Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Amazing Spectacles

Last month I went out to California to park cars at my brother’s wedding. It was a beautiful, beautiful occasion and I made some good tips. Following the wedding we traveled up to the central coast where we toured some wineries, ate some really good food and met some great people. On our second day up the coast we went to San Simeon and visited the Hearst Castle; www.hearstcaste.org.

WOW. It completely blew my mind. From the construction of the castle to the history of William Randolph Hearst himself, the entire estate and the story behind it is simply amazing. I had never seen anything like it in my life . . . it is so inspiring. For like an hour it really motivated me to do something totally awesome.

Absolutely amazing it was.

I can honestly say there is only one other thing in the universe that amazes and intrigues me the same way Hearst Castle does . . . The Bluetooth Wireless. Much like Hearst, the Bluetooth Wireless demands respect. When William Hearst walked into a room, his presence was known. You could feel his aura. I would argue to say that the Bluetooth also makes its’ presence known. The man who dons the Bluetooth doesn’t have to say a damn thing, nothing . . . and that’s because that miniature battle station strapped securely to his ear, the one playing the part of the blinking tower atop the Hancock Center, says it all: “I mean business, fuckers.”

Hearst was a workaholic and did not make much time for anything else. The Bluetool is all business all the time. The Bluetool’s business and networking skills are what dreams are made of. Hearst had a dream, a vision . . . an estate, a castle if you will, a place he could reward his years of work and share it with friends. The Bluetool shares this trait. He has visions of a kickass cigarette boat. And an acoustic guitar that will never be played.

The Bluetook is much too busy for a phone that is traditionally answered with a hand. There just aren’t enough hours in the day to fuss with such nonsense. The Bluetool will always opt for one-touch push button answering. That way he can walk, talk, text and sext at all times while also maintaining a constant image of importance and focus . . . all while enjoying a vodka/redbull/24 hour energy libation.

There might be other amazing and kickass things in the world. I have found my two. One had a kickass house, and the other is just plain ole kickass.

Keep that light blinking, friends. Blink away.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Times Up, Delores. You're Out.

This is the greatest obituary in the world. I get sick when I read about some kid who recently was killed who was in a gang, had been arrested 40 times for theft, attempted murder, drugs and the like . . . get written up with something like: "he was a great kid. He was turning things around and wanted to go to college. He would never hurt anyone . . . "

No, he was a real dick who terrorized his neighborhood and robbed old people and had neck tattoos and kicked dogs.

So, I found this was quite refreshing:

Dolores Aguilar, born in 1929 in New Mexico, left us on August 7, 2008. She will be met in the afterlife by her husband, Raymond, her son, Paul Jr., and daughter, Ruby.

She is survived by her daughters Marietta, Mitzi, Stella, Beatrice, Virginia and Ramona, and son Billy; grandchildren, Donnelle, Joe, Mitzie, Maria, Mario, Marty, Tynette, Tania, Leta, Alexandria, Tommy, Billy, Mathew, Raymond, Kenny, Javier, Lisa, Ashlie and Michael; great-grandchildren, Brendan, Joseph, Karissa, Jacob, Delaney, Shawn, Cienna, Bailey, Christian, Andre Jr., Andrea, Keith, Saeed, Nujaymah, Salma, Merissa, Emily, Jayci, Isabella, Samantha and Emily. I apologize if I missed anyone.

Dolores had no hobbies, made no contribution to society and rarely shared a kind word or deed in her life. I speak for the majority of her family when I say her presence will not be missed by many, very few tears will be shed and there will be no lamenting over her passing.

Her family will remember Dolores and amongst ourselves we will remember her in our own way, which were mostly sad and troubling times throughout the years. We may have some fond memories of her and perhaps we will think of those times too. But I truly believe at the end of the day ALL of us will really only miss what we never had, a good and kind mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. I hope she is finally at peace with herself. As for the rest of us left behind, I hope this is the beginning of a time of healing and learning to be a family again.

There will be no service, no prayers and no closure for the family she spent a lifetime tearing apart. We cannot come together in the end to see to it that her grandchildren and great-grandchildren can say their goodbyes. So I say here for all of us, GOOD BYE, MOM.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010


PERSON: Man, I am so glad we finally got a chance to get together! I have been wanting to catch up for, well, forever!

ME: Yeah, it’s really good to see you. It’s been, what, ten years or something like that?

PERSON: Something like that! Man, you look great! I am so happy to see that everything is going so well for you!

ME: You too.

PERSON: We had some sweet times at Tech, huh? Remember J-Pats?!!?

ME: Yeah, that was always my favorite bar. So how are things?

PERSON: Man, they seriously couldn’t be better! I’m the happiest I have ever been in my life! I’m making sick amounts of money and living the dream. [RED FLAG #1] But that’s not what is most important, it’s that I get to work with such kickass people and help motivate friends and help keep them healthy and to go after their dreams. [RED FLAG #2]

ME: Cool. So, what do you do?

PERSON: It’s funny you should ask, T! Here. (gets out a brochure) [RED FLAG #3] I am part of a family, not a company, a family that is gonna change the world, and we are! (RED FLAG #4) We provide direct health solutions to private consumers nationwide. [RED FLAG #5] We make it possible to unlock the American dream and provide health and wealth to anybody and everybody. [RED FLAG #6] I am responsible for the financial facilitation to help other build dreams! [RED FLAG #7]

ME: Neat. Did you know Anna Nicole is dead?

PERSON: T, I have always thought you’re a great guy and you deserve nothing but the best! [RED FLAG #8] You should be able to retire when you’re 40 and buy an island or own your own jet. [RED FLAG #9] I have an opportunity for you that will change your life! [RED FLAG #10]

ME: Oh really?

PERSON: Yes! How many friends do you have??!? [RED FLAG #11]

ME: Nine.

PERSON: See, now if you buy on and get 5 friends and they all get 5 friends and each person sells makes their quota each month, you’ll be a millionaire by dinner. [RED FLAG #12]

ME: So, what is it we are selling?

PERSON: I like that, you said ‘we’! You’re gonna be part of the family! Water filters and vitamins.

(waiter comes by)

ME: I’ll have another Budweiser and a double shot of anything, and a tequila chaser. And a broken bottle that can sever my wrist. And the check. Thanks.

- - - - - - - - - -

Does any of this sound familiar? No? Allow me. This is the regurgitated refried beans, peanuts and corn that comes out of your good friend that you had a class with freshman year in college that you haven’t thought about since ever . . . THE MULTI-LEVEL MARKETER. It’s a nice pile of crap that comes along with a pistol whip to the face and a side of olive loaf.

The MLM person is a snake. This specimen is the curly pubic hair clinging for dear life to the side of the urinal cake. They are all the same . . . they will contact you of the blue, throw some confetti in your face topped with promises of wealth beyond your wildest dreams. Nine times out of ten it is someone you know who will say they want to “catch up” and then will quickly turn the conversation towards a totally kickass opportunity. I have known many, many people who have been duped by the MLM toilet bug. Most of the time it is to sell something like vitamins or water filters, . . . but from time to time it is for something much more life changing like a set of knives, cleaning products or a time share.

Following are a list of warning signs of the mysterious MLM:

- Ridiculously enthusiastic about everything

- Use of fancy words like “facilitation”, “direct”, “networking” and “monumental”

- Group meetings in Starbucks

- You barely remember the dipshit from college

- Twice divorced

- Messy car with random boxes and papers everywhere

- Dirty fingernails

- Impossible to clearly answer any question

- Annoying and creepy talk about your family and friends

- Talk about buying mansions and planes and boats and shit peppered throughout the pitch

- Previous comment yet still live in one bedroom apartment on McCallum in Dallas

- Talk about starting a charity and giving back

- Pre-paid cell phone

- Talk of awesome and fun seminars that are out by the airport

- Still working at Chili’s just because it’s fun

- Referring to you as an “investor”

- Makes you want to drink a bottle of Clorox

Protect yourselves, friends. I love you all.


Thursday, June 24, 2010

The Greatest Day In The History Of The World

Today grown men will get enormous gadget erections and soccer moms will claw and fight their way to the front of the line like a drunk at dollar beer night. Babies will be abandoned, children will be abused and some guy will probably kill himself.

Hello new iPhone. Welcome to human world.

I do not own an iPhone. I don’t say that to be anti-iPhone or to make a point, I have no point . . . I say it because I simply don’t have one. I don’t do the Foursquare or participate in the Twitters. And I have no idea what I would do with an app that tells everyone how many miles I ran and how kickass my pace was or what I shot on the golf course. Thus, this essay has no merit and even less substance. I am actually more qualified to write about the desalinization of seawater than I am about the iPhone and apps. So you’re better off reading the back of a shampoo bottle than anything posted on this dumb blog.

From the moment I woke up this morning in a puddle of my own filth and said hello to the world, the first three things I saw or read had to do with a telephone. A telephone. A TELEPHONE. Turned on the news, iPhone. Opened the Chicago Tribune, iPhone. Got online, iPhone.

We have an oil well that is gushing oil like a bum regurgitating last nights Mad Dog 20/20 . . . one that is absolutely out of control and destroying an entire way of life for hundreds of thousands of people and killing wildlife. I meant the oil is killing everything, not the bum. The bum is just drunk and needs a bus ticket to Indianapolis. We have like 48 wars going on. The general in charge of the war in Afghanistan was replaced. North Korea is starving and going off the deep end while its leader drinks cognac and wears giant glasses and dictates in a jumpsuit. Someone started a wildfire in Arizona that is burning down trees and eating all the steak . . . and grandma broke her coccyx riding 4-wheelers in the dunes with her girlfriend. The south side of Chicago had 52 shootings last weekend and 40-something on Monday, the majority as a result of gang violence . . . and every one of the victims gets the same eulogy, “He was a good, smart kid . . . He was an entrepreneur and was just starting to turn his life around. He was gonna go to college and start a record label. He loved the White Sox. He would never hurt anyone, even though he has been arrested 46 times and was only 19. He was turning things around.”

There is also a huge unemployment problem, Detroit is demolishing their own city, my meth lab blew up and the Cubs suck.

So with all of these issues and many many many more, it makes perfect sense that the news of the day, and perhaps the week, is the new iPhone. A glorified telephone. A friend. A companion. A lover. Didn’t we just play this game like a week ago with the new iPad?

I don’t get it. I mean, I get it. It’s a neat gadget with cool things and stuff. But I don’t get it. It’s a phone. And because Apple has everyone by the balls, this same scenario will play over and over and over and over.

SIDE NOTE: Haha! I just saw a guy walk by picking his nose, I mean he was really digging, knuckle deep. Then, just as he withdrew said finger from his boogar cave and began rolling his treasure between index finger and thumb, we made eye contact. The look on his face was priceless. He looked like he had just gotten caught playing pocket pool. Wish I had a picture. Maybe he was on his way to get a new iPhone.

Anyway, I lost my train of thought. I’m still thinking about the snot prospector. I don’t know what else I was going to write, but by the looks of some of the men I saw on the news camping out for the new iPhone, the closest they will ever get to touching a ( . )( . ) is with a porn app for their new iPhone.

Gotta go, stocking up on trailmix and water . . . camping out the next 4 days for the new Segway.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

The Furnace

Hello World.

I’ve been off the blog train for a while. In fact, I think this is my first trip in 2010. If this were a real train I would be writing this from either the bar car or from the train platform as the train departs the station without me, because I was at the bar in the train station . . . or on the can. Maybe I ate some Indian food or one of those new Double Down vegan sandwiches from KFC that are all the rage, and my stomach rejected it like those first 17 girls I invited to Prom. Perhaps I got kicked off the train for hitting on the conductor. Who knows, maybe my family tricked me with a fake ticket . . . all very possible. At any rate, it’s good to be back. How are you? The family? Did she make parole?

So, early this morning I was cooking up some oatmeal, toast and meth to kick off the day and my phone went off. It wasn’t one of those voicemail messages or a text message, but a comment from someone on the Facebooks. I don’t remember what the comment was or what the comment was commenting on or who or what and when it was initiated or why it was in existence, but I do recall that the comment was something really interesting and kickass, like “We loved it, but don’t go to the late show, Grant got really grumpy. BTW, does anyone know of a great fence builder who can work with mid-grade mulch? And I’m a HUGE fan of being a mommy!”

Since I don’t have any idea what this conversation is about, here are my observations:

1. Sorry about Grant. You shouldn’t take him out that late. Furthermore, Grant is not that tired, he is just pissed off at you that he has crappy social skills and no friends because you home school the poor lad and his playground is a Bed Bath & Beyond and his best friend is a blanket.
2. Fence builder: GOOGLE: reputable fence builders in Levelland (or your hometown)
3. Boycott mulch. Look into coal or broken glass.
4. I’m a huge fan of Whataburger.

I kid. We’re having fun here. People are free to write whatever they want on the Facebooks. I’m sure many people wish I would just shut up and go drink some Drano thru a turkey baster. I just wish for once I could read something honest like, “tried the Reebok Easy Tone with balance ball technology . . . still have a fatass. Heading to the store to get a bag of Bugles and a Mr. Pibb. Maybe 3.”

So, long story long. After little thought or debate, I decided to do a little house cleaning of friends this morning . . . and caught myself talking out loud to absolutely nobody, just making comments as I sent some of the annoying one’s into the Facebook furnace:

- “I don’t think you are real, nobody can actually live a life that boring every day and feel the urge to talk about it.” DELETE
- “plenty of room for you to pray in the Facebook furnace” DELETE
- “you inspirational quotes make me want to go huff propane” DELETE
- “I don’t even know who the hell you are” DELETE
- “OK, you workout. A LOT. There is an elyptical machine waiting for you in the furnace” DELETE
- “My fault, my fault. You were annoying then and are even more annoying now and I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Marriage and kids hasn’t helped. My fault.” DELETE
- “Depressed much????????” DELETE
- “Take your Farmville to the fiery furnaces and look for the magic egg under the raging inferno.” DELETE
- “I don’t care that you just “checked into” Chipotle. Go away.” DELETE
- “That picture of an airplane wing you posted tells me you are really gonna tear shit up on your trip to Houston.” DELETE
- “So, what the fuck are you mourning today?” DELETE

There are more dumb little quotes but I am tired of typing.

Once again, I apologize for once again polluting the world with this nonsense.

Just put some Neosporin on it.



Thursday, November 19, 2009

Coffee Music

I never got to the end of the video game Oregon Trail. I would always find a way to either break a wagon wheel or someone got scurvy. I think one time I fed the oxen a bag of bad rice or something and one or two died.

I had a stuffy nose last night during my sleeping. Luckily the lock-in at the church was cancelled or I would be really disappointed. It started when I was a good 90 minutes or so into some movie, or rather ¾ way through, when I decided the movie sucked and turned it off. That is just absurd. I invested 90 minutes of my not-very-important time into a movie and didn’t even see the end of. I could have spent that time reading that book I started in 2005 or conjuring up ways to have the entire Kardashian family perish in a violent, fiery explosion. Watching a movie for that amount of time and not committing to the see the conclusion is akin to ordering a ordering a 12-pack of long fluorescent lights, proceeding to smash 10 of them against a brick wall and then deciding you’re not having fun anymore. It’s pretty much exactly like that. Anyway, the stuffy nose thing just blows, pun kind of intended. One nostril remains free while the other one is clogged up like an American Standard. And then when you turn over, somehow the cadre of snot and whatnot receives its marching orders and all contents shift to nostril B . . . it’s like turning over an hourglass full of swamp water, over and over and over and over.

 So. Wait, what was the point of this? Hold on. Oh, actually my only point was that it is a good feeling when you finally get that great big nose blow in the morning – the kind where you feel the portion of your brain that controls logic and reason come barreling out of your nose tunnel and land in the giant pillow of Kleenex in my calloused (right) hand.

 Which brings me to my next item: the acoustic version of an original song. While there are a few good acoustic versions of songs, most of them do nothing for me. The gym I am a member of where I train for nothing likes to keep it locked tightly on the “Coffee Shop Station”. Actually, they keep it on this coffee station in the locker room. I don’t know what they play out in the bullpen area because I usually have my Walkman on – and the foam earmuffs pretty much keep out all outside noise. But the coffee station, well, they love love love love to play the acoustic version of songs. And this seems logical since nothing gets you pumped up for some loud grunting bench press and power clings like soft rock.  I will wrap this thing up because I need to actually work on some ads, but my dumb point is that some songs need an acoustic version about as much as I need another pair of leather briefs.

I have heard the following acoustic versions on the coffee station, all true, not kidding. They all make me want to brush my teeth with a loaded 12 gauge. (a partial list . . . and the song is usually not covered by the original artist, with the exception of a certain hairy Canadian)


-         JUMP by Van Halen

-         EVERY SONG by Alanis Morisette

-         MONEY by Pink Floyd

-         SWEET CHILD OF MINE by Guns n Roses

-         FOOTLOOSE by Kenny Loggins

-         I LOVE ROCK N ROLL by Joan Jett

-         ANY CONVERSATION SHE HAS EVER  HAD by Alanis Morisette


       I’ll revisit this at another time.

       SWINE FLU!



Monday, November 16, 2009

The Catalog


I forgot my password.

The holidays are upon us. I love it. Lights. Trees. Gifts. Food. Parades. Stuffing. Wrapping paper. Families will gather around a big table for turkey and small talk. People will get drunk and cry, and then realize they gained 9 pounds and cry some more. Maybe someone’s uncle will get arrested in jean shorts and tank top for refusing to leave the property after throwing a half-burnt piece of firewood through the living room window . . . then will try to sneak back in the house though the chimney, which still has a fire burning at its base. And perhaps a nice young girl will bring her new thug boyfriend home for eggnog . . . then watch in anger as her mom rubs his leg under the table and slips him a roofie.  And everyone will have a great time until the house burns down. 


But it’s not just great events like this that makes me love the holidays, it’s also the small things. The memories. The traditions. The people. Just the other day I was thinking about one aspect that seems to be long gone and makes me feel really old, very irrelevant and as dated as the majority of the contents of my fridge: I  miss the days when the Christmas catalogs came out. It was awesome to get a catalog. It was always from someone like JC Penny or Montgomery Ward and was a big as a phone book. Aside from a few pages I would visit in the front part . . . which featured women scantily clad with Farrah Fawcett-style hair and 80s torpedo boobies, I immediately would flip to the back where the toys were. STAR WARS STAR WARS STAR WARS. The back had all sorts of other cool stuff like bikes and Transformers and Go-Bots and GI Joe, but all I cared about was STAR WARS. There was something about the way each action figure and ship or scene was posed just so with its name underneath, along with a brief description of the character or vehicle.  The art directors always did a fantastic job of arranging the photos to where they looked just like a scene out of the movie. Or maybe they didn’t, but this is how I remember it. We would highlight what we liked and give it to our parents, then get locked back in the damp and moldy basement. My imagination would run wild. It was cool. I waited all year to see what was going to be available. Now, just google whatever you want to see and it will come up. It kind of sucks. Or does it? I’m sure if I showed one of my nephews a catalog they would laugh at me and remind me that its never been proven that I am a blood relative, tests results are still pending.


I don’t know. I just remember the Christmas catalog. It was fun. It was exciting. It was something to look forward to. Thankfully the internet is just a fad and will be gone by this time next year and the catalog will reign once again.

In other news, that guy Levi Johnston needs to be drawn and quartered along with that California beauty queen who has fake knockers and is about as bright as my shower curtain. Reality TV is poisonous, but I have been enjoying the TRAIN WRECK that is Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew. The issues are absolutely unreal and its makes me feel like being a cutter isn't really that big of a deal. I am excited to go to LA next week for Thanksgiving to visit family and see old friends . . . and my SARS/Scurvy hyrbid is clearing up.