Road Trip 2011

Max and I are going on a father/son vacation to camp, trout fish, drink beers ( ya, ya, ya Max will have root beer), white water raft and find as much trouble as possible. This will truly be a trip to remember, hopefully for all the "right" reasons. I've been a parent for twelve years now and I have no illusions of expectations or naps, alone time, becoming a rock star or professional surfer, and having sex with my wife without having to explain that "I wasn't hurting mommy". Actually that last one's a lie. After a woman passes an 8 pound baby through her vagina, there's nothing on a man that could compare, but I'd like to think I still can. Anyway, my point is that  I have no expectations but Max probably does and that's where the possible trouble lays. So...I am going to adopt the happy-go-lucky mentality of Goofy and everything will be okay. Like in all Disney movies, there will be a happy ending. Now I will leave you with this video as Max and I set out on our adventure. Please stay tuned for excerpts from our trip as I will keep you posted. No doubt it will be entertaining.

Shots and Slugs

I put slug & snail bait around my flowers, otherwise I would have no flowers. Every morning I go and check the carnage and I'm amazed at the congregated masses of shrivelling slugs being baked by the morning sun. I begin to reconstruct the scene and I'm reminded of a party. It starts with a couple beers (slugs love beer by the way) then someone pulls out the tequila bottle (I think worms like tequila). Time to do shots. You give in to the peer pressure, "Its just one shot man!". And of course you give in because you're no pussy and besides its only one shot. It goes down smooth and easy. Then you become the Antichrist urging others to join in. It feels so good. " I can't feel my lips." " I know man, its awesome. Dude... I'm so buzzed!" You become master of the obvious. "Dude the tequila's gone!" Now it hits you. Things are happening fast. The world's spinning. There's laughing, crying, hugging. Deep secrets are being shared and hopefully forgotten. The sun's coming up! MUST...GET...TO...BED. You can't walk. You can't talk. Its goin' to hurt...BAD! Your a slug! You took the bait.

Gopher Song

Here's a song I wrote about a man vs. gopher. I put it to a rough cut video filmed entirely on a cell phone. Enjoy!

Yaaa... I'm hot

I'm sure some of you have read that there's a syndrome infecting middle aged men. Its called "hotness delusion syndrome"(HDS). The cause is a drought of middle aged men and an abundance of single middle aged women. Now I just want to say that I'm married, so any ego I thought I had has been crushed into little pieces, burned and turned into ash. In other words...I've been vaccinated for this horrible syndrome. I still think that the girl at the beach the other day who stopped to tell me I just ran over my wetsuit really wanted to check me out. Alright, I realized I was wrong when I went home to my wife for a booster shot and it dawned on me that the girl was really just saying, "Hey dude, you just ran over your wetsuit!". That was a close call. I almost came down with HDS.

Me and my "vaccine" for HDS.

I'm a lucky man to have such a resource on hand. My wife is hot and smart and she reminds me of who I am...both good and bad. I feel bad for the men who have not been vaccinated for this horrible disease, but for the man who keeps texting my wife...STOP!

Kosher salt on pork isn't

I gave a friend a recipe for a pork marinade yesterday and one of the ingredients  was kosher salt. I laughed at the irony of this. Then I began to think of all the possible uses for kosher salt if it were a magic Jewish pixie dust.
A Jew wanting to take a walk on the non-kosher side of life could carry this magic salt in a small pouch to sprinkle on anything they fancied that was non-kosher. Feelin' like having a ham sandwich, sprinkle, BLAM!... kosher. Want some blood sausage, BLAM!...kosher. Wish to bring home your non-Jewish girlfriend to meet your parents, BLAM!...she's Jewish. Hey Jewish princess...foreskin gettin' in the way when you go down on your gentile boyfriend? BLAM!...its gone. Wow! Think of the implications of that last one. All the pain of circumcision wiped from the earth.
Anyway, this is all fantasy. Kosher is kosher and pork isn't, no matter how must magic Jewish pixie dust you use. And once that salt touches that pig, BLAM!...call the rabbi.

Hey tweaker! Stay away from the power tools!

I'm a healthcare professional and in my line of work I have seen many strange and gruesome things. A few stand out in my memory: frappacino bottle in rectum, failed suicide with shotgun to face, snorting mercury and my all time favorite...tweaker vs. power tool.
Now most of us would agree that crystal meth is a dangerous drug, but others believe it enhances their being making them super human in intellect, stamina and strength. Their mind has converged with the cosmos and now they understand all things. But unfortunately their dopamine receptors are fried beyond repair and the four days without sleep has short circuited their frontal lobe (the area of reasoning and judgement). We now have a wonderful catalyst for the following recipe for disaster. Lets throw in some malt liquor and a power tool to make it savory...mmmm. The smell of fresh blood and alcohol is the aroma your shootin' for here. It always gets my heart pumpin'. Anyway, I digress.
The tweaker in this story needed his 40oz of Old English 800 to suppress the shakes, before he picked up the 1/2 horsepower grinder with the cutting wheel mounted. "Just gonna to do a little bodywork on my Pinto at 3AM, since I couldn't sleep." Well tweaker, too bad that grinder missed castrating you on its way to nick your femoral artery. Please don't reproduce. Now make a better choice with your second chance. Start by staying away from the power tools.
The moral of this story is that if you see a tweaker leaving Harbor Freight with their new circular saw, realize that your healthcare costs are about to go up right after the tweaker figures they can use their lap as a steady cutting surface.

Crunkilicious

That's right, I'm down with the beats. Those heavy chest thumpin', head bobbin', crunkilicious  beats. There's nothing like driving down the street with my son beside me as I play the speakers at a concussive volume, bobbin' my head to Panytraid, Freeland, Bassnectar, Portishead and the sorts. All the while my son has his head buried deep into his hoodie like a faceless gnome. He's embarrassed as he slouches further down into the passenger seat like a melting cartoon character. "This is lame dad! Turn it down!" Instead, I turn it up and roll down the window. I want share these delicious beats with the whole world. And...oh ya, this is my car beeotch! You don't like it, then plug your ears and reflect back on the multiple times you embarrassed me. Word!