on the hook, and all the wonders of ice climbing, blah blah blah.

Then he proceeded to bemoan his fate with his 2 kids, on how he only got them Wednesday afternoons and one weekend a month, and how the system and his Ex were out to get him, and how unfair it was. I surprisingly felt very little sympathy for him.

When I showed little interest in joining him, he called me and some of the other men there out for being whipped pussies, and reminded us how much we were missing. And it had an effect, like being dared on the playground as children.

I came to realize that while many women are very suspicious of other women near their man, the most dangerous thing to married men was no-longer-married men.

As I began, I don't have the perfect answer. I only hope that given the same circumstances, I would be able to cope better. I am also not holding divorcee women to a different standard, I just have less exposure to their shortcomings.

SA

P.S. Wow. I can apparently can be long-winded. I'll be surprised if anyone takes the time to read all that.

The Sweet Midwest Girl

2007-08-02T13:39:00.000-07:00

This is my entry for "Worst date ever" on http://www.datingtales.net/

I had been on the dating scene for about three years, enough to be good at it,

but not so long that the crushing loneliness had consumed me. A former co-worker had shown up at a party of a mutual friend, and was boldly sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter with a rather short dress on. She had long red hair, alabaster skin, bright green eyes, and the cutest nose with a four tiny freckles on it. I tell you all that to try to convey that she was smoking hot and was well aware of it. I had my eye on her for some time before she had gone back to school, and left town..

We stuck up the usual, "How's it been going?" "What are you up to now?" type conversation. She had just finished her masters in CIS, moved back to the city, yada-yada. What I was most interested in was that she had broken up with her long-time boyfriend, another acquaintance whom I despised on general principal, a bull-necked jock who always wore a visor with sunglasses propped on them, no matter the occasion or time of day.

After drifting off to other members of the party, but continuing to make eye contact throughout the night, I finally had enough (liquid) courage in me to ask her out. She agreed, and we made plans for the next night.

As I had been on the hip scene for some time, and she was relatively unfamiliar with the city, I took her to see some of the newer hotspots around town. We finally settled in a dive club that had live music from local bands, and I had known several friends would be there, so I could show off my hot date. We danced and drank our ass off until close. After an initially slow start to our date, the dancing and the booze had assured that we were really into each other, and we had already stepped outside for a moment for a hot kiss.

As the club closed, we were still pretty wired, so we adjourned to a nearby Denny’s for some hot food in an attempt to sober up a bit before we headed home. We had another thrilling make-out session in the car, and I was eyeing the ubiquitous La Quinta that shared the parking lot with the Denny’s. (I know, very classy of me, but really, I was just planning ahead to the inevitable conclusion of this evening. . .) Seriously, what is it with La Quinta and Denny’s? Do they get a special tax break if they are within a stone’s throw of each other?

After the windows began to fog, we finally headed inside, and joined my friends at a big round booth table near the back. I ordered some fries to have something to munch on, but not enough to keep us there very long. We were quietly listening to the others ramble on about the bands we had seen, just enjoying each others company, my hand resting high on her insanely smooth and warm bare thigh.

Just then, the wait staffer sat a Hispanic family of five at the next booth, and I was thinking to myself, “Christ! Its 2:30 in the morning, what the hell are those poor kids doing up?” I turned my head to face my date, and was about to whisper that thought to her, when she looked into my eyes, and spoke first. “F**k. Why do they have to sit them next to us?” My brow furrowed, not taking in her meaning. She said in a conversational tone, “Those Sp**s. They stink! They stink worse than N****s!”

I stared into her huge green eyes, trying to see if my booze addled brain was misunderstanding her meaning. I was still trying to comprehend what she meant when I realized that the rest of our table had gone dead quiet, and they were all looking in turn at my date and then to me, wondering if they had really just heard that, and who exactly was this girl I was with?

I couldn’t believe it. A intelligent, witty, well educated, and beautiful woman had felt comfortable enough with me and my bar cronies to announce in a public setting that she was a vicious racist, clearly assuming that we would share her sentiments. I didn’t know where to go from there, my mind was racing, and a full ten seconds passed before I said, lamely, “Well…er…probably not as bad as us.” as the entire table was still hot and sweaty from the dancing not an hour before. Our food had arrived, and she chewed a French fry before replying “Oh, no need to defend them, they can’t help it, it’s all the hot food they eat, it just comes out of their pores. They can’t even shower it away,” she finished, wrinkling her petite, freckled nose.

I became aware at that moment, of where my hand was, and pulled it away, finally resting it awkwardly on the table between us. I felt disgust towards her, a little bit of pity, wondering who had molded her into this, and began to feel severe disgust with myself, as my lustful thoughts were still playing in my mind at the same time, envisioning how I could be all right with this. Ten more awkward minutes passed before I made our apologies that we should go, as I was getting sleepy. My date tried holding my hand as we left, still under the impression that we were having fun. I just didn’t know what to say to such a person, how to convey my contempt for her point of view. We walked outside before I began, slowly, to explain that I didn’t share her racist views, that I had been molded since birth to revile everything she had just said.

You, reader, can imagine that conversation rapidly went downhill as she realized my true nature and my increasingly condescending tone, and began shouting her defensive tirade, which thankfully was cut short as a cab rolled up in front of the Denny’s, looking to pick up the bar dregs. I put her in it, went in and apologized to my friends, and went the hell home, feeling lonely as ever in this world.

Six months later:

I see her again, in the very same club I had taken her to. She was in front of the stage, and appeared to be seeing the singer of the band that was headlining that night. We were aware of each other for some time before we made eye contact. She came to the bar where I was ordering shots, and gave me this twisted smirk. We stared at each other for some time, (I really did like looking at her) before I finally took a deep breath, tapped my wrist and said “Aren’t you going to be late for the Klan rally?” The smirk disappeared. She stalked back to the dance floor, and no doubt went on to live a nice racist life, raising a pack of vicious brats.