Speakership

Reptile Wrangler

2006-09-05T13:46:00.000-07:00

Rest in peace my friend. I can safely say that Steve Irwin was one of the craziest SOBs I ever watched on TV. He made Australia cool. One of my college roommates actually went to study in Australia because Steve Irwin was a native. No joke.

I can’t imagine how many poisonous and deadly animals Irwin man-handled in his life, and it’s a sad day indeed when he gets offed by a sting ray with a nasty case of claustrophobia. There is a rumor going around that he pulled the 10” stingray barb from his heart before he died. Atta boy. I’m not sure if you know much about stingrays, but that’s kind of an affront to them. Guess the conservationist in Steve lost in the end. We mourn you Steve Irwin. El Diablo and I shall celebrate your life by consuming unhealthy amounts of tequila and chasing wild animal around our backyard.

I have to tell you, Big Cat isn’t too pleased with the loss of a legend like Steve Irwin. The squirrels and the bunnies are in for one hell of a ruckus in the coming days.

Where to start?

2006-08-31T07:24:00.000-07:00

I guess I owe an explanation. It’s been nearly 8 months since I last posted, so here’s a quick update. Hippie gave birth to our son in February, and when he greeted the world at a scale-bending 9 pounds, I knew my world had changed. He can’t walk yet, but I see him sneaking furtive glances at my beer, and I know he’s itching to light his first stogie.

I’ve come to call him El Diablo (for those of you who don’t know, that’s Spanish for fighting chicken) or Big Cat. Both monikers are an apt description.

Anyways, El Diablo and I have been down in Costa Rica for a bit trying to engage in some quality control discussions with our cocaine distributors. Things got a little dicey when I had a slight disagreement with a colleague named Shit for Brains, and he pulled a knife. Business negotiations have no decorum these days.

Long story short, Big Cat showed him what the fuck was up. I was particularly pleased with his uppercut to the chin, though it didn’t even touch what came next. As he sucked on his pacifier, Big Cat stuck his hands right into Shit for Brains’ left eyesocket, and yanked the entire eyeball out. I was about to be disappointed with his shameless replication of the Kill Bill 2 scene, though when he calmly removed his pacifier with his left hand, and popped the eyeball into his mouth with the right...all while our friend was writhing in pain…Well let’s just say I let him have a little beer after that one.

Viva El Diablo!

Where 'Da Hood At?

2005-12-05T13:44:00.000-08:00

Beginning Wednesday, my life becomes ungodly hectic. In addition to my anticipative parenting and work, I start my new responsibilities as guest seal-trainer at the zoo. I don’t know how familiar you are with seals, so let’s just say that unless you can imitate their language precisely, the task is often life-threatening.

Since I will have less and less time to devote to this wonderful partnership between myself and the Internet, I have agreed to allow a guest blogger to post on my site. Agreed may not be the correct terminology, but the thumbscrews at the end of the 2 hour long hormonal rage were just too much for me to take.

I fear after reading her posits, that my ranting will no longer be welcome, but that’s what happens when you allow talent into your life. So in the near future, look for The Amazing, The Wonderful, The Oh-My-God-She-Seems-So-Smart-Why-Did-She-Marry-Him….Hippie.

Whoops...

2005-12-02T12:44:00.000-08:00

I have a blog? Amazing? Pathetically, I have not written for a while now and am completely ashamed. OK, that’s just a lie. There’s less than 10 people who regularly read this detritus, so yeah not so much with the guilt thing.

Anyways, on to the exiting stuff…You may remember that I have a son, as of yet, unborn. I have taken to calling him Tail due to his first ultrasound, but he is tail no more. His new name is Hatch, taken from Sylvester Stallone’s character in the 1981 soccer drama Victory.

He so earns his moniker from the excessive kicking of Hippie’s stomach. What’s even more wonderful is that he seems to store his kicks up and send one into her abdomen whenever I am near. I love it. I figure it’s his way of saying “So Dad, what’s up?” However, She of The Expanding Uterus finds it less than endearing, often scolding Hatch for his behavior.

While I laugh when he responds to my proximity, I believe this will become less amusing when I am left to care for him by my lonesome and he morphs into Jack-Jack.

Den of Destruction

2005-10-28T13:12:00.000-07:00

Tail:

Hey buddy, what’s going on? Not much here, we’re kind of just hanging out trying to fake this whole ‘we’re going to be parents thing.’ I just wanted to apologize way in advance for how bad we’re going to screw up. The good thing for you is that your mother is like a brain surgeon and can read like Scooter Libby lies, so at least if there’s some parenting advice she reads it’ll pretty much be stuck in that steel trap of a brain for all eternity.

As for me, well I’ll be the fun guy. Kind of like everyone else’s crazy Uncle Larry, except I’ll be around all the time. What’s great about this deal is that whenever you get in trouble, it’ll probably be because of something I told you to do, so it’s likely that we’ll both be able to hang in timeout together. That’s love baby.

Well, it’s less than 16 weeks before you come out, so be cool, stay warm, and above all else be nice to your mother.

Love,

Dad

Not Particularly Fond of Thursday

2005-10-27T11:28:00.000-07:00

People I’m not particularly fond of this week…

My insurance carrier – You see Hippie has a positive blood type, and if I have a negative blood type – well that mean she needs to get a shot for the baby. Now explain this logic to me…they’ll pay to type her blood, they’ll pay for the shot, but they won’t pay to type my blood. Thanks corporate assholes.

Fisher De Berry – The Air Force coach made his second politically incorrect statement in the past year. Fisher I get where you were going with this one, and I doubt you meant to be hurtful…I just think you’re that ignorant. Hire a publicist already.

The people that sued – I think litigation is getting a little out of hand these days. I’m sorry, but the terrorists would have detonated that bomb one way or the other. It is very unfortunate whenever others pass at the hands of those with ill-will on their minds, and I feel deep regret for the many injured…I just don’t think suing the management of the building is the right course of action here.

I'd Like To Say

2005-10-24T13:46:00.000-07:00

I don’t write about work on this blog. Never ever. Today, however, is a day where I really want to tell you about work. I really want to tell you about some of the crazy shit that has happened here the last couple of days.

I really want to tell you about the asshole named XXX who proceeded to YYY me, and is now facing some unwanted loving in the rectum by some not so nice folks who work here.

I really want to tell you that ZZZ make way to much money for the kind of QQQ they do.

What I would love to tell you about is the part where this one person named RRR decided it would be a good idea to PPP because FFF is a complete fucking moron, and then CCC found out about it, and boy has the shit hit the fan.

And why can’t I tell you about all of this. Because one of the smarter people on The Internet, foretold of this urge. She has suffered at the server so that those that followed her could learn from her teachings. She has commanded: Be Ye Not So Stupid!

Maybe Messiah

2005-10-19T12:29:00.000-07:00

On the way into work this morning, one of the looniest people I have ever heard was on the radio. He goes by Jesus (yup that Jesus) and has a website dedicated to pilfering as much ass as he can get from the female population. And the name of this holy site? Just pilgrimage on over to date.jesus.com and apply for your chance to have a spiritual experience.

Simply put, this guy is a whore. While I frown upon visiting sites of whores, you simply cannot understand the order of whoredom until you see it for yourself. What I found fascinating about the pseudo-messiah is that he acknowledges that he is not the Son of God, but denies using the name of Jesus in order to get chicks. Yeah right. I also found it interesting that he acknowledges premarital sex to be against God’s will, and therefore simply relies on every other non-coitus method. Basically if you cut out all the bullcrap you get this personal add:

SWM long haired freak looking for hot girls to take baths with me and give me blowjobs.

Now I can see why he’s going with the Jesus thing.

The Gauntlet

2005-10-18T13:52:00.000-07:00

I got this link yesterday off kottke.org. If you haven’t been there before, I suggest you visit. At kottke’s sight there is some serious ass kicking of the internet variety. Anyways, to the subject at hand. Take a look at Time’s list of the 100 best English language novels from 1923-present (Time began in 1922, hence the odd time span).

Let’s make it known that I have serious issues with many of the novels on this list, and while these novels are all well written, the ones I find in contempt of being a great novel lack serious character and plot development, as well as are so boring that I want to cut my own heart out with a spoon, while there is also a great author on here who sometimes wrote in stream of consciousness for several pages without ending a sentence, and there should have been at least one more of his novels on this list, but in general I find these lists to be extraordinarily controversial, and if I ever wrote one I would put books like this on there just to screw with folks.

Hippie was counting how many books on the list she had read, and I believe, trailed off somewhere in the thirties. No point to that, I just thought everyone should know of her bookishness and some really bad novels that drag on and on and on.

P.S. I hate the Bronte sisters.

P.P.S. Watch the hateful comments drag on and on like those horrid novels, with the “Does he love, me?” and the “I am so sad because I love him so much, but he doesn’t love me.”

Not Particularly Fond of Thursdays

2005-10-13T13:24:00.000-07:00

And Away We Go…folks I’m not particularly fond of this week:

MLB umpire Paul Eddings – In my estimation Eddings screwed this one up pretty bad. Now the Angels definitely should have thrown him out at first, but since Paul made a hand gesture imitating a strike 3, Angels catcher Josh Paul didn’t throw to first. Bad all the way around, but I blame the umpire for using a strike ‘gesture’ even if he didn’t verbalize it.

Canada – I don’t advocate pot in any way, but if there’s an excuse, this guy has it. I’m not going to lie you, I’ve never liked Canada. No good reason, I just wish they’d stop hanging around all the time. Can’t they find their own continent already? The King County folks are more at fault here, but damn Canada and their Canadian ways.

Badger Me

2005-10-11T12:54:00.000-07:00

As I’ve said before, my yard has a slight problem with a clan of furry quadrupeds. Well, the playing field leveled out a bit last night, as there’s a new Sheriff in town. He hid before I could get my camera, but as I arrived home from work last night there was a badger hanging out in the middle of our backyard.

I’ve got to say, I’m pretty psyched. I kind of wanted to corner him just to test out his reflexes and all, but I guess I’ll let him work out his mojo without my interference. I hope to see more of him in the coming weeks, just not in an up close and personal, I’m-about-to-chew-your-damn-leg-off kind of way.

Hey Karma!

2005-10-10T12:08:00.000-07:00

On my way to work this morning I saw a wreck happen. A car veered out of control a couple hundred yards in front of me and crashed into a concrete barrier in front of a store. The driver got out, and others had already stopped, so I called 911 to let them know an accident had happened and went about my merry way thinking I had done my good deed for the day. Nope.

I stopped at a gas station to fill up, and immediately after I got out of my car a woman asked me if I could change her flat tire. I was early for work, so I thought I’d help her out. I figured she could use some assistance, and I hope that if my wife was in a similar situation and needed some help that someone would give their time too.

So I begin to change the woman’s tire, but there is one nut that’s really stuck on tight. As I am putting all my weight on getting the nut loose, the woman begins to tap her feet – passively telling me to “Hurry up.” I ignore her and keep going, and as I am putting the spare tire on she tells me that her husband can change a flat tire “In about five minutes.” I explain to her that it’s too bad he isn’t here at this exact moment, though I’m sure he’s pretty damned happy about that.

I finish up, put the flat tire and the jack in her trunk and ask if she could go inside and get some paper towels so I could wipe off my hands. “Sorry” she tells me, “I’m late.” She hops in her car and is gone without so much as a “Thanks.” Karma, if you’re reading this – Have at her…

Pretty Privileged

2005-10-07T12:21:00.000-07:00

I ran across this article today, and it just kind of warmed my heart. It lists the top 6 college towns in the U.S., and I am fortunate enough to have lived in two of them. I think of each place with extraordinarily fond memories, and often think of when I might next return.

In other news, I just received the following email (unedited, though bolded for emphasis) from Hippie.

“Your son is being a little shit this afternoon - apparently he either loves pizza or hates it (I'm guessing the former based on his genes). Whichever it is, he is kicking the crap out of my stomach and driving me crazy. This is not a good start for him.”

Watch your back little buddy, she’s still not thrilled you’re a boy, so I’d tread lightly if I were you.

Not Particularly Fond of Thursdays

2005-10-06T10:29:00.000-07:00

Back by popular demand…Folks I’m not particularly fond of this week:

Harriet Miers – By all accounts she’s a capable lawyer who is both smart, and resourceful. However, no matter what my political ideology might be, I would never support a Supreme Court nominee who has no experience as a judge. It makes absolutely no sense to me.

Lindsay Lohan – She put someone in the hospital and then blamed it on the paparazzi. I have no doubt that the flocking photo-takers make life a living hell for famous folks going about their daily business, but I think LiLo was driving irresponsibly and was probably at fault here. What a terrible web we weave when we dye our hair blond…

Katie Holmes – Every time I see her with Tom, I die a little inside. Go back to Capeside Joey, get away from Tom, thetans, and the rest of the Scientology craziness. Oh how I miss the days of the Joey-Pacey-Dawson triangle. It just hurts so much…

Hi, My Name is Speakership

2005-10-05T09:53:00.000-07:00

It seems that I do indeed have some influence over my unborn child, as it was confirmed yesterday that our child is a boy. You’re no doubt impressed by the size of his manhood, though I hope this isn’t foreshadowing of his career path in the shady porn underworld.

I honestly went into the deal yesterday pretty sure it was going to be a girl. There is a laundry list of terrible things I’ve done since I was able to crawl, and when I saw Carson Daly talk about this guy named Karma on the talk show, I thought my number had come. However, it seems that Karma has a sense of humor about my law-breaking, and decided to reward me with an accomplice. Thanks Karma!

It's Amazing What They Do With Corrugated Cardboard These Days

2005-10-03T13:24:00.000-07:00

The painting? It’s finished. After nearly 30 hours of priming, painting, cleanup, and furniture rearranging, the house is finished. All I can say is thank goodness. This time around I actually saw Smoochie and had an hour-long conversation with him during the second coat of my Cranberry Whip montage. I’m not going to lie to you, Smoochie isn’t someone you want hanging around your kids.

Tomorrow is D-day. As in we will Dtermine the sex of our child through some complicated machine whose nickname is the “Transmorgifier.” I’m pretty sure the technicians can turn a little dial and change the sex of the baby if they want to, so I’m going in there with a stoic poker face prepared for a stare down. If I’m going to pay my penance through the gift of a daughter, so be it, but I’m sure as hell not going to advertise it. Let’s hope those hours watching Hold’em on ESPN pay off.

Not Particularly Fond of Thursdays

2005-09-29T13:28:00.000-07:00

I’m not particularly fond of Thursdays. They lull you into a fall sense of the weekend, and then wham! You get hit with Friday. Thursday is nothing more than a dirty trick. In honor of Thursday, I’ve included a list of people I’m not particularly fond of. There’s enough hate out there already on Thursdays, so we’ll call this thread Not Particularly Fond of Thursdays. In no particular order:

Former FEMA Director Michael Brown – Michael you fucked up pretty bad. I’m not saying everything that happened was your fault, but you didn’t exactly “guide the ship”, did you?

Kansas Board of Education – These folks can’t decide on a number of very important issues including evolution and sex education. At least one guy in Kansas has the right idea. Go Bob!

Former House Leader Tom Delay – Is there partisanship involved? You bet. Does it appear that he’s guilty? Hell yeah. Complex financial maneuvering isn’t really my bag, so why I am I interested? To be honest Tom, I just don’t think you’re a nice guy.

Art, Inspired

2005-09-28T11:36:00.000-07:00

So tomorrow Hippie leaves town for a couple days. Recently there have been some hiccups in our opium supply chain, and she’s heading over to Istanbul to straighten out some issues. Our client base isn’t happy, so count on some serious shit going down in Turkey this weekend.

While she’s away, my job is to paint. When I say paint, I mean create a work art. A work of art that will inspire Tail to grow up and do amazing, brilliant things. My masterful creation will be called the Castle Path Continuum. While it will only look like one continuous color upon first sight, those that really appreciate fine art will clearly feel the renaissance influences throughout the house.

Those who can’t appreciate fine art will be a little bored, though I dare say they’ll be engaged by my flavorful Cranberry Whip montage.

End of the Road

2005-09-27T09:24:00.000-07:00

A great story with a very sad ending. I really admire folks in the public eye who take time out (in an earnest, unselfish way) for people less fortunate than themselves. I really admire Charlie Weis for letting this little boy, who idolized Notre Dame above all else, to call the first play of last Saturday’s game vs. Washington.

My admiration soars for Charlie because he stuck to his promise. After recovering a fumble on their own 1-yard line, passing the ball would normally be considered a bad call if it weren’t for the extenuating circumstances. The fact that Weis still called the play (and made a 13 yard gain in the process) is something I find remarkable. The game could have hinged on that single play, and as it turns out, it did. Go Irish.

Sadly, Montana (Named after his Notre Dame idol, and Weis’ college roommate) never saw the play. Although he died the eve of the game, Weis called the play anyway. I’m much more of a Notre Dame fan today than I ever was.

Car Jack

2005-09-26T06:10:00.000-07:00

The above picture is one taken from my car as I was being worked over by a road race blocking every conceivable path to my destination. I had dropped Hippie off at a jewelry show on Saturday morning while I popped into work for a couple of hours. As I soon found out, there was a large road race heading east, apparently across the entire city.

Did I mention this road race also crossed through the city’s elite shopping area where there was also an art festival? Brilliant. I can’t think of a better combination of events to piss off a good portion of the city on a Saturday morning.

I kid you not, this runner’s delight crossed no fewer than 9 major streets, including, get this, MAIN St. By definition, Main St. should never ever be shut down. Do you know why? Because it’s a MAIN FUCKING STREET! I tried every back road I knew to try and get to work, all to no avail. The New Balance Nazi’s had claimed their territory, and I was not welcome. I was finally able to take the highway to circumvent their dominance, arriving to my workplace a good 45 minutes later. After a non-productive couple of hours, guess what? I got stuck trying to leave too.

Resting

2005-09-22T08:08:00.000-07:00

I know it’s been out for a couple weeks now, but this appears to be one of the damn coolest little things I’ve seen in a long time. I’ve already got an iPod, and I love the fact that even though it’s older and bigger, it can carry just about every damn song the World ever created (At least songs that don’t suck so much, leeching onto your being with constant Um Bop playing over and over in your head). Make it stop. Stop the Umming and the Bopping. Just make it all stop. DAMN YOU HANSON!

When the Shuffle came out I thought it was pretty stupid, though it was definitely the right price for those who weren’t looking for serious storage capacity and a screen. I think Nano is some where in between. Good storage, ultra cool in it’s svelteness (Now all the other iPods are going to be self conscious about their figure), and like everything Apple, designed to be a piece of functional art. Personally I’ll take the extra thickness of the iPod in order to carry my digital library with me, but hey I’m just a junkie. It appears that the Nano will replace the Mini, because the Mini is nowhere to be found on Apple’s site.

I do hope Apple put an anti-Hanson transfer certificate into the programming of the Nano. Consumer oversight is not always a bad thing when Um Bop is the alternative.

Stooping

2005-09-21T11:28:00.000-07:00

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a pretty rabid sports fan. If either of my alma maters or my favorite pro team is playing, you can bet that I’m within sightline of a TV. However, these folks are just plain nutjobs. I’ve never really gotten into soccer, and I realize my Americaness just doesn’t comprehend the fervor behind the European dominated sport, but chartering a plane and lying about an on-board emergency in order to watch a game? That’s just plain fucked up.

Now, I’ll grant the folks that this was an ingenious setup, but it’s a little much. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to see God’s Gift to the NFL win a championship, but I’m more inclined to get someone really drunk and steal their ticket instead.

My Friend Bob

2005-09-20T11:07:00.000-07:00

So a couple weeks ago I caught one of our neighbors attempting to dump a barrel full of yard debris into our yard. He was actually lifting the barrel over the fence, ready to empty it when he noticed me staring at him. While avoiding all eye contact, he pretended like he absentmindedly left something at the base of the fence and began searching furiously for a treasure hidden amongst the pine needles. Very suave.

As if said Jackass’ own yard isn’t a large enough catastrophe, he feels the need to pollute mine as well. Anyways, I’m looking for ideas on how to make his life a little less pleasant. Not like painful or anything, I just want to suck some happiness out of his existence. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far (feel free to add your own ideas):

Line my fence with signs that say “No dumping” and pace back in forth with a shovel while he does yard work
Get a bunch of grass seed and heavily spread it as to spell “Dick” when he looks out his window during morning coffee
Do the same thing with grass and weed killer
Put up an electric fence with a sign that reads “Try it fucker”

Cleaning out the Closet

2005-09-19T11:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Tail,

As of yesterday you have been in the womb for 18 weeks. In two weeks your mother and I will finally be able to tell what your sex is. I’ve been waiting a long time for this, so you better be prepared to show off the goods when the curtain pulls back. This is my first mandate that I am not even in the least way kidding about. I know it’s been fun to screw with me by way of making your mother miserable up to this point, but so help me god if you cross your legs and turn to the side. So help me god.

In other news I’m almost done with your nursery. The walls are painted, now I just need to touch up the trim, and convince the monster to vacate the closet. I talked to him Saturday night, and he said he’d be happy to as soon as we have a bed for him to hide under. He’s really quite a gentle bloke, though he’s got a nasty temper and doesn’t like crying. I’m sure you’ll get along great.

Have a good one, and see you in a couple weeks.

Dad

Marriage in the Mountains

2005-09-16T11:45:00.000-07:00

My partner and I get very in to several TV shows each and every year. The past couple of years Gilmore Girls has topped the list of shows that must be seen and discussed on a weekly basis. The other half of our marriage who is not writing this post finds it neccessary to visit all the internet hotspots that reveal what’s going to happen in the series. Let’s just say she can sometimes be a little fanatic. The fact that I psychoanalyze each and every character on GG is of absolutely no relevance to this argument.

After a near fatal TiVo run in this past week (Hurray for friends who like to record and re-watch shows), Hippie went on the GG message boards and told me about someone that was over analyzing the emotional states of some of the characters on the show. Yeah that’s definitely never been a problem for her.

$5 Milkshake

2005-09-15T14:17:00.000-07:00

Add them to the list, another pair of folks that surely deserve the horror to be handed to them shortly. I hope that somewhere between sentencing and jail the fine officers of the state of Ohio send these two Soon-to-be-living-the-rest-of-their-short-ass-lives-in-agonizing-pain-sadists into the capable hands of a couple of pipe-hitting faithful. If Marsellus happens to oversee, well, that would just make my fucking day.

Rays

2005-09-13T11:50:00.000-07:00

Last night I did a little painting in what will soon become Tail’s Den of Destruction, aka the nursery. Since painting may or may not be hazardous to the little one’s health, I painted alone with the door closed. I thought I was doing a pretty good job, though when I double checked my work this morning the words “Death to Smoochie” were clearly visible in the roller pattern.

We went with a yellow named Lemon Chiffon which is sure to inspire malcontent amongst all who enter. However, it had to be done. The previous color was a bit over the top. Besides, we didn’t want our child’s first words to be “Red Room, Red Room” as his head spun upon his neck.

Flooring Fright

2005-09-12T11:28:00.000-07:00

I apologize again for my absence here; I came down with a fairly nasty case of Walking Ebola. I’ll tell you this right now, if you start having really bad hiccups and begin to fear linoleum – get to the Dr. immediately.

Tail continues to be quite the little shit. Hippie is still feeling like crap most of the time, though it seems I have been largely successful in convincing her that it is the baby’s fault, and that I had very little to do with her near constant queasiness. However, I have noticed her tendency to refer to Tail as MY child whenever she feels ill. I feel this is a pattern that will be adhered to for the next 20 or so years.

Additionally, Tail has aged to the point at where sex can be determined. I have asked Tail several times to kick Hippie hard once if a girl, twice if a boy, though to this point there has been no such event. Another sign that I have very little control over my child’s free will. Isn’t that what being a parent is all about? Seems I’ll have to wait for another couple weeks until we can confirm that Tail is indeed a boy, thus continuing the long line of Y chromosome contribution.

Blame Game

2005-09-02T07:28:00.000-07:00

I read an article yesterday that totally pissed me off. I can’t find an online link, so you’ll have to trust me on the content. The former head of FEMA and several other former state heads were complaining about how bad the situation in New Orleans is, and the reason it is so bad is because of President Bush’s overspending on terrorism. They claim the disaster budget was slashed to combat the war on terror, hence the reason we are in such dire straits. I believe them wholeheartedly.

What pisses me off is NOW IS NOT THE TIME. People are exhausted, hungry, and dying, and former heads of disaster relief agencies are telling the public who to blame. Lives could be saved while these folks are bitching to the media about our troubles. The current state of affairs is horrible, and everyone knows it. However, we don’t need to blame anyone right now. There will be plenty of time for the blaming later. Now is the time to help.

I’m sure the reasons things suck so bad is that the government fucked up. Is President Bush at fault? Probably. Should he be criticized for it? Undoubtedly. We can put that off for a little while though. Folks who know how to help can do the things that need to be done instead of talking about why things are so horrible. We’ve got the grim situation down pat, now we need a little hope.

Changed

2005-09-01T10:59:00.000-07:00

Many summers ago I worked as an electrician’s apprentice for a company that did electrical work on grain elevators. It was one of the best jobs I ever had, though I frequently worked 75-hour weeks, and felt like my blood was oozing out of my pores as I roasted in 106 degree heat. It was during this time that I gained an appreciation for nature. Two instances in particular will stay with me forever.

The first was standing at the very top of a 150 foot tall elevator on an early summer day watching the sun rise over a field of crops. Besides the small town of 70 people right next to the elevator, there was nothing but roads and crops as far as the eye could see. The crops swayed with the wind as the sun danced through the fields, and I can honestly say it was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever witnessed…a fantastic portrait of earth, sky, and the backbreaking work of many women and men.

Several months later I found myself dangling in a climbing harness off the side of an elevator in a frenzy. It was harvest, the single busiest time of year for the elevators. We were doing an emergency repair in horrible weather to try and get the elevator operational before nightfall. It began to rain, and then storm, and as my coworkers began to pull me up, I saw a tornado form and touch the ground faster than I thought possible. It was only a small one, and miles away, but I can honestly say I saw death in that wind.

Forgive me for my reminiscing, but it’s sometimes important to recall how much a witness we are in our own lives. There are things happening around us which we cannot change, but that will changes us instead. Nature is the perfect example of such an undiscerning force. I sit here writing to no one in particular asking for a benevolent power to touch the lives of those devastated by the recent tragedy. May you be surrounded by love, and find peace in your life.

Bad Juju

2005-08-30T10:50:00.000-07:00

Hippie found this caption under a picture in a local paper today:

"Bicyclists stop at the light at (Removed) on Sunday evening as a thunderstorm blows into town. The late evening storm lasted about an hour and brought with it heavy rain and wind gusts - nothing compared to the vast damage done to New Orleans and other coastal cities the same evening by hurricane Katrina."

I was going to shout many obscenities in the general direction of the idiot intern that wrote this detritus, though Hippie succinctly summed it up with “Ya’ think?”

New Orleans was hit pretty hard (though not nearly as hard as the apocalyptic anchors of Fox News had predicted), and my thoughts are with the people of Louisiana as they wade through this tragedy. Speaking of the City That Survived, I think we should clear up the pronunciation. I’ve heard many folks on the news pronounce it in three distinct words, such as New Or Leens. This is patently incorrect. The correct pronunciation is Nawlins. One word, two syllables. Try it at home. Simply eliminate the ‘R’ and the rest of the vowels, and you’ll be good to go. Seriously, after they raise the Sunken City back to life, head down there and say New Or Leens even one time. They’ll put the most serious bad juju on your ass that ever was. Don’t get no juju in Nawlins baby. You won’t ever come back.

Officially Unofficial

2005-08-26T12:56:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is the 4^th anniversary of the unofficial union of Speakership & Hippie. For those of you not cool enough to know the difference between this union and the official union…Tough shit. You are not cool enough in your union knowingness, and you will continue to be uncool for some time to come.

Coolness aside, while this day is never one Hippie and I celebrate, it’s something I silently acknowledge each year. While I am mercilessly cruel in the portrayal of my wife on this website, I would like to state for the record that no less than 1% of what I say about her is absolutely pretty close to being in the realm of some semblance of a half-truth.

If you haven’t figured it out already, this woman is an absolute Saint for putting up with me on a daily basis. She does not even bemoan the month long bender where I force fed her alcohol, at the end of which I convinced her we were madly in love and that we should marry. What a woman.

Anyone who spends more than 3 minutes with me understands that there is one important thing in my life, and that is her. I could never imagine having a relationship with someone that is so natural. I know things will be complicated with the arrival of Tail in several months time, though I am eager to begin this adventure with her. I could not imagine having a more perfect mother for my child, nor a more perfect partner for my life. She’s an exquisite blend of love, beauty, and humor, and soon she will give birth to the most smartass excuse for a child that ever graced this fine earth. I believe she will like me a lot less come that day, but I know she’ll always love me. Happy Unofficial Anniversary. As always...Nul Autre.

Beach Hippie

2005-08-25T07:39:00.000-07:00

I hate commuting. The driving, honking, swearing, and stopping really wear me out. However, as I’ve mentioned before, the worst part about commuting is the vacuum of intelligence which occurs once people step on the gas pedal. Yesterday I hit the wall. I literally screamed I was so ticked off.

Traffic was going unusually slow on my westbound journey, all three lanes, inching forward ever so slowly. As I crest the hill, I figure out why. There were 2 jackasses in semis, surrounded by several dumbasses in pickup trucks, who were towing hillbilly homesteads, mobile homes. Instead of one following the other, they were driving side by side. Thus, these two semis and their 4 pilot henchmen consumed all 3 lanes of the highway IN RUSH HOUR.

No one could get around them, and everyone was honking like a flock of deranged geese. I saw a white froth around the mouths of several of my fellow drivers, indicating rabies had spread as well. I understand that hillbillies need their house, but driving them through a major city IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING RUSH HOUR? Could they not have slept on the dirt even one more night?

Atta Boy

2005-08-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

Idiot, dumbass, media whore. There are many people who are all three, but none in such brilliant fashion as Pat “The Sniper” Robertson. He is now saying that he did not call for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez, he only mentioned that we should “take him out.”

Here’s the deal Pat: I don’t care if you want to kill Chavez, I really don’t. I think he’s a piece of scum too, and the world would probably be better without him. My issue? You can’t be pro-life and pro-assassination, especially when you are telling the whole godamned world that they are sinners for their beliefs. I admire folks that stick to their beliefs, even when they are unpopular. The problem is that Pat is not doing that. Whoreboy is now recanting in an effort to stop the vacuum of support away from his base. Do you hear that sound Pat? It’s the sound of hypocrisy in the morning…

Pat “I’m a huge fucking liar” Robertson also says he didn’t mean assassinate when he said “take him out.” Never mind the fact that he said “"If he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think we really ought to go ahead and do it. It's a whole lot cheaper than starting a war." Yeah, I can see how that would be misinterpreted.

Screw U

2005-08-23T14:04:00.000-07:00

Today The Princeton Review released its authoritative guide on America’s Top Colleges. It includes sparkling insight such as Best Party Schools, Most Beautiful Campus, and Students Most Nostalgic for Bill Clinton. Definitely a worthwhile use of research if you ask me. Sadly, neither of the schools which I earned degrees from earned a top 5 in any of the meaningful categories.

Personally I think the Princeton Review ratings are a veritable piece of crap, though unfortunately the American Public thinks the ratings were handed by Moses to the media just after he parted the Red Sea. I could talk about research bias and the norming factors they use in this process, but that would just make me look like an intellectual asshole.

While I am that specific type of asshole, I will save you the boring stuff in addition to my admission (I can also rhyme with surprising ease). So in short…Princeton Review fuck off. You didn’t get into Princeton, and are obviously still bitter.

Tall Oaks

2005-08-22T07:45:00.000-07:00

I have returned! Again, I apologize for the single post in the last several weeks. Mimi and I had a slight disagreement in the middle of the Sahara, and we parted ways. My advice: Never disagree with your camel, it’s just not worth it.

Dear Tail,

I hoped it would be later on in your life before we had this conversation, though it‘s become clear, it can’t be avoided any longer. According to statistical normalization, you are 14 weeks and 1 day old today. However, you are still acting like you are 11 weeks old. We simply can’t have you continue to torture your mother like this. I’m not even kidding when I tell you that you won’t be getting any birthday presents or nice clothes until you are ten. I’m pretty sure The Hippie is retrofitting burlap sacks as we speak.

You’ve moved from playing bongos on her uterus to turning up the subuteral baby woofer way past acceptable levels. I know you’re having a blast in there, but before long she’s going to evict you out of that little slice of heaven, and you want her on your side.

Just to let you know how serious it’s getting, your name could possibly end up being Olaf or Trixie if things don’t improve soon. So step up little one, and act your age.

Love,
Dad

To All the Birks I've Loved Before

2005-08-17T06:42:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a tough day. I have a rather close relationship with my footwear, and tend to keep them longer than is aesthetically pleasing. I wear my Birkenstock sandals nearly year round, hence they take more than their share of abuse. I’ve only owned two pairs in my life, the first which lasted seven years and resembled a charred palm leaf with a buckle by the time you-know-who finally forced me to throw them away (I secretly hid them for several months before she found them again).

The point is yesterday I found a crack in the sole of my left sandal, and another starting to form on the right one. They’re only 3 years old, and still have a lot of life left in them, but it’s downhill from here on. I just wanted to use this post to let both sandals know I’ll be with them until the bitter end, slowly ending their existence with each step I take. Hang in there guys…

Heaven's Doorstep

2005-08-11T17:44:00.000-07:00

Anna Maria Island, FL
Originally uploaded by Speakership.

Inside Look

2005-08-10T11:14:00.000-07:00

Samick inside
Originally uploaded by Speakership.

My First Stop

2005-08-09T08:17:00.000-07:00

I must first apologize that posts for the next couple weeks will become rather sparse. I will be engaged in a cross-continental camel race, and I won’t have time to post much, what with all the sand and desert. I’ll do my best to keep the daily pics coming though my first priority has to be Mimi, my camel.

Speaking of pictures, I think it’s time for me to get a new camera. The problem is that I want this really nice camera, and my better half doesn’t think I deserve one that nice. Last night when I brought it up, she mentioned we could go on a vacation instead, and I mentioned the great pictures I could take of our vacation with my new camera. It didn’t fly.

She also killed the idea by telling me that I could have the camera if I found out a way to pay for it. Sure just kill the dream. Kill it right there and take a picture of it in 3.2 megapixels. I tell you what; you won’t remember it as well as if you had taken it in 6.1 megapixels!

Really folks it’s not for me, it’s for the memories. 20 years from now I want to be able to look back at a wonderful faded picture of our child, wrapped in his mother’s arms just after birth, lean over to my partner and say, “Remember when I whined for like 6 months until you let me buy that camera?”

The Dull and the Rest of Us

2005-08-05T07:57:00.000-07:00

In just under a month I’ll be heading to a friend’s wedding up in the mountains. I’m really looking forward to the time up in the mountains, though the fact that my ex-fiancée will most likely be at the wedding will certainly be a drawback. I’ve purposefully tried to reply to her emails in a nice way while communicating that I am not interested in speaking to her any longer for this express event. I knew we would be at this wedding together, and I am determined to be civil.

However, civility does not run on both sides of the Tail’s gene pool. My partner will be just as likely to say hello as she lifts her nose high into the air as she is to eviscerate Tiny Tot with a nail file. Jealousy has nothing to do with it, let’s face it – I’m not that big of a catch. It’s more about the fact that the ex is too dull to realize I no longer wish to communicate with her in any form. I’m guessing that will no longer be an issue after this event.

I’m taking odds on what happens, though I’ll do my best to remove dangerous objects from She-Who-Must-Not-Have-Our-Child-In-Prison.

Self Sacrifice

2005-08-04T06:16:00.000-07:00

I read this extraordinary story today which made me pause and take stock. After reading the story of Susan Torres, I cheered for her courage and mourned her sacrifice. As a cancer survivor I empathize with the plight of this woman and her family. In order to ensure the health of her unborn daughter, she skipped her chemotherapy treatments and endured what I know to be gut wrenching, unbearable pain. Her refusal to seek treatment led to a stroke that left her brain-dead for the past three months.

Her child, born two months premature, is a testament to the sacrifice of a loving mother. Susan Torres, I wish you peace. You endured a terrible pain so that your daughter had a chance at life. May your daughter grow up in your likeness and share your love with everyone she meets.

Idiots in the Mist

2005-08-02T17:10:00.000-07:00

Long Copper
Originally uploaded by Speakership.

By and large, it is my general opinion that most of the people I encounter on a daily basis are idiots. The thing is, I don’t believe being an idiot is in any way tied to a person’s general intelligence. One of the men I’ll never forget cleaned a classroom I studied in at grad school. He could barely read, but he could have taught nearly everyone in that particular building a thing or two about being a good person.

I have taken the time to classify idiots for easy identification, though for the sake of time, I’ll only mention the most disturbing kinds here. They are:

I’m Smarter Than You Idiot – He thinks that he is smarter than everyone else in the room and likes to prove it by arguing minutiae and using big words he still has memorized from the GRE.

I Laugh At Everything Idiot – She sycophantically laughs at everything everyone says, funny or not. The degree of laughter fluctuates with the positional power of the person making the statement.

Inappropriate Idiot – In an effort to fit in, this idiot nervously makes statements that often require a letter of reprimand. Signs of this idiot include sweaty palms, a nervous giggle, and darting glances. Note: when accompanied by the I Laugh at Everything Idiot it is best to vacate the area immediately.

Since I don’t discuss work on this blog, I’ll just say I’ve worked with all these idiots in the past, and to them I say this: Go to hell you god-damned idiots.

Bongo Palace

2005-08-01T06:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Tail:

Again, it is time for us to talk. Due to the fact that you descend from my line, I fully expect you to have rambunctious tendencies. I have no doubt that you too will climb up your dresser, believing whole heartedly you are Superman and dive head first into near mortal peril. This type of behavior is to be expected…ONCE YOU ARE OUT OF THE WOMB.

Now is not the time to display this temperament. Using your Mom’s uterus as a bongo palace is not making things real peachy right now. More than once in the last week I have heard her make statement such as: “You better be so damned cute when you get out of there”, or “I am going to embarrass you for the first 18 years of your life.” Think about this. Your friends, first dates, the clothes you wear…this woman wields an unimaginable power over you. Whether or not I would want to stop her is another story, the problem is I couldn’t. She’s just too strong.

Again, be smart. She feels like shit, and she rightfully blames you (she blames me too, but I’m deflecting it all your way). I hear that most babies stop inflicting this type of pain on their hosts some time around the 12 week mark. You are at 11 right now, and I tell you this…BETTTER SOONER THAN LATER. Any questions, give me a call.

Love,

Dad

Yoknapatawpha Tragedy

2005-07-29T07:18:00.000-07:00

Last night as my partner and I were shopping in the local Megalomart, she pointed out the newest of the Oprah’s Book Club selections. It is the Faulkner trilogy of As I lay Dying, The Sound and the Fury, and Light in August. I’m going to preface the rest of this rant by stating this fact: I am a literary snob. Save a few guilty pleasures, I rarely read anything authored by anyone who currently has a pulse. William Faulkner was an inspired author who frequently flew airplanes while heavily intoxicated, walked with a limp most of his life because he passed out on a radiator in his hotel room at the conclusion of a week long bender, and somewhere in between wrote several of the greatest novels yet produced.

My point is this. Oprah…Go to Hell. Right Now. I’ll send you the tickets and pay for them myself. You have absolutely no business discussing these books as part of your book club. I don’t care if you do bring in distinguished professors to help dissect the complexity of Faulkner’s novels, you will never get deep enough in a one hour show to uncover the philosophical references to political thought, investigation of corridor imagery, or relation to Faulkner’s real life experiences. The deepest you will get will be How do Benjy and Luster get Miss Quentin in trouble? It’s an interesting question and accurate response, but does not reach the depth required to comprehend the novel.

It’s not that I think Faulkner should be off limits to the general public, quite the opposite in fact. I think everyone should read Faulkner, it just takes more dedication than an hour long show to grasp the intention of his writings. Before I depart my soapbox, here is my favorite Faulkner quote from text. Since it’s a well known quote it may come up whenever they get to LIA, but I’ll take bets it gets fucked up.

Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders. – Light in August, 1932

The Deep Sleep

2005-07-28T07:22:00.000-07:00

Fabric
Originally uploaded by Speakership.

Took this picture the other night of the inside of our baby grand piano. I’m not sure why I like this picture so much, though it seems to meld several elements together to create the beautiful sound of the piano, and I like the contrast. I will probably start posting a picture of the day from here on out which will probably have absolutely nothing to do with the post. I need to refine my photography skills for Tail’s arrival.

On to the important things:
I have been warned before that a pregnant woman may doze off at a moments notice. My partner has been sleeping a lot lately, but last night definitely took the cake. We finish dinner last night (granted she is not feeling well) and she’s asleep within 25 minutes. Except for a brief spot of time to take her prenatal vitamin, she was unconscious for the remainder of the evening.

However, compared to some of her more UNIQUE sleeping habits, last night was a walk in the park. She of the narcoleptic persuasion will at times lash out at me in the form of elbows to the midsection, or backhands to the face. While the assaults are few and far between, my body is always positioned as to minimize the impact of flying appendages. The most intriguing behavior comes when I wake her during a deep sleep, such as the time when I tried to pry her open book from her hands and set it on the nightstand.

The moment the book left her hands she opened her eyes and made a face as if to stab my eye sockets with a thousand toothpicks. Then in her most satanic inspired voice says to me. Wof da bah the bomb. She then turned over and immediately resumed sleep. I naturally stared at her, stunned, for several minutes. When I gently broached the subject the next day – she had absolutely no recollection. Superb. I guess I can rest well knowing she only manifests these feelings unconsciously, though my Kevlar sleep ware provides some reassurance too.

Sinnerman

2005-07-27T11:15:00.000-07:00

Until we recently purchased our home, my partner and I lived in a small town in the middle of nowhere. I grew up in a pretty small town, but all throughout college and grad school I lived in medium sized cities that were within an hour’s drive of a larger metropolis (meaning no cow crossings). No megalopolis or anything, but it had all the major draws of big cities.

Our aforementioned small town sucked. And when I say “sucked”, I mean it sucked to the degree that my partner grew weary of mocking all the hicks. I know you’ve never met her folks, but let me tell you – that is saying something. It wasn’t even a game anymore. Balding, toothless, folks in overalls and a straw hat were simply everyday occurrences (the men were pretty bad too).

For some reason I had always thought I would end up living in a small town, but at this point I’m pretty much over that particular possibility. Small towns definitely have a certain appeal, but I treasure the ability to order a late night pizza more than picking my own corn. So the big city it is. Bring on the booze and the sinners!

March of the Giant Invisible Penguin

2005-07-26T08:46:00.000-07:00

So today the space shuttle took off and headed into space. There are a lot of folks that think flying into space and landing on the moon was all a part of some huge hoax to fool the Soviets. Personally I believe we went to space, but there are a couple other ruses so grand as to warrant their inclusion here.

Wyoming. Obviously a hoax. We needed 50 states to make things even, so they just invented one. Have you ever been to Wyoming? Ever known anyone who has actually been to Wyoming? Of course not. It’s a fictional plot of land to quell those with a fear of odd numbers. It’s a great scheme and all, I mean their fake website is great; I can’t wait to see the fake state quarter.

The Wooly Mammoth is extinct. Are you kidding me? Turn on PBS people. They’ve got one there teaching children to count. Hell, my neighbors up the street are breeding them.

Wind. I can’t believe so many people fall for wind. An invisible force that can be gently soothing or tear apart houses. It’s obviously giant invisible penguins people. Why do you think they tear shit up? They get pissed because it is so hot outside.

Rutabaga. The most fictional vegetable on the planet, it is used by parents to frighten small children into finishing their broccoli. “You think broccoli is bad? If you don’t finish that, tomorrow we’re having rutabaga.” Cruel and unusual if you ask me.

You've Been Warned - Choose Wisely

2005-07-25T14:06:00.000-07:00

Dear Tail,

What’s up? Not much here. Just wanted to say thanks for putting your Mother through total agony for the last couple weeks. She’s pretty happy about that, so you better be damn cute when you get out. I wouldn’t worry too much though, she’s still with me, and I can’t even tell you how much shit I have put her through.

I wanted to talk to you about something real quick. It’s about whether you’re going to be a boy or girl. Your Mom would really like for you to be a girl. I really don’t have any objection to that, but I think for your sake it would be better if you were a boy. I think you’ve still got time to make some decisions in there, so I wanted to let you know a couple things before you mess with that last chromosome.

What with being in the womb and growing appendages and all, you may not have had time to keep up with my blog. No hard feelings, I understand. Just so you know, I’m pretty much insane. And overprotective (ask your Mom about the guy that hit on her in front of me at the Lyon, it’s worth a laugh). Those two are not a great combination. If you’re a girl, it would be great for a while. You’d be all cute, with blond pigtails, and I’d be wrapped around your little finger. We’d have a great quarter century together and then you’d start to date.

You see that’s where things would go downhill. You’d come home late, I’d be on the porch with a gun, there’d be a lawsuit, and then I’m back in jail. Do you want your father to go to jail? Well do you? Do you want me to leave your mother heartbroken and forced to visit me through a plexiglass wall? Of course you don’t. Just make the responsible decision here and everything will turn out fine.

Love,

Dad

P.S. From now on it would be a lot easier if you would simply listen to me when I talk to your Mom’s stomach. This better not be a sign of things to come.

The Links...

2005-07-22T09:57:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I’m going golfing. I’ve been privileged enough to have been golfing since I was about 8. I’m not very good, and I never will be, but I enjoy it nonetheless. When I was little, my favorite part of golfing was driving the cart. I especially loved it when no one was watching and I got to drive the cart by myself. The number of near death experiences you can have driving a machine that travels less than 15 miles an hour is amazing.

Once, when I was about 11 years old, I went to go get the cart and drive it back to our car to pick up the clubs. I had to back out of the spot, towards a beautiful lake with a huge fountain in the middle that sits in front of the clubhouse (Note: This is foreshadowing. You should pick up on something here). There is a wooden fence that surrounds the lake, and a bunch of stones that line the slope down to the water.

As I move the shifter to reverse and start to back out of the spot, one of the club employees says to me, “Make sure you let your Dad drive once you get on the course.” I nod while murmuring “You bet, jackass.” I back out of the spot, and reach to the shifter to move it into drive. It stops making the beeping sound which indicates I am in reverse, so I figure I’m in drive. (Unless you’re a moron you should have arrived at the climax by this point).

By this time I am starting to roll towards the lake, and inexperienced as I was, became a little frightened. Instead of doing the sensible thing and hitting the brake – I hit the gas. Alas, I was still in reverse. I fly through the fence, down the rocky slope, and into the lake where the water crests just below my chin as spray from the fountain falls upon the roof of my cart. As drunken club members come to laugh at my situation, I begin to swim away from my cart in complete and utter humiliation.

Incidentally, my brother crashed a golf cart into a tree when he was that age, and totaled it. Since they were able to pull my cart out of the lake with a John Deere, I think I am not quite the worst cart driver in my family. Though I am nearing 30 now, my step-dad still isn’t real comfortable with me driving. When ever I offer, he nervously declines. Funny, huh?

Rogers?

2005-07-21T06:09:00.000-07:00

Now that the news is out, I suppose I can let y’all know about my big disappointment this week. It turned out I was on the short list for Bush’s nominee to the Bench. I got the call late Tuesday that they were going with Roberts. I’m still a little pissed. I mean Roberts! He is so fake! He’s been hitting on me for like two years now. The number of times I’ve heard him say “You me and a hot tub…what do you think?” I’m sure he’ll do a fine job, though. I really doubt the axe-murderer accusation will come up at all in his confirmation hearing. I’ve been thinking of what it was that cost me the nomination, and here’s what I think did me in:

I think Big Dub had an issue with me asking if he was even a little gay. He really seemed taken aback by that one. I also don’t think he appreciated the shoulder rub I gave him afterwards. He seemed really uncomfortable.

When I asked him if his daughters ever did porn. I don’t think that one worked well for me either. However, I could have sworn I heard some boys at the office talking about Deep Bush: The Next Frontier. I could be mistaken though.

I also don’t think he cared for my view on organized religion. For some reason he seemed displeased when I offered to take him to the Scientology Celebrity Centre. I even offered to pay his fee to become a Level 1 Auditor. His soul is obviously still held captive by Gargelcrunchamunch.

We did agree on handguns though. I told him when I got bored on the bench, I liked to pretend my pen was a gun, and shoot people at random. On second thought, that might not have been helpful either.

I’ll be honest, I was really looking forward to being on the Supreme Court, but I’ll move on. I figured when I offered to go back to my hotel and do some coke with him I had it in the bag, but I guess some more poor judgment on my part.

Frantsy Pants

2005-07-20T09:24:00.000-07:00

So now that everyone knows I’m a huge fan of Bob Roll, the noted Tour Day Frants (That's how he pronounces it folks) commentator, I though I would share with you a couple of his brilliant ponderings he’s made during this year’s Tour.

Incidentally, VeloNews, cycling’s news source has a poll today on who everyone’s favorite OLN broadcaster is. I hate to say it, but Bob Roll seems to be the fan favorite at the time of this post. I’ll admit he’s funny at times, but I guarantee you his fellow broadcasters leave the booth every day dreaming about slipping him a shiv. And away we go…

"Kilometers passing like Kidney Stones."

"Lance Armstrong is the eye of the hurricane and he's headed straight for the Jan Ullrich trailer park."

"I'd rather be a light post on a New York City street than the French National Champion."

"It will be a virtual schmegefest of submutant humanoids."

“But you don’t tell Godzilla, the monster of the Tour, how to kill. You just step back and watch the destruction.”

“The wienerschnitzel is bitter indeed.”

“Happy Fourth of July USA. I knew you’d win.”

After one of the above crazy comments, Phil Liggett (another OLN commentator) states “I … I am not sure I understand.” It’s OK Phil. You’ve got to be pretty special to understand the inner workings of Bob’s brain.

Cry of the Phoenix

2005-07-19T13:08:00.000-07:00

Last night I finished reading Harry Potter VI. I have to say that it was probably my favorite of all the books she has written, though it is in a pretty tight race with HP I. Now I will acknowledge there was a BRIEF point in my life where I went a little overboard on the whole HP scene. I jokingly called my phone Hedwig, and my Palm Pilot my wand, though I never tried spells with either.

As I geared up to read the latest installment it occurred to me how much I liked the series, maybe even a little too much. Then I remembered back to some of these excellent folks, and felt pretty sane in my love for HP.

First there was the couple my partner and I saw while waiting in line for the HP 3 movie to come out. While we weren’t at the front of the line, we were close enough to see two pale skinned, freckled, redheads in Gryffindor ties and white dress shirts. Let's just say they were not the cool kids on campus. You had to whisper around them, because if you said anything audible relating to HP, they would jump all over you and nearly wet themselves as they professed their love for the Boy Who Lived. I have no doubt these two had passages of the book memorized which they could recite on command.

Then there’s this woman who half believes she is Professor McGonagall. Mental. With a license plate that reads “HOGWRTS” and a replica Gryffindor sword and time turner, this woman has lost it. You know she goes home every night and tries to unlock her door with "Alohamora" and when she has to use her keys, searches for her house elf to kick. I say transfer her to St. Mungo’s, because I don’t want her near me.

Finally, there’s the striking bald gentleman I met at the first HP movie. He was really quite normal and intelligent. While he dissected the movie in a quiet and critical manner, it was clear that he had not quite crossed the line into insanity. He may have been flirting with it, but clearly he wasn’t there yet. I wonder how he's doing now?

Indifference of Good People

2005-07-18T12:14:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I see things and get upset. Drive like a maniac, swear in front of kids, be disrespectful to the elderly, and watch me get pissed off. I’ll probably make a rude comment, glare at you like I’m boring holes through your cheekbones, and 5 minutes later I will have forgotten all about you. No worries, it’s over with.

However, this weekend I read a story about this detritus that did one of the most inhumane things I’ve ever heard of. So that he didn’t have to put the child in the game, he paid one of his T-ball players $25.00 to intentionally injure another 8 year old mentally disabled player on his own team. The child was hit in the head and groin with a baseball.

I can’t get this story out of my head. I keep thinking about an 8 year old boy who probably just wanted to play T-ball to feel like the other kids. He probably just wanted that one chance to get on base, to slide into home, and to be cheered for by fans and other teammates. This was taken from him, and it is one of those stories I will remember for many years to come.

Mark R. Downs, Jr., 27, of Dunbar, Pennsylvania I hope you suffer the rest of your days from the pain you have inflicted on this poor child. There are others who grant you forgiveness, but I will not. I hope you get put in one of the foulest detention centers known to this union, and I hope the residents of that fine facility enact justice on your sordid soul.

Jack & Jim to the brim...Throw it down the hatch

2005-07-15T13:27:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow night my wife is going to play Bunko with a few of her friends. I’m not exactly sure what Bunko entails, but I believe it concludes with a roll of the “flaming die of death.” My niece and nephew (8 & 10 respectively) were terribly worried that I would be home alone for the evening, so they have decided to spend some quality time with their favorite uncle. Again, who thought this would be a good idea? I’m as likely to light the house on fire as your average 10 year-old, and now that I know there’s insurance money in it for me – hell I’m even motivated.

I imagine we’ll order a pizza and play some video games to start the night, but as soon as the youngest goes to bed, Junior and I are going to have a Power-hour showdown. He’s still upset at me from last time when he nearly drank himself into a coma, though luckily his Mom understood. “You’ve got to buck up honey”, she told him. “There aren’t many uncles out there who would do this kind of thing for their nephew.” Damn right there aren't. They’re all in jail.

The Patron

2005-07-13T12:59:00.000-07:00

I admit it; I’m obsessed with the Tour de France. OBSESSED. I read the minute by minute updates at work until each stage finishes, I read several articles on it during the day, and then nearly every night after dinner I watch the actual stage before I hit the hay. I really enjoy watching it after dinner though. Even though I know what happens, I’m hoping that I missed something during the day, and that maybe Lance kicks one of his competitors off their bike when they fail to pay him the proper respect. Such is the power of the patron.

What I hate about watching each stage every night is the announcers; actually it’s just one of the announcers. His name is Bob Roll, and he is a total dumbass. They say he was a really good cyclist at one time, but I will tell you this right now: If this guy ever rode a bicycle farther than 10 miles in his life, I’ll dress up in a tutu and dance with a hamster. He is on par with John Madden as one of the stupidest people ever to have been awarded a play by play assignment. Not only does he mispronounce cycling’s greatest race (time and time again – so that you want to cut your heart out with a spoon), he can’t remember anyone’s name (except Lance) and tries to make references to great feats during his cycling career. Bob – shut the hell up. No one cares. I just want to watch Lance and the other Discovery henchmen kick some ass. I’m pissed at you, the other viewers are pissed at you, and God help you if Lance gets pissed at you. You do not want to witness the power of the patron.

Chicken Rant

2005-07-12T09:18:00.000-07:00

So last night one of our friends who just moved into the same neighborhood as us calls to let me know that the supermarket up the street is having a big sale (one day only) on boneless, skinless, chicken breasts. At $1.58/lb that’s a pretty good deal. I feel this call was completely warranted, though the only other family member who is larger than 5/8 of an inch sought fit to make disparaging comments about the subject of our conversation.

On top of that global atrocity, after I chose to refine her remarks to our friend (He’s a gentle soul, and I fear his feelings would have been hurt), she completely flew off the handle and engaged in one of those prolonged belligerent tirades I’ve referred to elsewhere in this blog.

The point is I’m worried here. I’ve always enjoyed this part of her personality since it is rarely ever directed at me, but what about Tail (My new nickname for our embryo)? What if he comes directly out of the womb and tells the hospital staff to “Stop fucking around, and get me a damn blanket?” What then I ask you? I have to confess here, I’m actually hoping this happens. I’ll sit back, fire up a Romeo y Julieta and say “That’s my boy.”

Tail

2005-07-11T08:01:00.000-07:00

Tail
Originally uploaded by Speakership.

There’s been a mistake. Someone will lose their job over this mistake. It’s unfortunate, but when you just go and ignore protocol, something has to be done. You see my wife and I just confirmed this past weekend that she is indeed pregnant. We are elated, but as I never filled out the requisite paperwork to be considered a suitable father, we never thought it could happen just yet. I mean seriously…who would let a nutjob like me father a child before several sessions of shock therapy and some serious prescriptions?

I’m calling the Parental Control Office this morning. Something has to be done here. They are going to let ME look after a living, breathing organism? Aren’t there standards I have to meet, tests to take, background checks and the like? What about the interview? Someone should have interviewed me at the very least. I’m confident Mrs. Speakership (a.k.a. Hippie) counterbalances my deficits, but there has to be some oversight here. Certainly I should have been institutionalized for observation.

I’m sorry some nameless face will lose his or her job over this, but there just has to be some oversight. You can’t just walk around letting people like me father children. It’s just plain irresponsible. Think about the kids here…

Cheesedom

2005-07-08T10:37:00.000-07:00

This weekend I am headed up to the great white North to visit relatives. I always relish my opportunity to go home, though after moving to slightly more metropolitan digs (travel patterns are not dictated by cows crossing the roadway), it’s always a bit of a struggle to get back into the swing of things. Here are some of my favorite things about where I was born:

The legal drinking age is the age at which you are able to open a beer and bring the can to your lips without assistance. Now if you smoke before you're 18 you’ll be shot dead, but as long as you’re drinking you have nothing to worry about

If you tip a cow in my state you will be hunted down and bludgeoned to death with a milk bucket in less than 4 hours. I’m not kidding. I lost three of my good friends to this social tragedy. Poor misguided youth.

Try ordering a “pop.” You can say soda, but not “pop.” “Pop” will get your ass kicked right out of the damn restaurant. However, the waitress will invite you to “…come back now” after she kicks your seat to the curb.

Our mosquitoes look like they have taken performance enhancing drugs, and they probably have. These little bastards will suck you dry in two minutes. Don’t bother with those little citronella candles, that just lets them know dinner is on the table.

Cheese jokes are not considered funny.

Martha and Me

2005-07-06T11:09:00.000-07:00

So today I saw that Marta Stewart or “M Diddy” as she was known in the bighouse was complaining about how horrible her time was in prison. Then, the Notorious M.I.G. informed the whole world she knew how to take off her ankle bracelet without getting caught. Two words…Dip Shit.

I’m the first one to bash on M-Stew, but from the beginning I’ve said I thought Lil' M was made an example of because she is a celebrity. While I still think this is true, I’ve decided it was more for her stupidity than anything. I mean are you kidding? Who gives an interview to a magazine like Vanity Fair and says she knows how to take off her ankle bracelet? You know her publicist wanted to bludgeon her with whatever decorative pine cone concoction was within reach.

The interview also let on that the Mistress of Mistletoe is in search of a way to end her Apprentice like reality show. I think I can help her out with this one. How about if she lines them all up facing the camera and then just walks behind and stabs the loser. As the loser’s bloody body falls to the ground grasping for life, she utters, “You’ve been shanked.” The remaining contestants then must design a fitting casket using only holly, berries, and tree sap. I think we’ve got a winner here folks.

Crackerjack

2005-07-05T06:30:00.000-07:00

My previously mentioned friend was in town for the holiday, and we had a wonderful time. I must however, offer an apology. You see my all-white extended family has never been terribly sensitive to the fact that he is from another country, and has a different skin color than their relative pallor. While none of my family members realize how insensitive they are, here’s a list of some of the inappropriate things I can remember them saying over the last several years:

What holidays do your people celebrate?

Do you go to church? We don’t have any black people at my church.

Why do you talk so funny?

What kind of food do people in your country eat?

Why do you live here? How come you don’t go back to your home?

My family is all well meaning, just a little ignorant. They all have huge hearts and whenever said friend comes in town, they always make sure we have a huge get together. They just don’t know how to frame appropriate questions. Anyway they have been much better lately, as they seem to have all their questions answered. Just when I thought we were over being insensitive, my nephew reached a new high last evening. He is just over two years old, and I think my friend was one of the only people with dark skin he has ever spent any time with. Needless to say, he was enamored. When his mother asked him to tell my friend his name, he turned, looked him straight in the eye, and the garbled pronunciation of his name came out Cracker. That’s right, my nephew the cracker. I am so proud.

Stupider than Swimming with Piranhas

2005-07-01T08:15:00.000-07:00

Since we have this extended weekend to celebrate our independence from the British wankers, I thought I would tell a little story about one of my past independence days.

When I was younger we lived by a lake. We owned a pontoon boat on this lake and frequently spent evenings and weekends relaxing out on the water. However, we were not alone. We had geese. Geese suck. They are irritable, shit all over your boat, lay their eggs on your boat, and if you leave food unguarded, they will fly onto your boat and eat your unwatched food. They are not at all like civil waterfowl should be. You know, like ducks. So in summary, Ducks = Cool, Geese = Suck.

One 4th of July my brother and I decided to wage war against the geese. We had devised a singularly spectacular plan where we would assassinate a flock of geese in a single blow, and be heralded as anonymous heroes in our local community. Let’s take a pre-climax vote. Who thinks we succeed?

Since geese are so damned difficult to catch (they have the ability to get out of your way at the split-second before your boat “accidentally” runs over them), we decided that in the middle of the night while they are sleeping we would hurl an explosive projectile into their midst, thereby killing them all. Great plan right? However, since geese sleep in the middle of the damn lake, we had to find a way to get said projectile out farther than we could conceivably toss it.

Our solution? Knock out the middle of one of our parents’ old records. Inside the hole, insert a ping-pong ball filled with the contents of several hundred fire crackers, throw the record like a Frisbee into the geese, and witness the ensuing chaos. We prepare the record, find our target, and since my brother is older, I let him launch the record. I light the fuse, and with a deep Frisbee heave, he releases the record toward the geese.

Every hero must have some tragic flaw, and reflecting on our master plan, I have deduced ours. Complete lack of intelligence. You see, a record with a ping -pong ball in the middle filled with gunpowder does not fly like a Frisbee. It completely abandons every known law of physics. In fact, when you heave it like my brother did, it makes a sweeping arc straight above your head, and begins falling straight down upon you.

We yelled, ran, and were about 15 feet away when the record exploded right where we were just standing, letting off a sound similar to a what I envision a hand grenade sounding like. Additionally, this explosion set off all the fire works we had brought which we had not emptied into the ping-pong ball. The geese fly away unharmed, mocking us with their squawking. As we run through the shadows back to our house, trying to avoid all the neighbors that have come outside to see what has happened, we are unable to communicate because of the massive hearing loss we have just endured.

As the flashing lights from Lake Patrol descend upon the area, I smile. According to my calculations, by the time my brother and I eventually leave this area, Lake Patrol will be 0 for 37 in catching us in our youthful indescretions.

Shortbus Wreck

2005-06-30T13:35:00.000-07:00

Things overheard at lunch today…

The one thing I don’t like about rain is that everything gets so wet. The one thing? Pay attention dipshit, that one thing is pretty much all rain does.

I accidentally bought collard greens last night instead of Romaine.
I’ve never had those. Are those the tiny yellow things with sprouts?
YELLOW! Are you fucking kidding me? Somebody please tell me she’s kidding.

I’ll have the Chicken Salad. Does that have any meat in it?
What is the name of the god damn item you just ordered? Get me my gun. Something has to be done.

I’m just getting freaked out by how expensive daycare is. It’s like $200 a week!
Maybe you’ll have a miscarriage?
OK that’s it. Somebody nuke this bunch, because as soon as my Mensa ass leaves this room the total IQ will no longer be above room temperature.

Setting the Hook

2005-06-29T08:23:00.000-07:00

This weekend one of our good friends (He of the lavender persuasion) will be coming in town for a holiday visit. My partner and I worked with him at one of our previous places of employment, and though we have all moved on to different positions at different places, we talk frequently and he remains my best friend.

Last week said friend called to visit about a laptop he wanted to purchase. I am by no means technologically proficient. I can’t write programs, speak in HTML, and I don’t wake up dreaming about new applications, but I like my wireless electronic toys. A lot. My friend was going to go with a bargain basement Dell. I made some suggestions for upgrades, but also encouraged him to take a look at an iBook. After I go through the laundry list of why I prefer my iBook over other products, the single point that he cues in on is “It looks better and will help you get the attention of a cute guy at the coffee shop.”

I understand though, it’s competitive out there. If it hadn’t been for my “Thug Life” gold medallion and aviator sunglasses, there’s no way I would have landed my wife. She regrets it now, but I think it’s only because I recently started wearing my “Cold Pimpin” medallion instead.

Repenting...

2005-06-28T09:16:00.000-07:00

It seems that Mrs. Speakership was slightly perturbed (Read: drunken rage - shotgun in hand) with my public disclosure of our ongoing argument yesterday. I still hold true to my contention that she is a hippie, but as I desire to sleep in my own bed tonight (the safehouse was compromised) and without the presence of armed guards (she tried to get through them four times, and threatened to do some pretty horrible things to their kids’ pets), I feel it is only appropriate that I share some damning evidence about myself.

I hacked into my school’s computer system and changed my grades and those of my friends. For a short while the bastards on the baseball team were determined to be “academically ineligible.”

I once beat another individual so soundly that I broke his jaw, a couple ribs, and his right arm. After he wouldn’t stop coming after me, I pinned him to the ground and wrapped him in duct tape until the police arrived. The cop was a friend of mind – I was charged with nothing while he went to jail. It might be beneficial to know that he was robbing me at knifepoint before he had his “accident.”

I launder money regularly.

I’ve engaged in a high speed chase with police in a residential neighborhood. I delivered pizzas for a living (always was an overachiever) so I knew how to get around. It wasn’t Dukes of Hazard or anything, but they never found me.

I make fun of the elderly, drive too fast, pedal narcotics to housewives, and trip small children. I cheat on my taxes, lie to juries, and steal from non-profit agencies. I do very few of these things, but I would like to come home tonight, and this is what it takes.

The Verdict is in

2005-06-27T07:30:00.000-07:00

I need to clear the air here. There is this battle I’ve been waging with my partner for the last several years now, and it’s got to stop. I’ll offer the validity of my argument here, and everyone will see once and for all that I am correct, and that my wife is wrong (this may be the first time ever, so be sure to note time and date).

My wife is a hippie. The first time I ever remember seeing her (Keep in mind this is only 10 years ago), she was waiting for the bus wearing dark blue bell bottoms, a brown suede jacket over a dated printed shirt, and wait for it…she had a flower in her below-shoulder-length red hair. She denies she ever wore anything similar to this, though our friends support me in my recollection of the event. Additionally, I believe “Aquarius” was playing in the background, though I can’t be certain. I provide this additional evidence:

She recycles. Voluntarily. I don’t think I need to go any further, but just do drive the point home, I’ll continue.
She uses hippie words like environment, fuel economy, and preservation.
She has a Master’s degree in Social Work.

She has this incessant need to grow her hair out long. Only after my repeated badgering will she agree to cut it. I also have a secret suspicion that she saves her cut hair and has created a hippie wig which she wears when I am not around.

She is a hippie. I rest my case.

My New Friend Marci

2005-06-24T13:26:00.000-07:00

My partner and I eat out a lot. We have nice kitchenware (all furnished from generous wedding guests), but more often than not, though we have food at home, we’ll go out and grab something instead. I’m a decent cook, and when I take the time, the meals I prepare are pretty good (or else you know who has been lying to me for half a decade). It’s more the convenience factor than anything, but after a long day at work, and coming home to more projects, I just don’t feel like cooking. Usually going out is more relaxing, though I find this not the case during the summer months. The influx of highschoolers on summer vacation working at the local establishments is making our dining experiences less and less enjoyable.

For instance I had a late lunch today at a local deli. When I got inside, the place was empty and the individual behind the counter – let’s call her Marci (that being her real name and all) was busy talking on the phone. Marci and the other half of her pimple ridden, pubescent conversation were busy planning where to meet and pick up beer for the night. She’s couldn’t be a day over 14 so beer was an amusing concept, but I was void of humor. I was tired, hungry and in a hurry. I just wanted my damn sandwich. With Marci staring at me I rolled my eyes several times, coughed, and finally rang the bell at the counter. Marci finally decided my presence warranted ending her conversation, proclaiming “Some guy has been here for a couple minutes, so I guess I better go.” Ya think?

After Marci screwed up my sandwich twice, packaged my meal to go (I told her I was eating in), and charged me too much, she left me with these parting instructions, “Can you like make sure you don’t make a mess or anything, because I already cleaned the place once?” Fuming, I smiled, grabbed my meal and tried to let it go. It seemed I had succeeded until I was about to leave and had the urge to spill salt all over my table. Alas, I have poor impulse control. Screw you Marci.

The Express Lane to the Underworld

2005-06-23T08:55:00.000-07:00

I am a pretty moral guy. I don’t steal, I love only one woman, and I generally obey all traffic laws (OK that one is just a boldfaced lie, but traffic laws are more like suggestions anyway). Now that we’ve established I am a decent human being, let’s get to the issue at hand. I have rabbits in my yard. Not a single rabbit, or a single family of rabbits, I have a clan of rabbits.

They’re everywhere. If these rabbits unionize, the autoworkers are in big trouble. I know rabbits screw at every possible moment – they’ve done it in front of me as if to mock my inhabitance of their territory, but you would think coitus interruptus would have been established in their little fiefdom by now. So here I am at a crossroads. I’ve determined the rabbits and I can no longer coexist. They don’t want me here, and I think we are on the brink of some tumultuous violence. I know they’re planning something, and I fear they may kidnap my wife the next time she arrives home before me, or possibly smite me upon the head the next time they catch me unaware.

The appropriate thing would be to call someone…I don’t know - bunny removers? I’m sure there is someone I could call if I made any effort whatsoever. Though it would take them a while to arrive since they would be LAUGHING AT ME THE ENTIRE TIME! So I must do battle with the rabbits on my own. The question is can I actually do it? Can I kill bunnies? I’m certain there’s a private little corner in hell for those that kill bunnies, right alongside the folks who steal social security from the disabled and elderly. But hey, my previous transgressions are going to land me there anyways, so I might as well get there with gusto.

You can't do it, and they will just laugh

2005-06-22T07:32:00.000-07:00

So my partner (a truly lovable individual, though her periodic rants will make drunken sailors blush and cower in the corner) and I are currently in the middle of our first home remodel. Nothing over the top, but after a full day at our respective offices, we’re both pretty slap happy by the time Letterman bares his misaligned teeth. During one of the recent episodes of “How to fuck up your home in 30 minutes or less” I reached the following conclusions which may be of some use to those who seek to undertake similar projects:

Homes are living breathing organisms which seldom like being altered in any significant way. Give it some paint? No problem. Who doesn’t like a little cosmetic improvement every now and again? However, start pulling up linoleum or tear into a wall, and your beautiful, perfect house will alter it’s composition to communicate displeasure. Your house will rot wood, ooze mold, and rust metal that was in perfect condition before you decided to piss your house off. Lesson learned. Do not unnecessarily fuck with your house. Have a conversation with it first and see what it wants you to fix. Do not laugh. Your house will know if you laugh.

Home Depot is a sham. Their motto (“You can do it. We can help.”) is actually the single longest running joke in any company’s history. I’m certain an employee’s pay scale is dependent on the number of suckers they are able to fool into attempting difficult and dangerous home projects. Selling lawn seed earns an employee nothing (The reason you can never get help in the landscaping department), while convincing customers to fool with electricity is an automatic promotion. When you apply for credit there, your picture gets posted on the “Sucker of the Week” wall.

Whatever you think it will cost, you are wrong. Liberally calculate your expenses and add 10% for waste? Nope, you’re not even close. You’ll need more materials, new tools, and an odd assortment of other items which seem totally unrelated to your current project. This is due in part to: a) Home Depot’s ability to sell you stuff you don’t need and b) Your home’s ability to make your life hell.

A new theory

2005-06-21T10:43:00.000-07:00

I'm working on a new theory today. I still have to work out the kinks but here are the basics:

Premise 1: There are smart people in the world
Premise 2: These people are smart when they are at work
Premise 3: These people are smart when they are at home

If we accept all three of these premises, then I propose to you that there is a conspiracy alive and well in the new world that automobiles suck all available intelligence out of perfectly capable individuals when they turn on the ignition to their vehicles. Seriously, I have a relatively short commute to work every day, and the number of idiotic decisions I see made in a normal commute makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a hot poker in order to keep my sanity. Of course my vehicle is safeguarded against this knowledge vacuum, as all the driving decisions I make are completely measured and reasonable. Especially my hand signal this morning to the MORON who cut me off THREE times in a half-mile stretch.

The first of many...

2005-06-21T07:35:00.000-07:00

The first of my blogs. An event that will be celebtrated by no one except the voices in my head, and let's face it, they don't like me very much to begin with.