Half Past Awesome

Monday got here just too damn fast for most of us, and while I can appreciate all those out there who are driven to work, slave, succeed or what have you, my drive lies in finding better ways to enjoy time with the amigos, family and assorted nutjobs that make up the cast in this production out here. Or, you could just call me lazy.  A truly badass float on the Bryant Creek assured us that good times were had by all on Saturday. But, like all good things, it couldn’t last, and  as I cry into my last Pacifico left over from the weekend, here’s your Raising of the Pint Glass and Karate Chop to the Throat for this week. ps ~ don’t forget to check the bottom for the Half Past Friday survey question, and, as ever, drop your answers off at bluecayucos@gmail.com. Here’s to layin’ low and sippin’ slow in this heat!

Raising of the Pint Glass:

1. Float trips - when the heat and the humidity get to the point that I might consider living in Compton a “good alternative”, there’s nothing better than a float trip to get my mind right. Good times on a river with friends, cervezas and debauchery are just what the Doctor ordered. Score one for Missouri
2. Billy Mays – this foolio could sell ketchup Popsicles to women in white gloves, and better yet, convince them that they really, really needed them. I admired his spastic enthusiasm greatly. I never bought a thing, but you can bet that it crossed my mind a time or two. Who knows, they might need a cucumber-slicer-toiletbowl- repair-putty-shoe-organizer thingamabob up in Heaven. RIP, you silly bearded bastard.
3. The Beer Tour - there’s a pizza joint here called Old Chicago Pizza, and they are offering a “beer tour” in which you sample 110 different brews for prizes and glory along the way. What an awesome concept. I immediately signed myself and three friends up for it; I hope you can join us at some point. We’re thinking of calling the whole concept “Church”. This way we can all say we went to Church this week. Works for me.

Karate Chop to the Throat:

1. The jive turkeys who still let their kids ride around with no seatbelts on. Don’t give me any of your bullshit about “personal choice”; work enough car wrecks where there was unnecessary loss of life due this idiotic choice, and all of the sudden you learn a little thing called “perspective”. Idiots.
2. The Michael Jackson Media Machine – why oh why do we need helicopters circling the hospital where the creepy-ass mofo was hauled off to? Do you think the doctors are gonna wheel out his corpse, shout a bunch of hoodoo voodoo and then set a flaming torch to the gurney? It is a sad day, indeed, when the passing of a talented child molester dominates the ENTIRE news cycle while we’ve got people dying on a daily basis in our armed forces. CHOP TO THE THROAT!
3. Dale Earnhardt wife beater tee shirts-I hate ‘em: the attitude they convey, the Whiskey Tango lifestyle they “represent”, all that.  No rational reason. I just do.

Half Past Friday Survey Question for July 3:

There is not a one of us out there who has not mangled the lyrics to our favorite song, convinced that we got it right. Tell me the song whose words you unknowingly butchered, singing out at the top of your lungs, time and again. Mine? Easy enough: up until I was around 3o, I just knew that the lyrics to Pink Floyd’s Another Brick In The Wall” went something like this: “The dogs of Hazard / In the classroom” when in actuality it is “No dark sarcasm / In the classroom”. Worse fact? In a drunken stupor, I am sure that I may have forcibly thrown those lyrics down in some sort of karaoke fiasco. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.  Send your worst to bluecayucos@gmail.com

Number Six
1.) Mind reading – I want to know exactly what others are thinking….the ladies and my enemies especially, so that I could formulate my next witty comeback
2.) Body image control – at the beach? I’m the strongest, with the chiseled physique. At a mustache growing contest? I’ve got the chops of a early century lumberjack
3.) Flight – because I am always late

Number Five
1.) I’d want to have the ability to control time. Speed it up during the crappy parts (like the work day) and slow it down when I’m spending time with my hubby
2.) Invisibility, so that I can find out what people are doing (twisted, I know)
3.) Super sarcasm….it doesn’t sound like a superpower, but it would be to me

Number Two
Ok so don’t mid mis-spellings and such as I am 22 oz of wheat beer into it. (By the way, karate chop to the throat on identity thieves; I will use my superpowers to cause you pain and death. If you want to steal from me at least have the decency to let me try to give you a shotgun blast to the chest.)
1.) X ray vision with selective use… need I say more?
2.) The ability to crush the throat of deserving perps with the power of my mind from a distance. Islamo-fascists beware as well as corrupt politicians and finance robber barons in the upper echelons of     Wall Street. (Where’s MY bail-out bitch?)
It goes without saying that immunity from the law must accompany super powers because judgment by lesser beings would just be silly.
3.) Finally, the ability to fly so that I may distribute justice as Santa Clause distributes packages on Christmas

Number One
I don’t want to be a superhero, per se (after all, I read Watchmen comic books and realize what a burden it can be) so I decided to choose superpowers that would enhance my current life but not make me so obviously super – kinda keep my superpowers on the DL.   After all, I love my current life sans super powers but there are a few things that could be better…
1.) Easy – I would have the power to be irresistible to all.  Not just dudes, but gals too.  How much easier would my life be if I said, “Mrs. Jones, Puff-Puff has pancreitis and it will require iv fluids, hospitalization and intensive therapy which will cost around 500$.” And Mrs. Jones looks at me with an adoringly silly grin and says, “Sounds perfectly reasonable, thank you for your expertise.”   And there are a few dudes I’d love to intoxicate with my allure too – and frankly, without this power, it ain’t happening.
2.) I think I would like to be invisible at will.  I don’t really want to eavesdrop  on people and their conversations much but there are a few things I’d like to see without being the creepy freak who stares too much.  This would satisfy my perversely curious side too (How DO super fat people do it?)
3.) I would love to be an instantaneous healer.  For myself, that is.  I wish injuries would heal immediately.  This would include bites, scratches, back strains, sore knees, acne, broken bones, all of it.  Just heal up fast. Is that too much to ask?

Indisputable Fact Number One: firefighters are their own worst enemy. The same air of stubborn confidence that makes us wade into the middle of stupidly dangerous situations also breeds a viciously complacent attitude when it comes to our own health. Therefore, it is no surprise at all that heart attacks are the number one killer of my peers nationwide. When you factor in the stress effects of being roused at 0300 hrs. from a comatose-like sleep by the alarms clanging like mad, the adrenaline rush and subsequent crashes and combine that with a piss poor diet whose most important ingredients are “hot, brown & plentiful” and “cheap”, you’ve got a recipe for cardiac chaos.

This is not to say that there aren’t quite a few of my co-workers who are fit, lean and leading the kind of healthy lifestyle that makes me just a bit nauseous. You know the kind: before taking a bite of any meal, they want to know if the lettuce was harvested within the last three days, and HOW it was harvested and just what IS the caloric content of a stalk of Romaine? And God forbid they tip back a beer, as though it were the unspeakable dietary equivalent of stomping a kitten on a sidewalk. I kinda hate those people.

But I also realize that it is the acme of hypocrisy to say I am capable of performing some of the more demanding physical aspects of the job while not making much of an effort AT ALL to stay in good shape. I’d rather sit on my keister drinking coffee with friends in my shop, all the while thinking I possess the stamina of my seventeen year old self. And, left to my own devices, my workout routine gives me the motivation factor of a sloth on Quaaludes. A little here, a little there, a cup of coffee, and HEYYYY! what’s that over there? Something to distract me? Homeless people fighting in the street? It doesn’t take much. And while I’d like to think I could lift a bus up off of a baby stroller (how did THAT scenario ever make it’s way to the public lexicon, anyways?), the truth is that I needed to get off my ass before a ten pound dumbbell was responsible for my demise.

Indisputable Fact Number Two: I hate running. I’ll do it if I have to but I always imagine I look something like a sweaty, grunting musk ox lumbering down the trail. That, and I always get passed by 90 year old health freaks who give me an even worse complex; I’d kick at ‘em, but no doubt I’d break my foot on their oxygen bottle. No, I prefer to get my cardio on  my mountain bike or playing ice hockey or running to the fridge to grab another Guinness. And so, in a supreme moment of odd and testosterone-free behavior, I decided to try a spin class. I told no one. I was secretly hoping to find out that it was as stupid as I’d perceived it to be every time I saw a class in session. That would segue nicely into another round of putting off getting all “healthy” again. Having been in work environments ranging from the oil rigs of Alaska’s North Slope to running a D-9 bulldozer in a rock pit to the hairy knuckled confines of a firehouse, there was no way I could actually benefit the sheer wussiness of riding a bike that goes nowhere while a bubbly instructor gleefully calls out sequences over some techno-crap music. I went prepared to hate in a big way.

I loved it.

Crap. Now what?

The wild geniuses that are in charge of this site (ok, it’s just me and my multiple personalities) have decided on a few things: first, it’s obvious you lot love being entertained by yourselves, as is evidenced by the popularity of the Half Past Friday surveys; the downside is that those whose email I don’t have don’t get to participate. So starting today, the question will be thrown out here on the site.

It will be married up with the second part of this newer, freshly brewed portion of Half Past Awesome: The Raising Of The Pint Glass / The Karate Chop To The Throat. I’ll be listing for you three things in each category that I feel are deserving of each treatment. Got any ideas? Send ‘em in ~ they’ll all be posted here on Mondays. All right…..let’s do this thing.

The Raising Of The Pint Glass

1.) Big T, Jefe O. and his brother John for joining me for a few pints down at Patton Alley Pub on Sunday evening. ALWAYS good to have beer with amigos from the fire department family.

2.) The Heathens: although they can’t yet join me for a delicious Guinness just yet, they deserve a toast for giving me a pretty damn nifty Father’s Day. You boys, and their mama, are like rock stars to me.

3.) Air conditioning: I am honored to honor you, forced air unit that makes life in Misery bearable. I would die without you. But first, I would kill others. Like the people who say it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity. So, in essence, you are saving many lives. Cheers!

Karate Chop To The Throat

1.) Iranian Ayatollahs and Supreme Exalted Leader-for-Life type dude in a crappy gray suit. You’re a pair of grade-A turds, and your violent suppression of individuals rights outweighs your obsession with black robes and Members Only jackets. If I had the power I would send Chuck Norris over there to cut you both down.

2.) Neighborhood politics. They suck. You know it. I’m living it.

3.) To local radio hosts that spend most of the time giggling at their own inane jokes and/or stories . Is there an air of narccissism about the whole thing, and, more to the point, am I the only one who finds (her) voice comparable to Fran Drescher? CHOP TO THE THROAT!

Half Past Friday Poll Question for June 26th:

You’ve been blessed with a visit by the deity of other-worldly powers, and, inexplicably, you’ve been selected to receive three super powers for a lifetimes’ worth of use. Despite the sheer impossibility of this happening to you, of all people, you are nonetheless stoked. What three superpowers would you pick, and why? Bonus points for creative endeavor. Email your answers to bluecayucos@gmail.com and tune in Friday for the results! Till then, take it easy, amigos.

Friday, Friday, Friday! For all you 9-to-5′ers out there, this is the day of the week you’re living for. For us poor shift-type slobs, it just means a busier night, for this is when the northside knuckleheads get their party groove on. Then they fight. Then they bleed. Then they call us. BUT, I digress. You’re here to check out the Half Past Friday survey, I’m here to help. The question posed was thus: “here’s one of those good news / bad news scenarios….so on your way to work this morning your 1982 Honda Civic was carjacked…bad news. Worse news: the carjacker is the Grim Reaper. It’s your time. Worst news: the iPod of the afterlife is broken and only plays three songs. Good news: you get to pick ‘em. Tell me your three and why. P.S.~  there are no more points for hipster factor; obscurity does not necessarily gain favor. If “I’m Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred is your choice for the eternal afterlife, fine……just be prepared to explain why”. And here you go, ranked as ever by our scientific squad of Guinness swillers:

Number 10.

1.) Kashmir – Led Zepplin

2.) Deep in It – Saint Germain

3.) Sexual Healing – Marvin Gay

And I would never – no matter how bad it got – be caught dead in an 1982 Honda Civic. I’ll take a Lesbaru anyday

Number 9.

Good News: I was able to buy a car when I turned 16, in turn being one of the first people in my class to have his own car, and raise my social status.  Bad news: it was a red Volkswagen Sirocco

Number 8.

1.) Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

2.) Bohemian Rhapsody

3.) The Pina Colada Song

All because I have fond memories of these songs and some of my best people in the whole world and of driving in the car with the windows down.

Bonus Song: “Shorty Got Low.” Because it’s today’s “Baby Got Back.”

Number 7.

1.)  Devils’ Playground- Gram Rabbit (Because if my playlist only has three songs, I have no doubts about where I am)

2.)  Carry on Wayward Son-Kansas (Because it is epic).

3.)  Canned Heat- Jamiroquai (Because then there’d be “nothing left for me to do but dance”).

Number 6.

1.)  Sweet Child O Mine – Guns and Roses. It takes me back to my mullet days of redneck rebellion and white trash women.

2.) Jessie’s Girl – Rick Springfield. I hate this freakin’ song, and my wife loves it, and she has passed that on to my daughters, who now love to sing it just to annoy Daddy. It bring a huge smile to their faces, which, even though its an annoying song, it makes me think of my daughters smiles.

3.) Margaritaville – Jimmy Buffet. It doesn’t matter which way I go, up or down, its a party song, and I just like the song.

Number 5.

1.) Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon and Garfunkel.  It might seem lame, but it’s not so annoyingly infectious that it sticks in your head (like the Andy Griffith whistling theme song) thereby making you insane. And I’ve loved it since I was like 4 years old. Indeed it’s my favorite song.

2.) Moon River by Andy Williams.  It’s just so wonderful. As clear as day I can see my grandparents holding each other close waltzing around the floor of the American Legion or their living room to this song.  When combined with the cigarette smoke and whiskey smells, it seemed the most romantic and classically timeless song.

I was seriously torn by the 3rd song.  Do I go with something like Hero of the Day by Metallica that I love to hear every time it comes on?  Do I go with something fun?  Ultimately it came down to knowing that I would NEED to bust a move in the afterlife.

3.) Funky Cold Medina by Tone Loc.  Because every 3rd song I’m gonna dance like there’s no tomorrow.

Number 4.

1.) Something In the Way She Moves – James Taylor   – It’s mellow and I used to sing it to —– all the time so it would remind me of her.

2.) It Takes Two – Rob Base & DJ E-Z Rock  – Sometimes you just gotta get your dance on…did somebody say running man?

3.) Three Little Birds - Bob Marley  – Although I would prefer to have some 30 minute mix of Bob for #3, I thought that it might be considered cheating.  Three Little Birds is uplifting and cheery.

Number 3.

1.) Sick Boy by Social Distortion-This song is the exact description of the image I wanted to portray since high school.  Hip tough guy image quickly turned to in-debt overweight dialysis patient…..damn!!

2.)  Riders in the Sky by Johnny Cash-Being offered a second chance after a mean, nasty, godless life…..ahh second chances, and anything Johnny sings should be gospel.

3.)  Casey Jones by the Dead- Cause I do want to “ride that train high on cocaine”

And I would still do some grooving to Marvin with Willem Dafoe

Number 2.

So here I sit in contemplation of eternal song.  My first thought is, of course, to take a mini disc of my “Best Loved Hits.”   Any three songs from Pink Floyd will do (…the band is just fantastic, that is really what I think…) As I ponder this and thumb through my, mostly pirated, music archives (thanks Mike-the-Banger) it occurs to me that after a while this lovely forever-loop just might get a bit monotonous.  Even if I only cue up the Heavenly three-track once every million years, forever is a mighty long time, and I’d bet they would get pretty old in (relatively) short order.

Why would I want to take music that I love and relegate it to the “I absolutely wish I was deaf” playlist?

So I  think I will go with three that I already hate.  My “Worst Loved Hits”:
1.) Anything from anyone who sounds anything like Rick Astley. Remember him? I didn’t think so.
2.) Anything from the Top Gun Soundtrack.
3.) Anything from any country artist that relies on play-on-word lyrics like- “After the  quick, rough ride, she pardoned my horse, but her posse wished I’d been hung.”

On second thought, my “Worst Loved Hits” suck.  Bad plan.
Really, I suppose, the list will depend on where I end up.  That’s how the story goes, right?  Good boys and girls go to Heaven.  A world of never ending happiness, you can always see the Sun, day, or night…  But all the rest (a multitude) are banished to the other place.
So if my tithes are paid up, and my picture is found in the church membership directory (and therefore my name written in “The Book”), this is my Heavenly list (these songs will be blasted through a cosmic amplifier loud enough for the unforgiven  to hear from the “Hot Zone”, lest they forget where they are):

1.) Who will save your soul? – Jewel

2.) The winner takes it all – ABBA

3.) I guess that’s why they call it the blues – Elton John

More realistically, here’s my list:

1.) Ring of fire – Johnny Cash

2.) 12” 3 speed oscillating fan – Big Smith

3.) (screaming loudly with a choir of teeth gnashers, gesturing wildly Heavenward)  Wish you were here – Pink Floyd

Number 1.

My Grim Reaper, Death Has Come, all-time, top-three songs,  in chronological order, are as follows:
1.) Dogs, from Pink Floyd’s Animals, Track 2.
If I am only allotted 3 songs for the rest of Eternity, why not add one of the best classic rock songs ever.

2.)Mayonnaise (from Smashing Pumpkins’ Album Siamese Dream, Track 9).
This song sort of reminds me of death, nuff said.

3.) Peaceful World (from Jamie Safts’ Breadcrumb Sins, Track 9).
Another great song to aimlessly wander the celestial planes.
And there you have it, Mr. Death man.

I’m not sure if I’ll be stuck listening to a continuous loop of these 3 songs over and over or if I can choose one song to listen to for a day then the next the next day, etc.  But after careful consideration I’ve decided it would be best to have 3 somewhat different songs (i.e. not 3 Insane Clown Posse songs because that would just get old) – you know, I’ll throw in a little variety to my 3 song selections.

Setting: Branson Missouri, a June day with 95 degree temperatures and all the humidity of a Vietnamese jungle

Location: Silver Dollar City, aka “Steal Your Dollar Holler” (An amusement park with the theme “You Have A Great Past Ahead Of You”, meaning it’s centered on the “glorious” days of our hillbilly ancestry; blacksmiths, bloomers and Baldknobbers)

Cast: The Wife, The Heathens, myself and 10,000 tourists, 98% of which are determined to shove their elbows into my side as they waddle by me.

Somehow, I committed to taking the familia to this tourist trap of the Ozarks several months ago; chances are, The Wife sprung this question while I was in a coffee and bacon induced haze, and I agreed, most likely thinking she was asking if I wanted to die of cholesterol poisoning. Of COURSE that’s how I want to go out. To paraphrase the late, great Redd Foxx, I feel sorry for all those healthy people sitting around in hospitals, dying of nothing.

So, the wrath of the summer gods seems to have descended within the last couple of weeks, and I was beginning to regret agreeing to head south to Silver Dollar City (SDC), as I’d been sweating like a hooker on dollar day anytime I’d venture outdoors. My paranoid mind was starting to think maybe The Wife HAS been trying to kill me. A trip into a sweltering tourist mecca may well do me in. It didn’t help that she asked me yesterday where I would like to be buried, “should something happen”. She’s not even trying for subtlety anymore. My passing would no doubt please my amigos like the Dirtbag and Lyrical Jackass, since they feel I deserve it; plus, they would be here in a heartbeat to “console” The Wife, move in and raise my kids. The heartless bastards.

ANYHOW, we ventured down there this morning, and, just as I suspected, it was a wild menagerie of large elderly people in power scooters (ie; Jazzy’s, Hoverounds, wheelchairs with attitude for our, um, bigger boned friends), perfectly coiffed televangelist-wannabes, mullet-sporting Dale Earnhardt diehards and some of the most drawled out southern accents you can imagine, brought to you by the great state of Alabama. I was pleased to note that the fanny pack has, indeed, NOT gone out of style here in the Midwest. I was of the mistaken notion that only European tourists were still in possession of ass bags (stylishly worn to the front, so as to have easy access to your Marlboro Reds). I was wrong. What I wouldn’t give to travel back to 1988 and pick up my old Billabong fanny pack so I could party with this crowd. On a costume related tangent, I was also made very aware of the number of people wearing tee shirts that not only proclaimed their Christian faith, but also seemed to serve one of two purposes:

1.) to show you’re one of the wittier members of the flock (ie. a “FaithBook” shirt that reads like a feed of the social site Facebook and one that said “Got Christ?”) or,

2.) to show others that you’re a not-messing-around kind of believer (“His name is not ‘The Man Upstairs’, it’s Jesus, and he will kick your ass if you keep calling him that”)

Of course, man will get competitive about darn near anything, from racing lawn mowers to building potato guns, so I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s equally competitive about religion. The only rivalry for shirt space at the park came in the form of unbridled love of country. I lost count of how many shirts I saw that informed me about colors not running or something along those lines. Many of the power scooters were customized with the magnetic ribbons that were both patriotic AND evangelical, so really, those folks had their bases covered. It would not have shocked me in the least to find someone offering up a Dixie Chick for sacrifice on a bonfire somewhere within the confines of the property, probably right next to the lye-soap manufacturer and the walking stick whittler guy. The Contrarian in me wondered what would happen if I walked around there with a shirt in Arabic script; it wouldn’t even have to make any sense…it could say something like “I love Toby Keith”. Let me tell you what would happen: I would be beat to a bloody pulp by a bunch of power Christians in power scooters wielding aforementioned hand carved walking sticks.

After a few rides and some minor heat stroke, I began to notice a swelling in crowd size, both in numbers and in terms of the sheer mass of park attendees. Ironically, I was eating out of a bag of “fresh” fried pork rinds (I kid you not) when I came to this realization. And no, it was not lost on me. If the Center for Disease Control ever wants to do a study on the obesity epidemic in this country it needs to get on down to Branson. CDC, meet SDC. SDC will show you how it’s done. You won’t find wheatgrass smoothie stands or sushi carts here; we demand vegetables be battered and fried, sausages be skilletized and heaping helpings of fried funnel cake be coated in sugar. I could only hope that, as my arteries were clogging and my dehydrated brain was convulsing, The Wife’s ultimate desire for “something to happen” to me wouldn’t be fulfilled on this trip.

I hadn’t even had a chance to get that Toby Keith tee shirt made.

Well, it would seem that the spam industry has managed to avoid these perilous financial times. How? How do they thrive? I was busy posing this question to the fish in the aquarium this morning, and it sent me into something of a tangent, followed by eight cups of coffee and a case of the shakes. I’ve read books on “permission marketing”, studied different methods of closing sales, even went on a few tirades against the car dealership guerrilla-scream-style ad pitching, and have come to the same conclusion each time: if you want to move a product or service, there is a segment of the population that will tolerate the invasion of their time, space and dignity. The rest of us just get vaguely annoyed by this reality; I secretly pray for dudes in purple robes and Nikes to take the salesmen with them on their next trip on a comet’s tail.

In the meantime, I can always change channels on the tube. I can judiciously avoid people in white shirts, black pants and skinny ties riding bicycles (I know Mormons on a mission, I do), and I can keep watching for comet sightings, but the one thing my spam filter on the computer seems intent on saving for my viewing pleasure is a fine selection of “people” who are interested in selling me “replica” watches. My mother, bless her heart, has a phobia about being punctual, and I’m beginning to wonder if it is a genetically inherited trait. As a kid, I could always count on being A MINIMUM of ten minutes late to whatever event required arrival in Mom’s burgundy Peugeot (not to mention the kind of ass-whipping riding in one of these cars invited). My Mom, to be fair, is an incredibly busy woman, and there was no problem that she couldn’t tackle with a Tab cola in one hand, a Virginia Slim 100 cigarette in the other and chewing on some gum. But she just might be a little late in tackling said problem, s’all.

As this whole “earning a living” thing and “parenting” thing have entered my life, I realize that I am running behind a lot as well. I chalk it up to training for the life of a superstar. Who wants to be the first at a party? Not Sean Connery, and not me. The only time I demand to be early is when going to a movie or a concert; it drives The Wife nuts that I am perfectly content to sit in a theater bar and get sloshed two hours before Alison Krauss even gets off her bus. And if I miss the previews of a movie, I might just skip that showing all together….it makes no sense, I know. In all other aspects, I get there when I can (exception #3: the firehouse, or responding to a call, in case you’re keeping track). And somehow, the spam hustlers know this. I don’t even get your typical ads for male enhancement, nobody is trying to sell me off-brand hair plugs and I only OCCASIONALLY get the message from my Nigerian prince buddy that I am in line to get, like, six million dollars if only I wire him two thousand. But the Replica Watch people, they know. They know me, apparently. Because even though I have no intention of ever clicking on their site, even though I’ve not purchased a watch since 2006 (not even a replica…it was the real deal. Real Swiss Army, that is), day after day, they are lurking in my inbox, ready to sell me that which I apparently need.

The whole thing is kind of triggering my paranoia switches. If they know I am chronically behind out there on the so-called Internet, what else do they know? I bet “they” know all kinds of things about me, which I’d rather keep to myself; only you and I know how much I loathe the concepts of Mega-Churches, McMansions and Maniacal Fearmongers. If this knowledge gets made known to “them”, I will have to triple the defenses against the Jim Bakkers, the strip-mall developers and the weird old dudes who call into talk radio blathering about the end times being signaled by the election of Obama. And who in the world has time for that?

I’m late as it is.

***WARNING: THE CONTENTS OF THIS WEEKS’ SURVEY ARE RACY & WILL MOST LIKELY, NO DEFINITELY, OFFEND THE SENSITIVE, THE YOUNG & THE MORE PROPER AMONG US!!***

Friday! At last! And to complete your work week, I have the results of yet another survey for you. The Half Past Friday poll was posed as thus: tell me 5 things in your nightstand. The only requirement was that you be honest. (This question was posed by a frequent reader of the site, so 10,000 points to You-Know-Who-You-Are.) And while I had no idea that firearms and personal, er, enhancers were so prevalent next to your bedside, I was impressed by the turnout of responses here; to date, this survey question has had the most answers. My notes are in red…the rest are how I received them. You wrote ‘em, I ranked ‘em. Props to you, and here we go:

Number 10.

Okay here’s 5 things that are in my would-be-nightstand, except for the fact that the janitor’s closet lacks said nightstand with said drawer. These items are laid out as though there were a nightstand.

5.) Lighter (BIC, not white)  (We are living in an OCD world, people. Get on board)

4.) The Upanishads  (And yes, I had to Google this one too)

3.) High Times Magazine (Surprise, surprise)

2.) Burt’s Bees Lipbalm (Smoke damage, perhaps?)

1.) Pair o glasses (How else to keep the red eyes hidden?)

Number 9.

I’m busier than a one-legged man at a butt kicking party today and my staff is going to kill me for slacking so long…..having said that, I’m addicted to the polls and MUST participate.

5.) The bible – sometimes I read aloud stories from the Old Testament and say “can you believe those people were so very scandalous?” (Hold up…are you Amish? But then, how would you be reading this? Confusion reigns…)

4.) The dictionary – I often read books above my vocabulary level and have to verify definitions. Like brazier. WTF is that? I could tell you because I looked it up the other night.  (so wordy, you studette)

3.)  Whatever book I’m reading – right now it’s “Lamb – the gospel according to Biff, Christ’s childhood friend” and “The Watchmen” comic book. Awesome.  (Eclectic taste, bold choices)

2.) Chewed up gum I spit out just before falling asleep last night – well, it’s on top of a piece of tissue. —- makes sure I spit my gum out every night. Yes, I chew gum even after I brush my teeth for bed. I’m a compulsive gum chewer. (And apparently a confessor of sorts; “guilt” is the aftertaste of your brand of gum)

1.) Now for the confession part…….I do have the new “Yours +Mine” you see the ads for on tv. Ha ha, it’s like 2 fun slippery substances that when mixed together create some magic. We read the ingredients – it’s menthol. Real magical. I get so suckered in by advertisements. And it was on sale at Walgreens. Who doesn’t want a discount rate romp occasionally? (I can’t even write this out with a straight face)

Number 8.

Well let’s see,

5.) About 20 bucks in change (The cost of approximately one gallon of gas in Cali.)

4.) Some sunglasses (What’s going on with the consistency of this answer? Do you people wear your sunglasses at night? And if so, to bed, even? I am way late on this trend, apparently)

3.) My pistol. (Dude, I know you live in poverty-level-squalor. Is home invasion really an issue?)

2.) My pistol ammo. (Exactly how many rounds do you expect to plug into your non-existent home invader?)

1.) …and phone charger  (Curious that you would have one of these, since you seem to eschew all forms of modern communication)

Number 7.

5.) Latex condoms (I am allergic to latex, so why are they in there?) and may I comment on the one condom that my husband confiscated from his 17 year old sister (yeah that’s gonna stop her)  (Indeed, how can I respond to this?)

4.) Sanitizer gel, I’m guessing for my reaction to the latex that lays in my nightstand.  (Not exactly what I’d label a “sound medical solution” to a latex allergy.)

3.) Old toothbrush used for cleaning the bathroom, why my son needs to hide this from me in here I have no idea. I’m glad he doesn’t have the allergy his mother does!  (Well,this just keeps going in new directions)

2.)  Breaking Dawn book, oh how I wish I could get the makeup bid for that movie. Mmmmm….let’s not go there today. (I can’t see why not…we’ve been all over the map so far)

1.)  The Book for Dummies, How to Heal Anything. Maybe  I need to explain it more. The dangerous things I have laying around my house. Hmmm… (Whatever they are, I am sure any damage can be healed using sanitizer gel and an old toothbrush)

Number 6.

5.) Wedding ring (Reasonable enough, from someone who at the outset APPEARS reasonable)

4.) Belt (No elaboration on whether or not it is for his pants or otherwise)

3.) Lube (…so there’s that)

2.) Vibrators (Ok, so now I am squeamish typing this out…but just a little)

1.) 00 Buck shotgun shells (Are things really gonna get that out of hand?)

Number 5.

2—-    (what the HELL is this? Numbers and blanks?  How am I supposed to gauge what you have if you are self editing? But, I must admit, I’m intrigued)

1—-   (Now you’re just being coy. STOP IT. IMMEDIATELY.)

and two f**kin’ books (So, it’s not  enough to just be elusive, but you’re gonna be surly too? What, are you running for re-election, Senator?)

Number 4.

I realize this is just your excuse for some voyeuristic perversion, but here it is, in no particular order:

5.) Various birthday and anniversary cards. (You know why we men hoard these things? So later on, during a huge, unrelated  argument, we can pull them out when being accused of “not caring enough”. HA!)

4.) Trojans (Apparently, despite all the kids, someone is STILL a playa. Sly dog, you)

3.) X-rated candy hearts (Wow….he’s good)

2.) I.O.U. the Game of Hidden Pleasure  (Now I just feel downright neglectful of MY wife…damn)

1.) “Finger” massagers.  (Dang. No wonder the marriage is still going strong after all these years.)

No id’s, right, Uli?

Number 3.

5.) Love letter (It sounds pretty innocent at first)

4.) Rosary (Ok, so maybe I’ll stay away from any acidic comments on this)

3.) Lip gloss (What IS it with you people and dry lips?)

2.) Lotion (What? You got dry hands, too?)

1.) 9mm Glock (…….and BOOM! There you have it, romance, religious icon, lubrication and a firearm; all the right ingredients for a great night at home!)

Number 2.

I really debated the general merits of answering this question. Keep in mind, I’m a single girl in the big city.

5.) Carmex (I’m getting familiar with this theme)

4.) Hand lotion (This issue has already been addressed)

3.) Condoms (Well, it’s patently obvious these nightstands are all prophylactic fantastic)

2.) Restraints (Where were these kinds of girls when I was single? Clearly I was wading in the shallow end of the dating pool)

1.) Batteries (No comment!) (None needed!)

Number 1.

You suck – you f**king suck because I know you know what the f**k is in my nightstand because the NOT Awesome — —— loves to tell that story and you know I won’t lie about it:

F**ker.  (ps. I never was told this story….so double the fun!)

5.) SystemJo lube (I have NEVER heard of this product, not even once, but it sounds like it might have come from a Fletch movie or something.)

4.) SystemJo massage oil (orange blossom) (Whoever this Jo guy is, he’s one twisted sister)

3.) C**t vibe  (Not too sure if that’s EXACTLY how it is described on the packaging….but then again, what do I know?)

2.) Anal beads (okay, I just threw up a little. Right into a coffee mug)

1.) Slapjacket (Is this what the kids are calling condoms these days? Damn, I AM getting old)

Eat a d**k.  (Enough hostility here to warrant a Dateline Special……”I’m Chris Hansen, why don’t you have a seat.”(ala To Catch A Predator))

First off, I want you to know that this is a semi-political essay you’re about to digest. But WAIT!! Don’t just click away and return to The Onion or some other site that is focused on Britney’s latest social transgression….give me a chance. And secondly, I want to disabuse you IMMEDIATELY of the notion that this is going to be one of those “can’t we all just get along” type of tirades. P.S. ~ there may be nudity involved, so read on, I say.

I’m not sure if it is a function of growing older, having kids to dull the edges, or just living in the buckle of the bible belt that has begun to paint things with a few more shades of gray. During the early teen years, it was relatively easy to have a communist’s point of view. By not having a mortgage, by having minimal financial responsibilities, it seemed as though the entitlement mentality was a logical viewpoint. By God, those rich folks certainly haven’t earned their wealth, and there are so many social injustices out there that it makes sense to soak the greedy; you know, give them “some moral perspective”. Then came college (funded by minimum wage jobs and heavy student loans) and the the near-homeless lifestyle it afforded. That was when seeds of conservative thought were nurtured; from there they blossomed into a virtual loathing of the Big Bad Government and the supposed tyranny of Bay Area liberals trying to hijack what little money I could earn to fund social engineering projects. A fan of talk radio was born.

Fast forward to the nose-hair-growing years and it would seem that the fiery passion I felt towards The State was, at best, misdirected by a lack of time on this earth. Now I watch and listen to politicians of every stripe arguing their viewpoints utilizing the lowest common denominator as a rallying point. Republican? Then you better be ready to whip into a lather at such fun topics as individual reproductive choice and those rascally homosexuals trying to get all legally married (the nerve!) Democrat? I should hope that you can toss the term “bigot” at anyone who questions your choice of candidate, ideological differences notwithstanding. These candidates will not, can not, appeal the masses based on such platforms as “the impact of sub-prime lending practices on the greater population of White Plains, NY.” That doesn’t even mildly intrigue more than, like, 16 people. No, they need to label their opponent “baby-killer”, “Godless heathen”, “fat, rich, white guy who hates your sister” or some such thing. And next thing you know, you’re out there on a courthouse lawn, waving a sign and yelling that your candidates opponent is a book-burning Nazi.

I’m all for endorsing a particular point of view, but I don’t know when it became such a zero-sum game. If your guy is for finding a cure for cancer, it shouldn’t translate into his or her opponent being a fan of the disease. But somehow, there seems to be no middle ground. Every day on the news, there is a group protesting zoning ordinance changes, GM bankruptcy hearings or Daylight Savings Time. And these people look seriously pissed. At least in other countries they seem to protest naked from time to time; I give them mad props for humorous creativity. We get Sean Penn wagging his finger at us, as though his “perspective” as an actor lends credence when it comes to international affairs. Yay, us!

The 900 pound gorilla in the room seems to be that most, if not all, candidates for higher office are lustful of power. How original would it be for someone to come out and say “You know, I really could care less about the increase in roving packs of pit bulls maiming children who don’t look both ways before crossing. I just want to be voted dog catcher because I would get to drive a nifty Ford Ranger home each night.” Political suicide? No doubt, but at least it would be refreshingly honest. Instead I get bombarded with sound bites informing me that Candidate X OBVIOUSLY is an instrument of Satan because he won’t outlaw same sex penguin marriage. Is it any wonder that voter turnout is so low? That Donald Duck commands ANY percentage of the vote? It’s not disinterest, you political hackjobs….it’s YOU.

Just once, I’d like to hear “Hey look, I’m running for comptroller of the tri-county area and I believe I could represent this area well. My opponent is no slouch either; in fact, she seems like a nice person and competent as well.  Any way it turns out, we all ought to go down to the courthouse lawn to protest the latest increase in library late fees; we ought to do this in the nude, because I think that would be a really good time.”

Got my vote.

This weeks Half Past Friday survey was a glance into what I have loosely titled The Hall of Shame.  The Hall consists of those whom you find attractive, but would be loathe to admit to in polite company. I threw out all the results that were either to contrary to the title (“Courtney Cox or David Hasselhoff“; who DOESN’T love The Hoff?) or just plain too vanilla (“my married co-worker”.……pffft, that’s minor league). No, I set the bar high (or low, depending on your view) and you didn’t disappoint. I did find a bit more response from the female half of readers, and I chalk this up to fact that most guys have little to no shame, and would admit being attracted to a fence post if there was enough liquor involved. So I delved a little deeper and posed the question around the firehouse, which will ALWAYS take the disgusting factor up a few notches. Most responses were not fit to print, although two made it into the list this week. Turns out firemen find beauty in many forms; this is likely the result of being penned up with 6-8 other men for long stretches. Wow. It sounds more and more like prison life every time I write it out in actual words. But I digress. Without further ado or prison references I present you with your own Hall of Shame in your words:

10. “The early 80′s, looks like she’s been on crack, Blondie always was a turn on for me.” (I believe my inbred amigo from college is referring to Deborah Harry here, but as he speaks almost EXACTLY as he writes, this sentence cracks me up. God, I miss that guy.)

9.  “Courtney Love…..hands down no question. She’s busted, run-through and a little crazy at times. Right up my alley. A+” (This was NOT from the Lyrical Jackass, surprisingly enough, but the responder ranked due to his truly capturing the spirit of the Hall of Shame. Well played.)

8. “Dennis Rodman….big, black, beautiful, bad boy, basketball player” (Funny, her husband is none of these things….wait, maybe that’s the point)

7. “My secret desire would definitely be Jack Nicholson. There’s just something to his attitude towards the things he does. I’m betting he’s very intellect (wtf? love, me). Who knows? I’m also attracted to the sunglasses. There is mystery hiding behind those. I would make myself like basketball just to be sitting next to him.” (okay, so this has stalker potential of, like 10.7 . I think I love this woman)

6. “Ok, I know this is going to make you think less of me…but Drew Carey is my secret crush! That man just does it for me!” (Is it the suit? The glasses? The excessive sweating that no doubt takes place while tying his shoes? Is it because he loves Ohio? Are you crazy?)

5. “The Amish.” (I like this: succinct, disgusting, gross generalization of an entire worshipping class, this has ALL the hallmarks of someone I would consider a friend….even if it is conditional)

4. “Steve Buscemi. I have no reasonable explanation” (Despite his phenomenal dental work, I was amazed to get this answer from several respondents, two of whom were high school classmates. Shameful, people. I love it)

3. “Cloris Leachman” (The fireman who answered this is so pathetically ashamed of his secret lust for her, that he called me AFTER I posed the question, so as not to reveal his perversions to a table full of coffee swilling, judgemental co-workers. Fool. I am going to expose him at the first opportunity)

2. “Willem Dafoe in Boondock Saints”

- this is worth taking a time out and noting, because this was the response of another fireMAN at our station. I told him, that I wanted to know his REAL secret shameful lust-object and he repeated the answer. The table came close to snorting coffee out their noses collectively, and he held his position, unlike the coward of response number 3. I told him, “but dude, you’re married”. He said that he was aware of his marital status, and that until I’d seen the movie for myself I was in no place to judge him. THIS is what makes station life awesome.

1. “A carny; like right there AT THE FAIR, behind a ride or something” (this was the response from a few years back from one of The Wife’s co-workers when I first stumbled upon the idea of a Hall of Shame. And she was serious as a heart attack in her answer. It made her hotter than ever in my eyes, and is the reason it holds the number one slot. We are a freaky lot out here in Missouri, of this I am sure.)

So there’s your top ten for the week. Mine? Oh yeah……a young Bette Midler. I am now going to wash the nauseous feeling out of my throat with gasoline and coffee…..I’ll talk to you soon!