Half Past Awesome

The era of the bailout has enshrouded our mindset as of late. In a last, desperate gasp, personal accountability has finally croaked, and we are now rewarding unethical and downright greedy behavior by pledging financial aid to institutions that should have, by all rights, gone under. It’s kind of hard to feel sorry for a baron in the Hamptons being forced to rethink his purchase of a small third world nation until he gets the taxpayer-funded bonus he “worked” so hard to get. But it’s a sight easier to feel empathy for folks watching the pensions they’ve worked a lifetime to fund go up in smoke. I should know; I’m in a job where the citizens may well decide to justify bad behavior with worse behavior (I lost my pension, and you should, too!), and frankly, this puts me in a bit of a funk. Half-truths and mis-information abound, and police officers and firefighters’ retirements are at the mercy of some extremely agitated citizens.

In light of these cheery prospects, I’ve decided to hold my own version of  the Cash for Clunkers program. I am gonna call it “Cash For My Worthless Crap”. Seeing as how The Wife is dedicated to curtailing my dreams of purchasing a motorbike due to logic, safety and finances, I need to tackle these hurdles head on. Being logical has never meant much to me, so that’s out the window. I’ll argue for the ridiculous, just for the sake of arguing; she knows this, and once I start waving my arms around and making noises like a highly irritated baboon, she knows it’s useless to resist: I’ve won. Safety? that is going to be a bit tougher. Last night I threw out this philosophical question: “If you’re so convinced I am going to end up maimed and/or dead on a bike, do you think they should outlaw motorcycles completely?” She paused momentarily and then made some inflammatory rhetoric about me wanting to orphan my boys and leave her widowed, followed up with “I hope you can sleep well at night, on your motorcycle.” (The Outlaw Trucker pointed out to me that this wasn’t going to be necessary: I just needed a bedroll to sleep alongside the bike. TAKE THAT!)

So we’re left with the financial aspect of this whole she-bang. I can’t rightly justify taking out a loan to buy a sure-fire deathtrap when the citizens of our fine city may well decide that a fully-functioning fire department is really more of an “extravagance”. I might well be looking at a career change involving hanging out on freeway off-ramps and claiming (on a piece of cardboard) to be “out of gas” to every passerby. Yeah. She’s got me there. And, as I’ve recently gotten out of the excavating business, I still have a shop full of tools I can’t REALLY use recreationally (chain binders, anyone?). I am also in possession of 19 years of my childhood, er, treasures that might just be my ticket out of four wheel living. I’ve bought and sold stuff on sites like E-Bay and Craigslist before; in fact, it’s how I sold all of the excavating equipment. But those monies were dedicated to paying down business debt and throwing my middle finger to the credit institutions. As I look at a box full of Briar toy horses (never played with, by the way) here in my office and think about just how many shovels I own (what, am I equipping an ARMY of shovelers here?……wait a sec, there’s an idea…..) maybe I can pull off  a little cabbage collection on the side. In fact, if I look at the opposite scenario, I’d be hard pressed to find anyone who hasn’t complained about being “Nickle and Dimed” to death. So, that’s it, then…..I’ll nickle and dime myself on up. A dollar here, a sawbuck there, and I’ll be one-tenth on my way to having enough cash to purchase that elusive motorcycle.

With that kind of thinking, I’ll be running the Treasury Department before long. FROM THE SEAT OF MY MOTORCYCLE.

Everyone needs inspiration. Bones is inspired by cleanliness and germ-eradication. The Heathens are inspired by Transformers, The Dirtbag is inspired by architectural innovation, Fury The Landscaper is inspired by a Subway sandwich done right and I’d venture that RoJo is inspired by the recent birth of his son. Artists get inspiration from pastoral landscapes and runaway flights of fancy within the reaches of their imagination. Some folks on the northside are inspired by a good meth rush, which in turn inspires them to stay up all night and peel insulation off of copper wiring so they’ll have a way to fund their next inspiration. Our kids inspire us to be better parents, our spouses inspire us to get off of our asses and do something with the day, and I would argue that coffee can provide some of the greatest inspiration of all.

But, like all creative types, I need to constantly hit my mental “refresh” button in order to feed the flow of ideas that come spilling out of my mind. Often times, this comes in the form of the neighbors, Truck 2 antics at the fire station, The Heathens or the myriad folks who play supporting roles in the comedy that is my life. I believe with all I’ve got that you can find all the material you might need right in front of your nose, if only you take the time to open your eyes and see the ridiculosity for what it is. But.

But…..once in awhile a change of scenery is in order, if for no other reason than to throw your chaos into perspective and give you an appreciation for little things like, say, the Amish out on the state highway. Sometimes I achieve this with a trip to the Northwest to visit The Dirtbag, I’ve found it on a road trip to a music festival in Steamboat Springs, Co and it’s been had floating down a river on a lazy summer day with a motley crew of amigos. The common denominator is that travel is the impetus for my inspiration. I may not be as worldly as I’d hoped to be by this age, but in my limited travels, I find it to be a crack cocaine of sorts: I always want more and more, there’s always more to see, more to experience, more to drink in and enjoy.

The corollary benefit to me traveling around more is that it also provides much more material to write about, and thereby gives you moments of levity (in the form of this site) from time to time. The reason I bring this up? I am in deep negotiations with The Wife as to the purchase of a dual sport motorcycle, which would give me access to a whole new range of material and inspiration. You may argue that you can hit the road in your truck just as easily, and it would be hard to counter that, but there is something about traveling by bike to small town festivals, redneck jamborees and different little hamlets around here that really appeals to the wanderer in me. To take a dusty county backroad with an amigo or two just to witness all that is offered for my visual consumption would border on a spiritual experience for an old heathen. You know, like my own version of  Zen And the Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance kind of thing.

And while she may have safety statistics, economic limitations and virtual practicality on her side of the argument, I’ll be utilizing divine inspiration as the cornerstone of my reasons to buy a motorcycle. I am also going to be relying heavily on needing to keep posts on this site fresh and funny, that you the reader have high expectations of low humor and that in order to accomplish this, I’ll need two wheels, a motor and a weekend here or there. I can’t let you down, and I won’t.  It’s going to prove a tough fight, my friends, and her ability to be all “rational” and “level-headed” is going to work against me  in ways I can’t even anticipate. Although it shouldn’t be necessary, I’ll even resort to guerrilla tactics such as…..well, I can’t say here, because she’s been known to read this once in a while. But trust me, it’ll involve behavior I am not used to, such as reining in some of my erratic ways. Hopefully the result will be a newly found sense of inspiration and a 650cc motor.

After all, who can argue against Zen and small town tractor pulls?

Monday again in these Ozarks finds me back at the firehouse, complete with the ritual shaming of co-workers, indulgence in sweet tea plus a visit from a psychotic homeless woman who has completely captured our hearts. More about her in a moment. The weekend showed us the first signs of an awesome fall, with incredibly cool temps, sounds of football straining onto the front porch from a radio and the windows kicked open with the attic fan running. I hope that the dog days of summer truly have left the building, as they are one of the least appealing aspects of Midwestern living. As is Monday tradition, I give you the Mud ~ the weeks heroes and villains, as well as the survey question for the Half Past Friday post. Remember to send your finest to bluecayucos@gmail.com. Hope the week finds you all cool as a fall day in Missouri.

RAISING OF THE PINT GLASS

1.) The Bentons – Brad and Carie hosted one of those “Passion Parties” – but this time it was for couples. Normally the realm of hysterical giggling women, it takes a certain set of stones to go to one of these things as a man. But it takes even bigger clankers to host it. Good times were had by all (or so I’m told), and for that I raise my pilsner glass to you, amigos!

2.) Fire Station #2 – In light of the troubles with the economy, the pension fiasco and other assorted tales of woe, sometimes it takes the kind of humor firefighters slap one another with to make for a great day; this was highlighted by E—-, our new homeless friend, who came into the house and informed us that “I’m pregnant and seeping something”. Yeah, she’s pregnant and I’m the Pope. A brew for the lads.

3.) Crack Tea – when the summer months are here, one of the firehouse traditions is to brew up sweet tea the likes of which will put you into diabetic shock. Although no substitute for the beloved bean, it makes for an old-school energy drink that’ll rot your teeth and guts out. I love it. If we could drink beer on duty, I’d raise a Guinness to the institution of Firehouse Crack Tea.

KARATE CHOP TO THE THROAT

1.) Pluto haters – I grew up believing that Pluto was two things: a planet and a dog. Stupid scientists from the International Astronomical Union crushed one of those beliefs three years ago with their re-assessment of the icy planet. That’s right – it’s a planet. And today, apparently, a debate rages on as to it’s merit within the universe. I return Pluto to Full Planetary Status and chop the throat of the IAU haters. Stop with the revision of my childhood science schooling.

2.) Lindsey Lohan – she just irritates me.

3.) Steven Seagal - he’s apparently starring in a new reality series on A&E, having milked the “Killing Immigrant Drug Dealers” movie genre bone-dry. What won’t we do as a society for our fifteen minutes (extended in his case by about 20 years)? Apparently, nothing. 7th degree black belt in Aikido Karate Chop to your throat, you ponytailed putz.

HALF PAST FRIDAY SURVEY QUESTION FOR AUGUST 28TH

You’re just a small town girl (or boy), livin’ in your lonnnely world, you take the midnight train going anyyyyywhere. So tell me where you’d go, if you were to pick right now, and why. Make ‘em funny as ever, and the top five will make it onto the Friday survey. Mail the results to bluecayucos@gmail.com, then check in Friday, amigos.

Being a fan of the human condition, my radar for bizarre behavior operates on high alert most of the time. One aspect that always grabs my attention? Culture clashes. I am not talking about a cannibal in a room full of vegans kind of thing, more like certain behaviors that seem to make sense to locals, but seem weird-o-riffic to a transplant such as myself. This area of the country offers several opportunities to observe these customs, from folks’ obsession with fried chicken in cashew sauce (white meat only….dark meat is always rumored to have come from neighborhood cats), to having homes in the “country French” style (not to be confused with “French country” style which is also a favorite and TOTALLY different), to one of my all-time favorites: dining out as competitive sport.

When I first moved here, I found it really and truly odd that people would tolerate waiting two hours on a cold or hot sidewalk just to eat at one of the 79,651 restaurants our town seems to offer. This takes place every weekend, and we’re not talking about only fancy, swanky joints either. A national barbecue chain rolls into town and we’ll gladly sit knee deep in peanut shells in the waiting area just for the opportunity to dive into a baked potato with 3,800 calories of meat and dairy on top (that’s one of two side orders, just to let you know). In fact, going out any time from Thursday to Sunday is an exercise in sheer madness, unless Taco Bell sounds like the kind of cuisine you were thinking about. After nine years, however, it somehow became enmeshed in my system that weekends were meant for these feats of endurance, where we could all jam our elbows into one another in waiting areas, proclaiming to the world how nice it was “to just get out of the house” (a sentiment clearly shared by, like, 99.9% of the metro population as well). The Wife, being a native, accepts this as a part of her civic obligation to Springfield, and insists that we participate on a regular basis.

So imagine, if you will, the four of us out for lunch today at the Fuddruckers after some hiking at the Nature Center. All is going well, with Heathen #2 attempting to eat his macaroni and cheese like one might drain the last of the cereal out of the bowl (tipped up and going everywhere). I notice the crowds start to build near the drink station and in the ordering line. I mention as much to my better half, and she leans in, all conspiratorially, cocks up an eyebrow, and says “well, ya know, you GOTTA beat the church crowd. And we just did.” She then nods her head in a self-satisfied way, as though this indicates our consumptive prowess. I looked around. Of course, she was right. It would seem that the only logical thing to do after congregating in a house of worship would be to congregate in a house of pancakes. She then asked me “I guess you never had to worry about this in California, did you?” No, I didn’t. Ever. I am sure that all of the hot spots out there are packed on weekend evenings, but that’s where you’d mostly find singles and young couples, not spiritually inclined families in their finest khakis and polo shirts. It just wasn’t something we grew up doing. Most families were eating at home or in the homes of their friends. The adults would stand around after church on the lawn in front, eating cheap donuts, drinking cheaper coffee and smoking Virginia Slims during “social hour”, but that about covered the churchy-social obligations. We never went out to eat with our fellow congregants; for one thing,  Mom had to haul ass back home so she could prepare “dinner”. For 2pm (I never understood that). Even as a kid, I was busy inventing various diseases to get me out of going to church half the time, so why would I enjoy going out with those people afterward?

Back to today. We ended up discussing the pros and cons of eating out as a ritual for awhile, me advocating eating at home more often, as long as I didn’t have to be a part of the cooking process, she telling me I am ridiculous. Before long, I sensed trouble on the horizon. How? From the back seat of the car, still covered in ketchup residue, Heathen #1 pipes up “that was good, but can we go to Taco Bell tomorrow?”

Game, set and match.

Friday again. I know for most of you, sweet release from the grind is but a few hours away. I feel that way this week as well, since the ever-accomplished B shift works Friday then Monday in this work cycle. Perhaps we’ll participate in normal family rituals such as cartoon saturation and catching up on all that matters around the house. As well, I made my second attempt to run this morning before work. The results weren’t AS disastrous as before, but it wasn’t an attractive sight to behold. Here’s this morning’s ipod playlist, since there seems to be an abundance of critics flooding the email inbox with their “opinions” of my choices.

• Another Drinkin’ Song – The Mighty Mighty Bosstones
• Modern Man – Bad Religion
• Discreate The Limits – Crucial DBC
• No More ?’s – Eazy E
• Moron Brothers – NOFX
• Mama Said Knock You Out – LL Cool J
• All Along The Watchtower - Jimi Hendrix
• El Lay – NOFX
• Blenderhead - Bad Religion
• Piano Man (live) – Billy Joel
• Hotel California – Skadaddyz
• Two Step – Dave Matthews Band

As for the results of the Half Past Friday survey, in light of this “new economy”, we’ve had to, um, downsize. So, from here on out, we’ll have to “economize” the Half Past Friday answers to five, so the competition just got fiercer than ever. Speaking of the competition, I give you the very best of the answers I received this week to the following question:

Since we’re all here meeting up on the World Wide Web, tell me the very first website you go to each day and (more importantly) WHY. Make your answers honest, witty and every which way but loose.

Number Five
Every morning starts out much like the one before. In fact, the song “Every day is exactly the same” by Nine Inch Nails has, for all intents and purposes, become my theme song. I’m a victim of comfort in the status quo. My web habits are not immune to this inane and somewhat boorish process. Each morning when I fire up the Mac (Oh, how I love the happy, nondiscriminatory chime it emits after the power button is pressed; it’s harpy-like tone calms and seems to tell me: “everything is going to be alright.”), two things happen: 1) I settle into the classic cubicle worker’s posture, as if I’m digging into the trenches for a full day of clicking away at the keyboard and 2) I fire up Safari, which automatically opens my homepage: Google Homepage. So technically, Google Homepage is the first URL I see every day. It gives me a mix of local weather, Google Reader snippets and my email headers. However, the first actual site I navigate to is Facebook. Yes, Facebook. I admit it. I like seeing the little, red, numbered badge in the lower, right corner of my Facebook homepage. I become not just a little giddy at following what people replied to my posts and pictures as well as seeing what hilarity ensued when I dropped that last post-bomb on somebody else the night before. I enjoy reading some of the less-than-grammatically-correct posts of some of my friends. It’s entertaining. I like to be entertained. And, what better place than the Mecca of Social Networking?

Number Four
Well the honest truth is, I am a facebook junkie. I have to say that my first site of the day, everyday, is www.facebook.com. It all started with the introduction to my Geekie husband. You see he is an internet fiend. He lives and breathes the World Wide Web. Before I met him I was just an average, run of the mill, normal girl. I knew how to text on my cell phone, I had an occasional online chat with a friend, and had just enough knowledge of the internet to be worried about it. I was a social butterfly and spent countless hours with my friends and family… in REAL time. The ROW, or Real Outside World, was my facebook. When the husband introduced me to the depths of the WWW it replaced my ROW. With his influence I am now a full fledged surfer, complete addict, and might I add… perfectly happy with my life. My morning doesn’t start until I have coffee in hand and Facebook online. I connect to get my fix of social interaction.  I don’t get out much these days as I work from the comfort of my home office/bedroom, so this is how I stay connected to the ROW. It has gotten so convenient to play the part of the normal friend, posting good mornings and chatting with others, that I have almost completely stopped all real interaction with people.  I find my self more and more, during my work day in front of this Mac, staring at the facebook screen. Waiting for something interesting to happen so that I can put my two cents into other peoples lives and pretend that I am still in the ROW. Would I go back? Life on the outside, in the ROW? I don’t know that I could if I wanted to.

Number Three
The first website I go to each day is jezebel.com.  Why? Because I am a feminazi bonerkiller.  And with the addition of driving a subaru, if you ask my husband, I am possibly a lesbian.  Wait, that is a lie. The first website I go to each day is halfpastawesome.com, where I hope and pray for new content.

Number Two
This is decidedly not exciting, but I’m going to contribute to the cause (such as it is) anyway.  I go to Drudgereport.com.  I think Matt Drudge is genius for his simple format and it’s how I’m sure I get the news…ALL of the news – not just the government-run, liberal crap sandwich that comes on my non-cable/satellite-having tv at home.  Plus you get human interest stories. One example from today: ‘ Possessed Teen Stabs 3 Younger Siblings.’  Gone are the days when I have to search all around for this stuff, now it’s all in one spot.  Thank you Matt Drudge.
Told you it wasn’t exciting.  What did you think I was going to say? “Uh, yeah, Uli, I go to bigveinyschlong.com first thing every morning.”  I mean, c’mon, I don’t go there until later… when I’m more awake.

Number One
Hello, my name is E— and I am a Fantasy Footballaholic…for the next 4 months I will feverishly visit my fantasy league home page first thing, as well as way too many times per day, to scour the waiver wire for sleepers, adjust my fantasy roster and follow my opponents moves. Allow me to testify to my process.
1. I am powerless over Fantasy Football – and I don’t give a damn.
2. I believe that a power greater than myself will restore me to the league championship.
3. I have made a decision to turn my fantasy will and moves over to the sports talking heads.
4. I have made a searching inventory of my team..and I have to make some changes.
5. I have admitted to God, to myself, and to SI.com the exact nature of my addiction.
6. I am entirely ready to remove busts from my roster.
7. Humbly ask for a trading partner that I can deal them to.
8.I have made a list of all those I have crushed in the past.
9. I will make amends to such people…and by amends I mean crush them again.
10. I will continue to inventory my team and when i make a wrong pick-up I will promptly kick them to the waiver wire.
11. I have sought through prayer and meditation…and sleepless nights and all too real dreams…the knowledge to improve my roster.
12. Through a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps…I will carry the message of the greatness of Fantasy Football to all.
Now excuse me while I check Yahoo! Fantasy Football for the latest news.

In order to mark my return to the firehouse after a few weeks off, I thought I’d go whole hog and work out before shift, too. This was a dumb decision. I go to stationary cycling classes (er, spin) regularly, ride to work once in a while, play some ice hockey and even go so far as to attend yoga/pilates classes once or twice a week (don’t laugh too hard till you try it. Burns like acid).  But if I really, truly want to get rid of the junk hanging off the waist, it’s got to be running, a sport I loathe with utter contempt. It’s hard on the knees, I sound like a gagging water buffalo when doing it and it looks as though I might be in the throes of a grand mal seizure when I attempt it. Nonetheless, it is the one tried and true method of getting rid of the Guinness and baconic residue.

So I gave in to my co-worker JoBoo’s demands and joined him in an attempt to “run” three miles before work. THREE MILES. Might as well have been the Battan Death March at that rate. I thought I might share my experiences as they related to what was cranking out of the ipod. The mileage/time sequence may be off, since I could barely jog, much less keep track, but you’ll get the idea.

Mile One-ish
Song: Nuthin’ But A G Thang by Dr. Dre
Turns out this is a good one for me to keep pace to. And by “pace” I mean it’s the kind of slow that you might commit a drive-by shooting to. Which is EXACTLY like the kind of crime I feel like committing within the first fifty feet of the run. Holy S#*t why in the world did I tell JoBoo I’d do this? This is stupid. I am already hurting. I want nothing more than to quit. My lungs agree that this is a good idea and demand I stop immediately. I don’t comply.

Mile 1.2-ish
Song: The Lightning Storm by Flogging Molly
The song title is what I am hoping against hope will happen right over my head at this very moment, thereby electrocuting me and making me forget the pain in my feet and inner chest cavity. As an interesting aside, I think a homeless guy just pushed a shopping cart right by us, we’re going so slow. JoBoo doesn’t look affected in the least by this torture, making my desire to stab him reach a feverish level. I want so badly to kill him, but don’t have the energy to complete the task.

Mile 2-something
Song:  Too Much Sex (Too Little Jesus) by The Drive By Truckers
This song is totally irrelevant to the situation at hand, but I like how lost the protagonist is in the tune (spiritually speaking), because I, too, feel lost. Lost in the sense that I lost a lung somewhere around a half mile ago, and this has forced the first “walking” foray of the trip so far. I vow to only walk 1/2 a block, but in reality I would jump onto the the bumper of a bus right now and hitch a ride back to the firehouse if I could.

Mile 2-and a something-ish
Song: Gold Digger by Kanye West
Since I don’t know if what I am doing technically qualifies as “running”, I assume I am experiencing a “shuffler’s high” right now, since I am having all sorts of mental revelations. It strikes me that this song has ABSOLUTELY no chance of becoming a reality in my life, since I am worth approximately nothing financially; this fact makes me grin like a lopsided baboon as I grunt my way up the street. Also, I almost fall on my face as I try and play Tetris with the brick patterns in the sidewalk, a slightly less funny fact. JoBoo is nowhere to be seen when this happens, and it’s too bad. Perhaps he would have died of an asthma attack laughing at me, which would serve him right.

Mile 3.000001
Song: Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta by The Geto Boys
Why do I love this song in this moment? Perhaps it’s because of these lyrics:
“Real gangsta-a$$ ni##as don’t talk much/
All ya hear is the black from the gun blast/
And real gangsta-a$$ ni##as don’t run for s#*t/
cause real gangsta-a$$ ni##as can’t run fast”
I can relate on every level. I can’t talk, because I must save that energy for all of the gasping and dry heaving that is taking place at this juncture. There is no gun blast, but if someone shot me in this moment I would be in their debt for what was left of my eternity. And it is VERY true that I can’t run “for shit” nor “fast” because what I am doing is ridiculous and anything BUT running.

Mile 3.0009
Song: Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm by the Crash Test Dummies
The only good thing about this song and how it might relate is that I could no longer speak real words, and so the chorus made sense. And then I realized I don’t really like this song at all, and this is another reason I want to fall in front of the city bus that has just passed so close to my staggering corpse.

Mile 3.1
I die just a little bit in front of the firehouse, a casualty of ridiculous fitness. Time? 34 minutes and change. JoBoo laughs as I grasp at his barely sweating form mouthing “oxygen, please, for the love of God, oxygen!!” As soon as I regain consciousness, I vow to kill him.

Some folks hate Mondays with the same kind of rancor normally reserved for institutions like apartheid or diseases like Mesothelioma. If I worked something other than off-kilter shift work, I might feel the same way, but days of the week don’t mean a whole lot as a firefighter, other than the occasions they mark. Tuesday is mowing day, Saturday is ladder cleaning day, and Sunday is known as the best day of the week in the firehouse. Some days are made even better by little events that occur out of the blue. Today, on a Monday, it is raining to beat the dog, which makes me happy and a little less sweaty. As well, today is the day we kiss the satellite internet goodbye, as we got line of sight high speed installed here on the compound today. I can’t wait to finish this post and call up HughesNet and speak to “Peter” in New Delhi and tell him to where he can shove his useless services. So, without further ado I give you the Raising Of The Pint Glass and the Karate Chop To The Throat for the week. Don’t forget to read the survey question at the bottom and submit your answers for consideration for Friday. Send your wittiness to bluecayucos@gmail.com. Take care, amigos!

RAISING OF THE PINT GLASS

1.) “Craig” from Total Wireless. This is the gentleman responsible for liberating us from the oppressive yoke of the overlords at Satellite Tyrants R’ Us internet service. Now we can join the rest of 2004 in the digital age and load more than one picture every 20 hours. A beer for Craig, at your earliest convenience.

2.) Darth Vader. Ever since the post went up about how good it is to be a bad guy, the entire family here in Rogersville has been shamelessly quoting the Dark Lord of the Sith, and catching up on Chad Vader episodes on YouTube. Somehow, Vader’s lines are endlessly quotable in every situation. Lines like telling my boys to “give in to your hatred” and gasping like an evil asthmatic. A dark ale for the Dark Lord.

3.) Heathen #1. He starts kindergarten on Wednesday, and I couldn’t be more excited for him, while a little sad at the same time. He’s gonna love school and while we can’t slow down the march of time, I miss the little version of my dude already. I raise my pint glass to you because you’re my son and I love you.

KARATE CHOP TO THE THROAT

1.) Me. I’ve headed back to the gym after a two week hiatus, and realized that anything I’d sweated off in the last five months came back with a vengeance in two weeks. I’ve even abstained from my favorite fruit of the pig (bacon) and I could still SMELL it today as I sweated like a discount hooker on the bike. I hate my own lethargic ass at times. So I chop….myself. And it hurts like hell.

2.) The Neighbors. They’ve been surprisingly quiet as of late, leaving us alone and creating minimal chaos. I am disturbed by this lack of action, which can only mean that they’re planning some sort of uprising in the near future. Plus, they’re not giving me any material to write about, thereby confirming my suspicions that they ARE out to get me. Stupid medications and coffee are not helping any. Hack, chop!

3.) Kindergarten bullies. Upon his arrival into the public school system, Heathen #1 will no doubt be confronted by the a-hole kids of a-hole parents who think that bullying is A-ok. I hated bullies then and have no use for them now. And if it comes down to it, I’ll chop socky anyone bullying my boys. Actually, I’m a firm believer in “don’t be the first to throw a punch, but make sure you’re the last.” Bullies, beware. I will wait for you. I’ve got time.

HALF PAST FRIDAY SURVEY QUESTION FOR AUGUST 21ST

Since we’re all here meeting up on the World Wide Web, tell me the very first website you go to each day and (more importantly) WHY. Make your answers honest, witty and every which way but loose. Send your responses to bluecayucos@gmail.com. Cheers to Buns, once again, for coming up with the question (God, that guy wants ALL the credit!). Have a good one, my friends!

One of the pluses of social networking sites such as Facebook has been the ability to reconnect me with folks I haven’t seen nor heard from in a good decade or so. Take Stefan Paszke, for example. Stefan and I were the best of buddies as little kids. Stefan was a huge BMX bike racing guy, so naturally, I wanted to be into BMX.  He was an only child, and thus the recipient of an only child’s attention; of course this meant I spent time trying to figure out how to kill my brothers so I TOO could reap the rewards. As time rolled along, we grew up, grew apart and aside from sporadic sightings I’d hear about from time to time, he vanished into the big bad world.

And then I stumbled across Facebook, and we found one another (it wasn’t too hard, after all, two dudes with names such as ours? Didn’t we just cover this topic?) Guess what? After all these years, Stefan is still in the cycling game, as an owner of Bespoke Cycles in San Fransisco, and it looks like an awesome shop; remembering his fastidious attention to detail, this looks like the kind of place where the serious cyclist drops in for serious craftsmanship. And while it’s been really gratifying to catch up with him, other social re-connections have also brought up the uglier, darker side of such sites: my raging envy and the sucker I am at falling for well crafted self-promotion.

Nobody ever heads to a social gathering such as a cocktail party and responds to the usual “how are you?” with: “actually, Charles, I’m glad you brought that up, because I am REALLY worried about paying the utility bill this month.” We always respond with “GREAT! It’s all smooth sailing, Chuck! How about you?” And so our little charade of well being continues, with no one knowing exactly where the truth falls. This is how it should be; beyond small talk, are we truly interested in the sordid details of one’s financial health or impending marital implosion? If I am, then it’s most likely in a trainwreck/Nascar pileup observational way – pure morbid voyeurism. Nothing to be proud of, I admit it.

So why is it then, when I read the profiles and updates of an old acquaintance on Facebook, do I find myself nervously chuckling in righteous amusement at what appears to be socially hip bragging?  “So-and-so just got back from the Hamptons, and in between planning his next trip to St. Tropez and Paris built a eco-sustainable bio-dome for a homeless man on the Santa Monica Pier.” Well, of COURSE they’re gonna say that. We ALL do. I never update with: “Uli can’t seem to find his missing box of 3/16th” E6010 welding rod”. Nobody cares about that. But somehow, I always fall for the updates, and then I get all weird and envious of the roads that others have taken. I, too, want to travel the world in search of the best surf spots, to “hop across the pond” just to watch Manchester United take on some no-account footballers. I think it would be awesome to the nth degree to travel with my friend Juli, all across these United States, promoting Leatherman multi-tools. SHE GETS PAID TO TALK ABOUT TOOLS. FOR REAL. Of course, I don’t know what the hell ELSE is happening in her life, so it would be dumb of me to covet hers, much less the life of anyone else.

In the end, I’m really stoked to find out what my old friends are up to these days, where the winds scattered them across this globe. If anyone would have told me a dozen years ago I’d be a full time firefighter here in the middle of the country, I’d have considered that person high, and would’ve told them as much. This just happens to be the road I wound up on, due to myriad choices and circumstances. And while we’re all raising families, conquering the world of leisure in tropical locales, working as novelists or maybe just toiling away as civil servants, these experiences are fun to share through the world of modern day digital gossip pages. I suppose I need to embark on yet another adventure before long, so I can have fresh material to embellish for the internet. Maybe said adventure needs to start at a San Francisco bike shop and a visit to an old friend.

Back again, for your viewing pleasure, is the Half Past Friday survey. This week I got several bizarre responses to the question: “deserted island time – what would your pick for one movie, one album and one food be?” Apparently, more than a few of you are concerned with self-abuse. That’s okay, I guess, in the big picture. Also, many respondents wanted to consider alcohol your food…..and that is a very practical way to look at your time on the island, as far as I’m concerned. Finally, I don’t know why some of you were so damn concerned about an electrical power source…..these are theoretical picks, not a reality based scenario that I intend to inflict upon an unsuspecting public. If that was the case, I’d let you take two movies and an ipod. The very best answers made the list, for which the will be rewarded with self-esteem and prestige among their colleagues. Yeah, right. Anyways, here’s how they stacked up:

Number Ten
Movie-Moulin Rouge.  I could practice all the steps and words to the songs and pretend that I was an actual cabaret girl, a.k.a extremely talented hooker.
Album-Soundtrack to Moulin Rouge of course! I could work on my singing voice while sunbathing on the island.
Food-Steak, preferably tri-tip, I could sustain myself for awhile on the protein and build up my dancing muscles, and do you know how fucking awesome I could look if I didn’t eat carbs?! But wait, I would be on this island alone and there would be no one to take advantage of my awesomeness?  Screw it…give me CHOCOLATE!

Our first hooker on an island reference….very smooth. Tri-tip and chocolate complete the ensemble. The only thing missing was bacon. Outside of that, you are one foxy mama. This list is your new home!

Number Nine
One Movie:  Pretty Woman! Rodeo Drive Baby!  Prostitutes and polo fields, love, sex, shopping, fast cars, fancy hotels, and one of the most quotable movies ever.
One Album:  Bob Marley, Legend. I once had a Bob Marley cassette stuck in my little red Toyota Tercel hatchback (yes, you could make it go Flintstone style by just sticking your feet out the bottom) . . . the tape would just play over and over again . . . and I NEVER got sick of it.  And, what would go better under a couple palm trees on a deserted island but a little Bob Marley?
One Food: This one is tough since I like to eat and I like to eat everything.  How about drink?  But, then I would have to pick between coffee and wine and that is pretty much impossible.  I am going to go with peanut butter and honey sandwiches.  A little bit of nostalgia, mixed with a little sweet, a little protein and one handed yumminess.

I dig all your choices, save for the Pretty Woman call. On the flip side, I find prostitutes to be mildly misunderstood angels, so that’s kinda hot. Especially if they are like Julia Roberts.

Number Eight
When I first got this wonderful question, two things went through my mind: Do I answer seriously or with an out outrageous joke?  But then i realized, this is actually a really hard questions.  I mean sure we played this game when we were younger, with answers like: Commando; pizza and GnR, but now its so much harder; I began to struggle with simplicities like; do I take a sexy movie for the boredom or a classic!   After serious contemplation and a failed relationship I think I might have a serious answer:
The Movie: The Big Lebowski.  A truly classic comedy that one can watch over and over.
One Food:  Definetly Rum.  I would just eat coconuts, but come-on, if you’re on a desert island, its gotta be rum.
One Album:  Full Circle – Pennywise. Best punk album ever written.  Somehow the picture on me drunk on an Island, running around crazy listening to punk and reciting the “Dude” around a roaring fire seems to be mildly inviting to try out.

The fact that you gave this some thought and that I agree that Jeff “The Dude” Lebowski is a slacker-style Ghandi for the ages is what put you on this list. However, “rum” is not a food and THAT is why you are considered a putz for the ages. The Dude abides

Number Seven
Had you said favorite thing to eat, this would be a very different list.  But you said specifically food,so…
Food -Bubble Gum, boat loads of bubble gum (still technically not a true food, I suppose).
Movie -Escape from Gilligan’s Island.
Album-Chariots of Fire Soundtrack.
Why, you ask? I’m certain that Gilligan must have tried, at one time or another, to get off the island by balloon.  I would fast-forward to that section.  And I would need the Chariots of Fire music to give me enough motivation to blow up a big-A balloon, which is what the boat loads of Bubble Gum is for.
Had you said favorite thing to eat, I wouldn’t be trying to get off the island.

You are one sick, sick puppy. Perhaps Burning Man was a better fit for you than everyone expected.

Number Six
The movie: Sudden Impact. Yeah, because Clint’s that good. And I remember San Francisco from those days before the liberals hijacked it and turned it into the s—hole it is now with bums crapping in the planters in broad daylight and before everything on Market Street smelled like urine.
The food: Choice grade ribeye steak or Porterhouse like Erica J. used to bring home to Santa Margarita. But don’t let her pan fry it. Cooked over a half barrel homemade BBQ with local red oak and a pot of McLintocks Beans with some fresh French bread. Nothing green on my plate. Good beer from Portland, OR and some dogs fighting in the living room for entertainment.
The tunes: Offspring Smash or Inay on the Hombre or Led Zeppelin In through the out Door.
What can I say….classics are classic and I am old .

What part of “deserted island” lead you to believe that there would be a living room available for dog fighting? Outside of that, it sounds like a perfect set up. If only Marcus “Ed” Bunn were there to cook it.

Number Five
Movie – Realizing that rescue wasn’t likely, that there would be no chance of any further human contact, and that, even though I somehow had the means to watch a movie (WTF?), my existence on this island would be dismal and depressing…..“Weekend at Bernies”. This movie would inspire me to gash my thigh with a conch and wade out into the tide, hoping for a quick death at the jaws of a shark.
Food – My number one comfort food…Fruit Loops. A bowl of these sugar coated halos will make everything alright. Got me through two divorces and has kept me from murdering Plaintiff #2 on many occasions. Oh….and some beef jerky, for protein. And some tortilla chips, with avocado dip. And my Mom’s lasagna. And a Twix. And a fu@#$%$ Mountain Dew, son.
Album - Baking in the sun, sound of the surf, sand between my toes…anything by Kenney Chesney…so I could cut my ears off with an oyster shell, and pierce my ear drum with a sliver of palm bark. How about the Beach Boys “Endless Summer”? Or maybe a Jimmy Buffet “Best of” collection? The island theme is screwing me up. Ok. I got it. Soundtrack. “Saturday Night Fever”. The BeeGees kick ass.

How about some Ritalin and Xanax to go with your smorgasbord of personalities? I take comfort in knowing that at least you won’t be lonely.

Number Four
You know, If I wanted to be boring I could sit here and state my favorite movie, food, and album which would probably end up along the lines of Predator, Mai Tuna Tacos, and the Led Zeppelin collection box set; but for some reason my sexual vigor won’t allow this…
I’d first like to think the reason for my arrival on this “deserted island” was because I tried ridding North America of zombies from a killer plague, but in failing I swam 50 miles to my sandy paradise. Once ashore and regaining my nutrition from coconuts and wild berries I would a construct a Tarzan like apparel. I then would set a picnic like setting with bamboo shoots and cabana style leafs. This of course an abode for my oh so precious chocolate covered strawberries in a hollowed out coconut; all in time for the convenient arrival of my divine jungle goddess. (Luckily by this time ABC has added Megan Fox to the cast list of The Lost). After being her shoulder to cry on during the watching of the notebook, we would induce to repopulating the island to a Barry Lanilow Greatest Hits CD. One can dream no?

Okay, so your picks aren’t exactly groundbreaking, but your back story leads me to believe that you REALLY do believe we have zombies running amok in the good ol’ U.S. of A. That and you need some professional help, but that goes beyond saying….

Number Three
After much pressure, I have decided to overcome my protest against the sheer impracticality of this question (where IS the electricity going to come from?) and pick what three items I would take.
Movie: As tempting as Howard the Duck may be,I originally was going to choose Castaway,mainly as a reminder that I must NOT lose my sanity and befriend a volleyball (which of course I would have due to the electricians leaving it behind). But on further consideration,I have decided I would want Swiss Family Robinson so I could study how to build a really kick ass tree house and befriend a baby elephant. Also,it would make great reference material for building a tiger pit or making homemade explosives to defend myself from the pirates,The Dharma Initiative, or The Others from LOST who would inevitably appear.
Album: I would bring Chaino’s Jungle Mating Rhythms (circa 1950 something),because a girl’s going to get lonely and may need to attract the local natives. I’m sure there will be a communication barrier, but primal bongo beats should get the message across.
Food: This one was a little tough,but I think I’m going to go with a potato. Not only can they reproduce,but they come in handy for a a variety of things. Professor Hinhede and his assistants once lived for three years on potatoes. Who he is and why,I cant imagine,but I looked it up. Aside from the obvious nutritional value and the ability to make vodka,I could also use the potato to cure indigestion from eating crappy island food,cure headaches,polish shoes,cure warts,make a decorative stamp,make soap,remove broken light bulbs(which there will be on this deserted island obviously),demonstrate osmosis,play hot potato,clean rusty knives…the list goes on and on. I’m pretty sure you can make a battery out of one for when the blackout occurs.

This just proves you are batsh–t crazy. Or pure genius. Or maybe a little of both. Potato…..I love it. Idaho gold star for you.

Number Two
I was sitting here thinking what movie I would like to see over and over and over again and I initially thought I’d just go with my favorite movie ever – The Station Agent.  But then I realized I’m probably going to be on a deserted island ALONE.  So, it’s gonna have to be porn.  You can choose which one as long as it isn’t 2 hours of man on man insanity.  The bonus is that you really only need about 10 minutes of it per viewing so you won’t really see the whole movie for potentially a couple weeks.  Won’t get old as fast. I know, I’m a genius.
As for albums, I think Abba’s Greatest Hits will be nice to listen to until someone comes to rescue me…and goes great with porn.  I’ve always kinda felt like Abba’s onesie shiny unitards would be porntastic anyway.
All this talk of Abba and porn has really got me hungry for some pizza.  So, pizza it is.  It’s just that simple.

The first lady in the survey to utilize porn on the deserted island scenario…..and for that I toss you mad crazy props. I love pizza and ABBA equally and think we’d look damn good in some matching unitards. To the UnitardMart we go.

Number One
Movie – Debbie Does Dallas because your alone on an island and your gonna need…. well, you know.  Does this island have a DVD player?  And if so, is D.D.D available on DVD?
Food - Fried Chicken.  Then when your done eating, your hands are greasy which will be helpful with…… anyways..
Album – Pink Floyd, The Wall. You’ve got some upbeat, some mellow, and on MY deserted island there will be a certain plant growing wild there that will compliment The Wall very nicely.

Oregano, I presume?

Here’s another thing: I don’t understand why people root for the good guy/girl in just about every Hollywood production that gets cranked out year after year. Don’t try and give me all this bull about moral superiority and making tough choices; while those answers may get you an “A” in Psych 101, the reality is that life would give you infinitely more, and better, opportunities if you aligned yourself with the bad guys. Let’s face it: Bad Guys kick ass. And here’s why….

1.) Lack of empathy/sympathy. Bad Guys have not one iota of guilt of sending thousands to their eternal doom just to see their own plan executed. If they have to expend not only their entire armies, but their own closest friends for the cause, then that’s just the cost of doing business. Good Guys always seem to want to put the good of their people/cause/family/country first. And that costs them big time, usually with an unceremonious death as the curtain falls. Bad Guys don’t give a shit WHO has to die to get where they’re going.

2.) Plan A. Plan B. Plan C. Plan D-Z. Whereas the protagonists of the genre seem to have one plan that faces overwhelming odds and carries a high mortality rate, the so-called called “villains” never have a problem writing off their entire plan/spaceship/planet/army/volcano-lair at the first sign of a speed bump. In fact, they’ll even enjoy a smooth cognac aboard their escape vessel and laugh maniacally with whatever cohorts escaped the raging inferno. Note to self – ALWAYS have an escape vessel; preferably one with a well stocked mini-bar.

3.) Vengeance / Revenge. Because Bad Guys are almost universally on a mission to recapture their power, avenge a relatives death or just plain hell-bent on punishing the universe, they are always on the move, always on the offensive. Good Guys are too busy defending their helpless compatriots from whatever evil the Bad Guy has unleashed to really formulate a comprehensive attack strategy. Bad guys can afford to toy with their enemies, much like a cat does a mouse. And we all know who loses that little game.

4.) Love Interests. Bad Guys don’t need ‘em. Almost EVERY SINGLE MOVIE has some stupid romance angle that never advances the Good Guys cause and usually ends up getting someone killed. A Bad Guy knows there’s no need to waste his time chasing trivial pursuits like “true love”. He knows the ladies will come to him, magnetically drawn to his inherent “bad boy” ways. He’d rather be “Mr. Right Now” not “Mr. Right”. Plus, a Bad Guy doesn’t need a wife or lover slowing him down on his way to the top; that is, unless, she can help him get there. Then, once he’s achieved his goals, he’ll likely toss her off the nearest cliff and find himself a new hobby, like hostile takeovers of local motel chains.

5.) Kids. Notice how in the Star Wars series, Lord Vader made a couple of attempts at getting his son Luke to “join the family business” and learn how to dominate the galaxy? Remember his reaction when Luke got all high and mighty, and refused to join? Well, if you don’t, it went like this: Darth Vader decided enough of this horseshit, I’ll just kill the little snot. In fact, even though Vader sensed that the Force was “strong with this one” (thereby a threat to his cherished way of life), he felt it was best to just wipe the little ingrate off the intergalactic map with some well-placed laser shots from his TIE-fighter. And then, when Luke kept refusing to sign with the Dark Side, rather than try to get all “close” with his son and “understand” his feelings, Darth Vader tried to teach him a lesson by cutting his hand off. Watch the little booger eaters the next time you go into a Target, running all kinds of roughshod over their mamas, and tell me that some time apprenticing under the Ultimate Bad Guy might not do them some good.

In this day and age of sensitivity and political correctness, it’s good to know the dudes operating on the wrong side of the law haven’t surrendered their principles for the sake of “morals” and “values” and “popularity”. No, they’ve stayed true to their principles (or lack thereof) and for that I salute them. It’s good to be bad.