It seems you people are a suspicious bunch. Because I haven't updated the tens of you who read my blog about how well or terribly wrong my quitting smoking is going, I'm being accused of jumping off the proverbial wagon. Well, doubters, you're wrong! I have successfully managed to not smoke for nearly three weeks now. And for those of you who still doubt me, I haven't chewed tobacco, used a nicotine patch nor chewed nicotine gum either. I haven't even smoked a pipe nor a cigar. And not only can my fiance vouch for me, but also my Loose Talk bandmates who spent an entire weekend with me while we drank beer and wine!
This Chantix stuff is great! The only exception was the first day of not smoking. As I've blogged before, I was a situational smoker. Certain circumstances just dictated to me that I needed to smoke. But once I broke myself of those situations and assimilating them with smoking, I've managed to "just say no".
I know. There will always be doubters and those of you who will hope I fail. To you, I give you the one finger salute just like I did to Marlboro Lights. I even "unsubscribed" to the Marlboro email list which teased me with $4 off coupons for a carton of smokes. I'm guessing I won't get a birthday card this year from Marlboro like I have for the last several years which always said, "Thanks for living another year! Happy Birthday, Craig!"
"Sixty Minutes" did a story recently about Big Tobacco's newest ploy to keep nicotine addicts as long term customers. The latest and greatest form of a delivery system for nicotine is called Snus. It's similar to those "smokeless" tobacco pouches, but according to Leslie Stahl, they smell similar to grass (not pot...the kind in your yard). You simply place the pouch between your cheek and gum and because it's thin, it doesn't give you the look like you have a mouth full of crap in your mouth. In Europe, it's touted as a safe alternative to smoking and since so many places are banning smoking, even outdoors, it gives the nicotine addict another way to get a fix.
But what the story reveals is that some people who use Snus aren't using them as an alternative to firing up a smoke. The Snus are being used IN ADDITION to smoking. One man they interviewed claimed because of Snus, he's only smoking a single pack of cigarettes a day. But he admitted he's also sucking on ten or more Snus per day. The guy's getting the equivalent of about three to four packs of cigarettes a day!
I probably would've smoked three to four packs a day except for one thing - there wasn't enough time in the day! But seriously, that's a lot of nicotine for the body to process. And not only does the smoke destroy your lungs, the nicotine causes your blood vessels to constrict and that's what ultimately leads to heart disease - your heart struggles to push blood through your body because your damned arteries are smaller than they're supposed to be.
I'm glad I'm finally smoke-free and, more importantly, nicotine free. But do me a favor. If you EVER see me light up a cigarette or stick a dip or wad of chewing tobacco in my mouth, just slap the hell out of me and call me an idiot. I'll thank you when I come out of the coma.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Day 2 of Smoking Cessation...
So...I'm irritable as hell and it's driving everyone around me to be irritable. This is not a good thing when you're in a home with two women who are PMSing or about to start PMSing. Maybe I'M PMSing! Regardless, I'm not enjoying being cranky all the time. Except when I sleep.
Speaking of sleep, I had another major bizarre dream last night. I attended a funeral at a hardware store. Many of you were there and it was great to see you! I have no idea who died or why the funeral was being held at a hardware store, but the great thing was I found some unique and interesting tools to add to my tool box.
For my readers who have successfully quit smoking, I have this question: did you dream about smoking? In my dream last night, I dreamed I stepped outside with some fellow funeral attendees to have a smoke, but I couldn't light the cigarette. Every time I tried, the wind would blow it out or the lighter just simply wouldn't light. But I remember wanting to smoke that cigarette so badly. I'm sure it was some subconscious message telling me I don't need to smoke, but I remember that I wanted to smoke.
I've been told by some of you who've successfully quit smoking that there are many times when you still want or desire a cigarette even after 10-20 years of not smoking. Even after two days of not smoking, I do find the smell of it nauseating. I guess that's a good thing or, at least, a good start.
I hope the irritability begins to taper off soon. I know, I know...I'm sure there are a few (maybe many) people saying, "But Craig, you're ALWAYS irritable." I'll give you that, but imagine me MORE irritable than I usually am and you may start to understand the elevated level of anxiety I'm experiencing.
Speaking of sleep, I had another major bizarre dream last night. I attended a funeral at a hardware store. Many of you were there and it was great to see you! I have no idea who died or why the funeral was being held at a hardware store, but the great thing was I found some unique and interesting tools to add to my tool box.
For my readers who have successfully quit smoking, I have this question: did you dream about smoking? In my dream last night, I dreamed I stepped outside with some fellow funeral attendees to have a smoke, but I couldn't light the cigarette. Every time I tried, the wind would blow it out or the lighter just simply wouldn't light. But I remember wanting to smoke that cigarette so badly. I'm sure it was some subconscious message telling me I don't need to smoke, but I remember that I wanted to smoke.
I've been told by some of you who've successfully quit smoking that there are many times when you still want or desire a cigarette even after 10-20 years of not smoking. Even after two days of not smoking, I do find the smell of it nauseating. I guess that's a good thing or, at least, a good start.
I hope the irritability begins to taper off soon. I know, I know...I'm sure there are a few (maybe many) people saying, "But Craig, you're ALWAYS irritable." I'll give you that, but imagine me MORE irritable than I usually am and you may start to understand the elevated level of anxiety I'm experiencing.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Day 1 of Smoking Cessation...
Today's the first day I'm attempting to go without a cigarette. It sucks. What I'm trying to do is focus not so much on the fact that I really want a cigarette, but on the fact that it's an expensive habit. A pack of smokes here in Connecticut is nearly $8 per pack. If I just smoke one pack a day, that's around $240 per month or nearly $3,000 per year! But I didn't just smoke one pack per day. Sometimes I would smoke close to two packs, but very rarely did I smoke less than a pack on a daily basis.
Cigarettes are not expensive to produce nor sell. A pack of smokes only costs about $0.47 to produce. The gap between the costs to produce and the price at the local convenience store is primarily taxes. And when I smoked, I never voted for a single tax increase on cigarettes nor any tobacco products. Of course, the only reason I didn't vote on these taxes is because I wasn't given the opportunity to vote on them. Like many of our taxes, tobacco taxes are considered a "luxury tax" because tobacco products, liquor, beer, etc. are considered to be products that we really don't need, but we want them for our own pleasure. It's just another shining example of how we allow our government to tax us without any representation. Of course, Congress knows this because a majority of us don't smoke or chew tobacco. Only about ten percent of us do, but we get to pay 100% of the tax. Some would say that this type of taxation is analogous to the healthcare debate, but I'm talking about smoking here, not healthcare.
I'm discovering (although I already knew it) that I'm a "situational smoker". I would smoke while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. I would then pour myself a cup of coffee, step outside and enjoy another cigarette while watching the news through the kitchen window. If someone called me on the phone, I would grab my smokes and step outside for a cigarette. While driving, I would smoke because it gave me something to do while I complained about all the sucky drivers around town. And if I was drinking, it was just a natural combination. I hated it when various cities started banning smoking in bars. I could understand banning restaurant smoking, but bars?
That was until I had a dear, close friend of mine die of a rare form of lung cancer attributed to high levels of stress and second-hand smoke. I won't go into the details of the stress my buddy was going through, but we played in bands together and he played in various clubs for most of his adult life. He didn't smoke either.
I've been saying I was going to quit for years. It's actually been more like decades. But I was always able to find an excuse to NOT quit...I'm going through a divorce...I worked for Enron...I just lost my wallet...I think it's about to start raining. I could find an excuse to not quit in any given situation.
So this time, I've decided to focus on the monetary savings of quitting more so than missing the pleasure of smoking. I've heard that you never quit a habit, you simply replace that habit with another habit. Some people turn to food. Some turn to exercise. My choice is to turn to chewing gum and exercise. At least I'll have great smelling breath and be in shape!
Stay tuned...
Cigarettes are not expensive to produce nor sell. A pack of smokes only costs about $0.47 to produce. The gap between the costs to produce and the price at the local convenience store is primarily taxes. And when I smoked, I never voted for a single tax increase on cigarettes nor any tobacco products. Of course, the only reason I didn't vote on these taxes is because I wasn't given the opportunity to vote on them. Like many of our taxes, tobacco taxes are considered a "luxury tax" because tobacco products, liquor, beer, etc. are considered to be products that we really don't need, but we want them for our own pleasure. It's just another shining example of how we allow our government to tax us without any representation. Of course, Congress knows this because a majority of us don't smoke or chew tobacco. Only about ten percent of us do, but we get to pay 100% of the tax. Some would say that this type of taxation is analogous to the healthcare debate, but I'm talking about smoking here, not healthcare.
I'm discovering (although I already knew it) that I'm a "situational smoker". I would smoke while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. I would then pour myself a cup of coffee, step outside and enjoy another cigarette while watching the news through the kitchen window. If someone called me on the phone, I would grab my smokes and step outside for a cigarette. While driving, I would smoke because it gave me something to do while I complained about all the sucky drivers around town. And if I was drinking, it was just a natural combination. I hated it when various cities started banning smoking in bars. I could understand banning restaurant smoking, but bars?
That was until I had a dear, close friend of mine die of a rare form of lung cancer attributed to high levels of stress and second-hand smoke. I won't go into the details of the stress my buddy was going through, but we played in bands together and he played in various clubs for most of his adult life. He didn't smoke either.
I've been saying I was going to quit for years. It's actually been more like decades. But I was always able to find an excuse to NOT quit...I'm going through a divorce...I worked for Enron...I just lost my wallet...I think it's about to start raining. I could find an excuse to not quit in any given situation.
So this time, I've decided to focus on the monetary savings of quitting more so than missing the pleasure of smoking. I've heard that you never quit a habit, you simply replace that habit with another habit. Some people turn to food. Some turn to exercise. My choice is to turn to chewing gum and exercise. At least I'll have great smelling breath and be in shape!
Stay tuned...
Monday, March 22, 2010
Quitting...
I'm in the process of quitting. Not quitting life or being sarcastic or disgruntled, but quitting one of the most deadly and despicable habits known to man. Smoking.
I use the term process because it's not something I've been able to do on my own before. And it's also something I've said I would do for several years now. It just wasn't convenient for me at those times.
About a year ago, I asked my doctor for a prescription for Chantix. For many years, I had heard people rave about the efficacy of this drug. But my biggest obstacle was the list of side effects that were reported in the disclaimers for the drug. Dizziness, upset stomach, gas, bloating, nausea, constipation, vomiting and sleep problems. And these were just the "common" side effects. But I was also concerned about the less common side effects such as depression and suicidal thoughts.
I put off taking the drug all this time, but I've been on it for a week now and there's really only three side effects I've noticed. I fart more and I actually remember my dreams. The other side effect, according to my fiance, is I don't snore like I used to. I'm not a BIG snorer, but she's a light sleeper. If I just wheeze in my sleep a little, she wakes up.
Besides the increased fart frequency, I'm also kind of enjoying my "vivid, unusual, or strange dreams." I have no idea how often I dream. I rarely remember my dreams. But on Chantix, my dreams are fairly detailed AND memorable.
Last night, I dreamed I was back in college, but I was attending a class off-campus and it was being conducted in a retail strip center right next to the coolest 7-11 convenience store I've ever seen in my life! It had everything and I mean EVERYTHING! There were great smells and sounds and lighting. It was like a place you would want to hang out in all day. I don't recall what I bought in my dream, but I'm sure it was the best tasting whatever-it-was thing I'd ever had.
So, I leave my dream 7-11 and go next door to my class. I sit down next to this really "dreamy" woman, but as soon as I get settled into my chair, she starts talking really loud to me while the professor is giving his lecture. I'm amused in my dream that the professor doesn't seem to notice and he keeps giving the lecture like there's nothing going on. I finally "shush" the girl to be quiet and she stops. Next thing I know, class is over and I have no idea what the professor was talking about and I don't have any notes written down to show for it.
As I'm walking back to my car, the girl walks with me and begins talking, but, again, I have no idea what she's talking about. The next thing I know is I feel a hand on my shoulder from somebody behind me. I turn around and it's the big, football-player-looking guy asking me why I'm walking with this girl. I looked right at him and said, "I have no idea who she is and I don't know why she's talking to me."
He responds back with, "Well, she's my girlfriend and you better leave her alone."
When I attempted to explain that all I did was unsuccessfully get her to shush her mouth during class, he pulled one of those "I'm gonna pretend like I'm gonna hit you, but just to make you flinch" moves. Of course, I flinched and he got a good laugh out of it. I hated that when I was a kid and I still hate it in my dreams.
I was then awoken by the sound of footsteps in the house. I'm not sure if someone was actually walking around or if it was our resident ghost, but I wish I could've finished the dream with me getting even with that girl's boyfriend. Not really. I could care less. But I do wish I could find that 7-11 again.
I use the term process because it's not something I've been able to do on my own before. And it's also something I've said I would do for several years now. It just wasn't convenient for me at those times.
About a year ago, I asked my doctor for a prescription for Chantix. For many years, I had heard people rave about the efficacy of this drug. But my biggest obstacle was the list of side effects that were reported in the disclaimers for the drug. Dizziness, upset stomach, gas, bloating, nausea, constipation, vomiting and sleep problems. And these were just the "common" side effects. But I was also concerned about the less common side effects such as depression and suicidal thoughts.
I put off taking the drug all this time, but I've been on it for a week now and there's really only three side effects I've noticed. I fart more and I actually remember my dreams. The other side effect, according to my fiance, is I don't snore like I used to. I'm not a BIG snorer, but she's a light sleeper. If I just wheeze in my sleep a little, she wakes up.
Besides the increased fart frequency, I'm also kind of enjoying my "vivid, unusual, or strange dreams." I have no idea how often I dream. I rarely remember my dreams. But on Chantix, my dreams are fairly detailed AND memorable.
Last night, I dreamed I was back in college, but I was attending a class off-campus and it was being conducted in a retail strip center right next to the coolest 7-11 convenience store I've ever seen in my life! It had everything and I mean EVERYTHING! There were great smells and sounds and lighting. It was like a place you would want to hang out in all day. I don't recall what I bought in my dream, but I'm sure it was the best tasting whatever-it-was thing I'd ever had.
So, I leave my dream 7-11 and go next door to my class. I sit down next to this really "dreamy" woman, but as soon as I get settled into my chair, she starts talking really loud to me while the professor is giving his lecture. I'm amused in my dream that the professor doesn't seem to notice and he keeps giving the lecture like there's nothing going on. I finally "shush" the girl to be quiet and she stops. Next thing I know, class is over and I have no idea what the professor was talking about and I don't have any notes written down to show for it.
As I'm walking back to my car, the girl walks with me and begins talking, but, again, I have no idea what she's talking about. The next thing I know is I feel a hand on my shoulder from somebody behind me. I turn around and it's the big, football-player-looking guy asking me why I'm walking with this girl. I looked right at him and said, "I have no idea who she is and I don't know why she's talking to me."
He responds back with, "Well, she's my girlfriend and you better leave her alone."
When I attempted to explain that all I did was unsuccessfully get her to shush her mouth during class, he pulled one of those "I'm gonna pretend like I'm gonna hit you, but just to make you flinch" moves. Of course, I flinched and he got a good laugh out of it. I hated that when I was a kid and I still hate it in my dreams.
I was then awoken by the sound of footsteps in the house. I'm not sure if someone was actually walking around or if it was our resident ghost, but I wish I could've finished the dream with me getting even with that girl's boyfriend. Not really. I could care less. But I do wish I could find that 7-11 again.
Let's Stir the Pot...
I'm ALL FOR health care reform. Yep, I really am. I'm all for transportability of health insurance. I'm all for not losing health care because I happen to get sick or have a preexisting condition. I'm all for parents being able to provide health insurance for their kids when they can't find a job after college. I'm also for tort reform.
I believe there are a multitude of things congress (sic) can do to create laws that force insurance companies to provide adequate and affordable coverage to every American citizen. The problem is they're going about it the wrong way. Instead of listening to the people of this country, instead of listening to doctors who provide healthcare, they decided to do what they think is best for all us. It's that old, "do as I say, not as I do" mentality.
I question the judgement of those who believe our government knows what's best for us. Not just with healthcare, but with ALL things. I guess these are the same people who believe it's someone else's responsibility to educate their kids about sex, drugs, religion, morals, thinking for themselves, healthy diets, personal responsibility and a multitude of other useful life skills.
"Do unto others" isn't followed by, "before they do unto you." It's about having mutual respect for people. Congress has decided that they know better. They know what we need regardless of whether we want it or not. Or even HOW we want it. Congress has disrespected a majority of our country and those people will not quickly forget.
The irony of the entire ordeal is this: the entities who will benefit the greatest from government run health are...THE INSURANCE AND DRUG COMPANIES! Don't believe me? Wall Street seems to think so and those stocks are rising in today's trading.
This isn't the end. It's only the beginning.
I believe there are a multitude of things congress (sic) can do to create laws that force insurance companies to provide adequate and affordable coverage to every American citizen. The problem is they're going about it the wrong way. Instead of listening to the people of this country, instead of listening to doctors who provide healthcare, they decided to do what they think is best for all us. It's that old, "do as I say, not as I do" mentality.
I question the judgement of those who believe our government knows what's best for us. Not just with healthcare, but with ALL things. I guess these are the same people who believe it's someone else's responsibility to educate their kids about sex, drugs, religion, morals, thinking for themselves, healthy diets, personal responsibility and a multitude of other useful life skills.
"Do unto others" isn't followed by, "before they do unto you." It's about having mutual respect for people. Congress has decided that they know better. They know what we need regardless of whether we want it or not. Or even HOW we want it. Congress has disrespected a majority of our country and those people will not quickly forget.
The irony of the entire ordeal is this: the entities who will benefit the greatest from government run health are...THE INSURANCE AND DRUG COMPANIES! Don't believe me? Wall Street seems to think so and those stocks are rising in today's trading.
This isn't the end. It's only the beginning.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Open Mic Night...
Being a newbie to the Hartford area, I was interested in what kind of music scene existed around town. I've played music for 3/4ths of my life and love hearing local bands in little hole-in-the-wall bars and clubs. Saint Patrick's day seemed like a good night to head to a downtown venue to catch "Open Mic Night" at a cool, little blues/BBQ venue called Black Eyed Sally's. I'm not sure why you would name a place that seems to promote domestic violence, but I didn't see any women with black eyes nor anyone with a "Sally" name tag.
I'm not Irish, but I would guess that Ireland must have been so inundated with snakes that it was worthwhile for Patrick to rid the place of these reptiles and allow the citizens to drink heavily. Were snakes drinking all the beer and whiskey and that's why Patrick's miracle is still celebrated today? I guess I'll have to Google it later, but for now, I'm going with "snakes drake all the beer and they had to get rid of them."
I digress...
Most Open Mic Nights (OMN) I've been to feature local musicians who have varying degrees of talent. Some are veterans of the music scene and some are younguns trying to impress the other musicians. This OMN was no different. As a matter of fact, it was fairly predictable. The "house" band warmed the crowd up with a few tightly played blues tunes and then one of the members called up the first group to perform. Being a drummer myself, it's pretty easy to read the body language of another drummer who's about to play. Before the house band drummer could get off his stool, the next drummer they called up jumps up on stage and starts moving around like he's about to run the 100 meter. He's stretching, loosening up his legs and arms and swinging his head around. I'm guessing this will help him avoid any cramping that might occur. But it's more of a pretext to what's about to be played. Or better yet, "how" it's about to be played.
The keyboard player from the house band remained on stage to play with the first group of Open Mic'ers. He obviously had previously played with this new drummer because he quickly starts barking orders for him to keep the volume down and not to rush things. He might as well be telling Barbaro to jog around the track the first half a mile at the Kentucky Derby. After one of the guest guitarists gave the tempo, it was off to the races and the entire band struggled to keep up. At this point, the house band drummer walks nonchalantly in front of the stage and gives the universal signal for "slow down, dude." I'll give the drummer this much...the guy had some chops, but he had absolutely no meter. Translation: he could play some complicated licks, but couldn't keep a steady tempo.
(Know how to get a drummer off your front porch? Pay him for the pizza.)
There's only one thing worse than a drummer with no meter...a bass player who doesn't know what a 1, 4, 5 blues progression is. I'm not even a bass player - although I can strum a guitar - but I do know that if you can't play a simple blues progression, you probably need to spend a little more time practicing at home in your man cave than at an OMN. The bass and drums are the foundation of the rhythm section of any band. If either one of them suck, the WHOLE band sucks. I don't care if your guitarist could make Steve Vai sound like a hack. If the rhythm section isn't tight, it's just not going to sound very good.
(Know what you call a bass player who just broke up with his girlfried? Homeless.)
When I was a kid, I loved to dance. I even won a dance contest when I was in 7th or 8th grade. But after playing in different bands for a few decades and watching how drunk people dance (especially white, drunk people), I decided a long time ago that I don't like dancing. Obviously, not everyone subscribes to my school of thought on dancing and that's fine with me. The over-40 crowd who dominated OMN this particular night could have made a great advertisement for Viagra or Cialis. Not only does it help those who suffer from ED, but it also seems to help those who can't dance, but do it anyway. I was entertained by an older couple in their 60s who jumped onto the dance floor and danced like they each had their own pole they were humping. This scene was just another reminder of why I don't dance.
After waiting nearly three hours to get the opportunity to play drums with whatever misfits they stuck me with, I decided it was late and I would exceed my self-allotment of beverages if I stayed any longer. I went up to the guy in charge of OMN and told him to take me off the list because I was leaving. He said I was going to be next and to stick around five more minutes. Right after he said this, the band broke into a bluesy version of "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida". I said, "No, thanks," and left.
I'm not sure if I'll attend another OMN, but it was nice to get out of the house for an evening of making fun of others. Because we all know that just makes us feel better about ourselves.
I'm not Irish, but I would guess that Ireland must have been so inundated with snakes that it was worthwhile for Patrick to rid the place of these reptiles and allow the citizens to drink heavily. Were snakes drinking all the beer and whiskey and that's why Patrick's miracle is still celebrated today? I guess I'll have to Google it later, but for now, I'm going with "snakes drake all the beer and they had to get rid of them."
I digress...
Most Open Mic Nights (OMN) I've been to feature local musicians who have varying degrees of talent. Some are veterans of the music scene and some are younguns trying to impress the other musicians. This OMN was no different. As a matter of fact, it was fairly predictable. The "house" band warmed the crowd up with a few tightly played blues tunes and then one of the members called up the first group to perform. Being a drummer myself, it's pretty easy to read the body language of another drummer who's about to play. Before the house band drummer could get off his stool, the next drummer they called up jumps up on stage and starts moving around like he's about to run the 100 meter. He's stretching, loosening up his legs and arms and swinging his head around. I'm guessing this will help him avoid any cramping that might occur. But it's more of a pretext to what's about to be played. Or better yet, "how" it's about to be played.
The keyboard player from the house band remained on stage to play with the first group of Open Mic'ers. He obviously had previously played with this new drummer because he quickly starts barking orders for him to keep the volume down and not to rush things. He might as well be telling Barbaro to jog around the track the first half a mile at the Kentucky Derby. After one of the guest guitarists gave the tempo, it was off to the races and the entire band struggled to keep up. At this point, the house band drummer walks nonchalantly in front of the stage and gives the universal signal for "slow down, dude." I'll give the drummer this much...the guy had some chops, but he had absolutely no meter. Translation: he could play some complicated licks, but couldn't keep a steady tempo.
(Know how to get a drummer off your front porch? Pay him for the pizza.)
There's only one thing worse than a drummer with no meter...a bass player who doesn't know what a 1, 4, 5 blues progression is. I'm not even a bass player - although I can strum a guitar - but I do know that if you can't play a simple blues progression, you probably need to spend a little more time practicing at home in your man cave than at an OMN. The bass and drums are the foundation of the rhythm section of any band. If either one of them suck, the WHOLE band sucks. I don't care if your guitarist could make Steve Vai sound like a hack. If the rhythm section isn't tight, it's just not going to sound very good.
(Know what you call a bass player who just broke up with his girlfried? Homeless.)
When I was a kid, I loved to dance. I even won a dance contest when I was in 7th or 8th grade. But after playing in different bands for a few decades and watching how drunk people dance (especially white, drunk people), I decided a long time ago that I don't like dancing. Obviously, not everyone subscribes to my school of thought on dancing and that's fine with me. The over-40 crowd who dominated OMN this particular night could have made a great advertisement for Viagra or Cialis. Not only does it help those who suffer from ED, but it also seems to help those who can't dance, but do it anyway. I was entertained by an older couple in their 60s who jumped onto the dance floor and danced like they each had their own pole they were humping. This scene was just another reminder of why I don't dance.
After waiting nearly three hours to get the opportunity to play drums with whatever misfits they stuck me with, I decided it was late and I would exceed my self-allotment of beverages if I stayed any longer. I went up to the guy in charge of OMN and told him to take me off the list because I was leaving. He said I was going to be next and to stick around five more minutes. Right after he said this, the band broke into a bluesy version of "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida". I said, "No, thanks," and left.
I'm not sure if I'll attend another OMN, but it was nice to get out of the house for an evening of making fun of others. Because we all know that just makes us feel better about ourselves.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Dog Poop...
If there's a vet who can explain the following animal phenomenon to me, please comment below...
How is it possible that you can feed two dogs no more than 2.5 cups of food each day and have 15 pounds of poop in the yard in less than a week? And what causes a dog to wander around the yard while they're pooping???
I love dogs. I really do. But I hate the task of cleaning up the yard every three to five days. We have a BIG back yard, too. Approximately 5,000 square feet of yard. The two dogs, both Portuguese Water dogs, poop in about 4,986 square feet of the yard. But what I've never experienced with any other dog I've ever observed pooping is that these dogs waddle around the yard while they're dropping yard biscuits. What this means is when it's time to clean up the poop, you have to walk a grid pattern in order to have the best odds of doing a thorough job. It's almost like when the Coast Guard is searching for a missing boater who's floating in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, but you don't have the luxury of using a helicopter or an airplane. And your biggest hazard is you miss one of them and step in it! I hate stepping in poop.
Back to the amount of poop...I picked up about 6 lbs of poop (the 15 lbs I mentioned earlier was just hyperbole). And this is fresh poop, not that slightly hardened or white poop that been bleached out by the sun because it's been there for months. Fresh poop! Doing the math in my tiny, little head, it didn't make sense that there could be that much poop in less than a week from two dogs given the amount of food I feed them. I think the dogs must be letting their buddies into the yard and letting them poop here, too. I have no other explanation for it.
But if I catch them doing it, there will be hell to pay!
How is it possible that you can feed two dogs no more than 2.5 cups of food each day and have 15 pounds of poop in the yard in less than a week? And what causes a dog to wander around the yard while they're pooping???
I love dogs. I really do. But I hate the task of cleaning up the yard every three to five days. We have a BIG back yard, too. Approximately 5,000 square feet of yard. The two dogs, both Portuguese Water dogs, poop in about 4,986 square feet of the yard. But what I've never experienced with any other dog I've ever observed pooping is that these dogs waddle around the yard while they're dropping yard biscuits. What this means is when it's time to clean up the poop, you have to walk a grid pattern in order to have the best odds of doing a thorough job. It's almost like when the Coast Guard is searching for a missing boater who's floating in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, but you don't have the luxury of using a helicopter or an airplane. And your biggest hazard is you miss one of them and step in it! I hate stepping in poop.
Back to the amount of poop...I picked up about 6 lbs of poop (the 15 lbs I mentioned earlier was just hyperbole). And this is fresh poop, not that slightly hardened or white poop that been bleached out by the sun because it's been there for months. Fresh poop! Doing the math in my tiny, little head, it didn't make sense that there could be that much poop in less than a week from two dogs given the amount of food I feed them. I think the dogs must be letting their buddies into the yard and letting them poop here, too. I have no other explanation for it.
But if I catch them doing it, there will be hell to pay!
Friday, March 5, 2010
Meds...
Someone didn't take their meds yesterday. Maybe he never took them. But he should have. Another "George Bush blew up the World Trade Center on 9/11" nut case, John Patrick Bedell, from California, took the time to put on a suit and tie, walk up to the heavily secure entrance to the Pentagon and decide to start shooting armed guards at point-blank range. Are you kidding me?
I haven't had the pleasure of readingMr. Bedell's the dumbass's blog, but apparently he was pretty ticked off at the US military and also a 9/11 conspiracy theorist. "Was" being the operative word here. This guy was a pretty bad shot, too. He only grazed the guards...at point-blank range. But the guards managed to pop a few rounds into Bedell and he ended up dying at the hospital.
The things I've always wondered about when something like this happens is what kind of family did this person come from? Who were his friends? Were they aware of his mental condition? Did they share his views? Was the person on meds and didn't take them? Or couldn't afford them? What happened and why?
We'll probably never really know why this guy snapped and only have his blogfesto to reference as a glimpse into his thought process, but it's disturbing to know he's probably not the only nutcase with a grievance against our country and they're not all radical muslims.
As Larry the Cable Guy once said, "It's like wiping your butt before you poop. It just doesn't make sense."
I haven't had the pleasure of reading
The things I've always wondered about when something like this happens is what kind of family did this person come from? Who were his friends? Were they aware of his mental condition? Did they share his views? Was the person on meds and didn't take them? Or couldn't afford them? What happened and why?
We'll probably never really know why this guy snapped and only have his blogfesto to reference as a glimpse into his thought process, but it's disturbing to know he's probably not the only nutcase with a grievance against our country and they're not all radical muslims.
As Larry the Cable Guy once said, "It's like wiping your butt before you poop. It just doesn't make sense."
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
American Airlines Sucks...
Every airline I've flown on sucks, but Southwest Airlines sucks the least of all of them. As a matter of fact, I don't think I can honestly say that SWA sucks at all. I've never had any serious issues or problems flying SWA with just a couple of exceptions, but they were either weather related or due to me booking my connecting flights too close together. Neither were things I could necessarily blame on the airline itself.
On the other hand, American, like many of the other airlines, has determined that your bags are no different than you and you should be charged a fee to allow your bags to travel in the belly of the plane. So, on a recent trip from Hartford, CT, to Shreveport, LA, my fiance and I were charged not only $1,300 for the two of us to fly, but another $100 for the roundtrip travel of our two bags.
Apparently, you can't always get your seats assigned when you book your flight(s) on American and it seems that this problem is mostly due to the airline overbooking flights. When we checked in our bags at the Bradley International airport, we asked if we could get two seats together. Nope. The flight was oversold and we were told that we'll be lucky if we're able to even get on the flight unless someone agrees to give up their seats in exchange for an airline voucher. Sitting on pins and needles while waiting to board, we received the good news that we would have the pleasure of boarding American's flight to DFW. Of course, the bad news was we would have to sit next to who-knows-who for four hours. We accepted the offer even though we both would be in "B" (middle) seats on different rows.
Now I'm a pretty easy-going person and can pretty much carry on a conversation with just about anybody, but I do have my moments of "I'm going to read a magazine and plug in my iPod and you just go about your own business." This was one of those moments. Unfortunately, my seatmates didn't know this unspoken arrangement. Mr. Windowseat guy wanted to know where I was going and why (the purpose of our trip was to attend my parents' 50th wedding anniversary party) forcing me to take the ear buds out so I could hear what he was asking me. Mr. Aisleseat guy seemed to suffer from some affliction that caused his body to twitch uncontrollably. At first, I thought it might be Tourette's syndrome and was looking forward to being entertained by the moments when he would curse out loud or say something nasty and offend the other passengers. I was disappointed when neither of these things happened.
While the plane was still being boarded, my fiance approached and asked, "Craig, do either one of these guys want to change seats with me?" Mr. Aisleseat guy looked at her funny until he realized she was talking to me; apparently, his name was Craig, too. This little factoid brought on another conversation I didn't want to have. But more importantly, neither one of my seatmates wanted to exchange their aisle or window seat for the middle seat she was in. I can't blame them. But being the gentleman I was raised to be, I would've volunteered if I knew that a couple wasn't sitting together. Of course, I would've made them buy me several cocktails as repayment for my graciousness, but I would've changed seats.
One thing I've learned about living in New England for a few, short months is not many people are raised to be a gentleman. The feminist movement has immasculated men to the point whereby men make women feel inferior if they open the door for a woman or stand when they enter the room or call them "Miss" or "M'aam". It's seen as disrespectful. I couldn't disagree more. So, if you're reading this and you're a woman and your offended by this gentlemanly behavior, then you know nothing about being respected. But that's another blog entry at a later time.
Back to the flight...
So, after giving my life story in seven minutes or less, I decided I really wanted to read my latest issue of "Wired" magazine, turn up the iPod as loud as I could and ignore my seatmates. They finally got the not-so-subtle hint and began reading on their own. But not for long. After a few minutes, they decided they still had some interesting bits of information to share with each other. I have no idea what they were talking about because I couldn't hear them over the din of my iTunes, but it had to be important because they kept getting closer and closer to each other in order to hear themselves over the cabin noise level.
It's one thing to carry on a conversation with someone who's two seats over from you, but it's an entirely different thing to do so when it's in front of someone else's face and one of the participants in the conversation is jerking around the whole time. I'm not kidding...these two guys' faces were not more than 14" from each other and less than that in front of MY face. And one of them is spazzing out with his hands flailing around and his head jerking from side to side. I kept thinking if I waited long enough, Ashton Kutcher and his video crew would come hopping down the aisle and laughing how I just got "Punked".
With every seat on the plane occupied, I had no where to go. I'm not sure if it was one of my seatmates, but someone in the general vicinity thought it was a good time to let the rest of us passengers know that he/she had eaten about a dozen bad eggs for breakfast before the flight. Although my seatmates never missed a beat in their conversation, I was awoken from my iTunes-induced slumber by the odor and said aloud, "Holy shit!". They both looked at me and said, "It wasn't me". After a quick survey of the cabin, I knew it was the fat bastard two rows up when I spotted his head bobbing up and down as he giggled at my exclamation. Ashton still didn't show up.
I've also observed in my flying adventures that when it's time to deplane, the slowest, most sloth-like creatures in the world are the ones who sit in the front of the plane. They're also the ones who can never seem to find their carry-on luggage because the flight attendants seem to play some kind of sick game of rearranging the overhead bins while no one's looking. This is the reason I only bring my camera bag and briefcase on the plane. The camera bag goes in the overhead bin and the briefcase goes under the seat in front of me. My camera bag weighs more than most people would expect a backpack looking contraption should, so if anyone tries to pull it out, it usually conks someone in the head and knocks them out. This must be one of the reasons the airlines overbook their flights; they know some idiot is going to bring something heavy on the plane which will fall on someone else and allow a seat to open up.
When we finally arrived at DFW and taxied to our arrival gate, our flight attendant began making announcements about gate information for connecting flights. I can only guess that they're supplied with a list of passengers and where their ultimate destination is and this is how they know which gates are relevant to the passengers. Shreveport didn't make the list. It must be so low on the flight-worthy list that they don't even bother mentioning it. When we got off the plane, we had to check the display in the terminal to find out which gate our flight to Shreveport was departing. We arrived at Terminal D, but were departing from Terminal B.
For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of making a connection at DFW, Terminal D is the newest terminal and has some pretty decent restaurants, bars and shopping. Terminal B is a different story. Instead of having the choice of a steak at "Cool River" or a burger at "Fuddruckers" like in Terminal D, you're choices go downhill pretty quickly once you take the train over to Terminal B. McDonald's and TGI Friday's are the most upscale you can get in Terminal B. Oh sure, there's a Starbucks and the usual newstands, but that's about it. So, instead of grabbing a bite to eat, we decided to have a liquid lunch instead. Afterall, we had two hours to kill and it's only an hour flight from DFW to Shreveport. That Stella Artois should tasted good after a four hour flight and the aroma seemed to neutralize the nose-hair burning smell of one of my fellow passenger's farts.
Shreveport has to be the most ridiculously difficult city to travel to from ANYWHERE. Regardless of where you're flying from, if you're destination is Shreveport, you're going to get stuck in Dallas, Houston, Atlanta, Nashville or a multitude of other cities the airlines deem more flight-worthy than Shreveport. I can only guess that all the Hollywood types who fly into Shreveport are doing so on private aircraft. Surely they aren't flying commercial flights, right?
As a kid growing up in Shreveport, I remember when the "new" airport opened up and had all the modern conveniences available for airline travel. This was back when Braniff was still an airline and Delta, Royale Air and a couple of other regional carriers served the Shreveport area. After an extensive remodeling of the airport several years ago, the airport is still a dump. It has to be the ONLY airport in the entire country which still requires you to open your trunk for an "inspection" by the TSA prior to entering the airport grounds...seriously. The process is simple: you pull up, a guard gets out of his hut, asks you to open your trunk and then provides a thorough 1.3 second inspection of the contents in your trunk. Really. No joke. I mean, if the Taliban really wanted to blow up a US airport, Shreveport's would not be an ideal target to make a statement about how vunerable we all are to an attack. First, because you would only cause minimal casualties and, second, because you would only disrupt a few flights a day.
So after passing the rigorous car inspection, we go to the ticket counter to check our bags. Being the naive American Airline passenger that I am, I was completely unaware that you pay AGAIN to ship your bag back to your place of origin. Twenty-five bucks for each bag, each way. Did I miss the fine print somewhere? I mean, I bought a round-trip ticket. Why the hell wouldn't they just charge me for a round-trip ticket for my freakin' baggage? Do people really load up a suitcase, fly somewhere and then return with NO baggage? It didn't make a bit a sense, but then I began to think that maybe I missed something in the news saying the federal government had taken over the airlines. THAT would've made more sense. But then I remembered that, no, the Fed hasn't taken over the airlines...yet.
I even thought about just calling a friend to come pick up the bags and FedEx them to me. Surely it wouldn't have cost $100 to send my bags the day before AND have them delivered right to the front door! The more I think about the idea, the more I think I'll consider doing that if I end up having to fly anything but Southwest. That'll show them.
Arriving at DFW to await our connection back to Hartford, we thought it would be prudent to go straight to the departure gate to see if we could get our seats assigned (yep, once again, our return flight didn't indicate seat assignments on our tickets). Seeing the gate area was pretty packed, I said a silent F-bomb and knew it was about to get even more interesting that the rest of the trip. If you guessed that our flight was oversold and we couldn't be guaranteed seats, much less be able to sit together, you're one smart sumbitch! Either you're smart or you've had the distinct priviledge of flying on American.
The gate attendant was a middle-aged, probably a long-time employee (you can tell because they're usually wrinkled up pretty good, bad hair and an attitude to match) and probably ticked off at her cat for pissing on the couch again. You get the point. With the attitude of someone who hasn't had a man in her life for a couple of decades, she informed us we were the luckiest people in the world...if we get on the flight. And guess what? It's the only direct flight from DFW for the day! The news was like getting another fresh whiff of that egg fart on the previous flight. Just kind of hits you in the face and then lingers while you try to figure out what just happened and who did it.
This charming woman then asked if we were interested in giving up the seats we supposedly didn't have in exchange for a couple of vouchers. After asking if they were transferrable to others (my kids in Houston), she informed us that they were indeed AND they would be good for any flight. Knowing that I could use these for my kids to visit for Spring Break in a few weeks, I started to see some light at the end of this travel tunnel. Thinking the value might be comparable to what our tickets costs, I asked the inevitable, "How much are the vouchers?" Three hundred bucks was the response. Are you kidding me? Where the hell can you fly on American for $300? From Houston to Waco? Why, yes you can, but you still have to pay $25 per bag and per flight to have your bags possibly show up. Arrrrrrrrrggggggggg! She told us to come back to the counter in a hour so we could find out if we were "worthy" of traveling on their airplane.
Then it hit me. This is why people go biserk on a flight! I mean, I could have literally choked someone to death I was so PO'd! I felt violated! I felt taken advantage of! I felt like an alter boy!
We bought a couple of overpriced burgers, fries and a drink and decided that if we couldn't get on the flight, we'd at least try to stay with some friends who lived in North Dallas. But the airline managed to find a couple of suckers to take them up on the voucher exchange and we were also able to get seats together. It's not like we talked the whole way back or held hands the whole time. Karen slept for about three hours and 32 minutes of the three hour and 40 minute trip. I finally got to finish my "Wired" issue and slept a little. I had forgotten how exhausting it is to deal with incompetence, but it's like riding a bike and you pedal to the nearest bar to forget the whole ordeal.
I can't wait to forget about this one. One thing I will always remember...if Southwest doesn't fly there, I probably don't need to go there.
On the other hand, American, like many of the other airlines, has determined that your bags are no different than you and you should be charged a fee to allow your bags to travel in the belly of the plane. So, on a recent trip from Hartford, CT, to Shreveport, LA, my fiance and I were charged not only $1,300 for the two of us to fly, but another $100 for the roundtrip travel of our two bags.
Apparently, you can't always get your seats assigned when you book your flight(s) on American and it seems that this problem is mostly due to the airline overbooking flights. When we checked in our bags at the Bradley International airport, we asked if we could get two seats together. Nope. The flight was oversold and we were told that we'll be lucky if we're able to even get on the flight unless someone agrees to give up their seats in exchange for an airline voucher. Sitting on pins and needles while waiting to board, we received the good news that we would have the pleasure of boarding American's flight to DFW. Of course, the bad news was we would have to sit next to who-knows-who for four hours. We accepted the offer even though we both would be in "B" (middle) seats on different rows.
Now I'm a pretty easy-going person and can pretty much carry on a conversation with just about anybody, but I do have my moments of "I'm going to read a magazine and plug in my iPod and you just go about your own business." This was one of those moments. Unfortunately, my seatmates didn't know this unspoken arrangement. Mr. Windowseat guy wanted to know where I was going and why (the purpose of our trip was to attend my parents' 50th wedding anniversary party) forcing me to take the ear buds out so I could hear what he was asking me. Mr. Aisleseat guy seemed to suffer from some affliction that caused his body to twitch uncontrollably. At first, I thought it might be Tourette's syndrome and was looking forward to being entertained by the moments when he would curse out loud or say something nasty and offend the other passengers. I was disappointed when neither of these things happened.
While the plane was still being boarded, my fiance approached and asked, "Craig, do either one of these guys want to change seats with me?" Mr. Aisleseat guy looked at her funny until he realized she was talking to me; apparently, his name was Craig, too. This little factoid brought on another conversation I didn't want to have. But more importantly, neither one of my seatmates wanted to exchange their aisle or window seat for the middle seat she was in. I can't blame them. But being the gentleman I was raised to be, I would've volunteered if I knew that a couple wasn't sitting together. Of course, I would've made them buy me several cocktails as repayment for my graciousness, but I would've changed seats.
One thing I've learned about living in New England for a few, short months is not many people are raised to be a gentleman. The feminist movement has immasculated men to the point whereby men make women feel inferior if they open the door for a woman or stand when they enter the room or call them "Miss" or "M'aam". It's seen as disrespectful. I couldn't disagree more. So, if you're reading this and you're a woman and your offended by this gentlemanly behavior, then you know nothing about being respected. But that's another blog entry at a later time.
Back to the flight...
So, after giving my life story in seven minutes or less, I decided I really wanted to read my latest issue of "Wired" magazine, turn up the iPod as loud as I could and ignore my seatmates. They finally got the not-so-subtle hint and began reading on their own. But not for long. After a few minutes, they decided they still had some interesting bits of information to share with each other. I have no idea what they were talking about because I couldn't hear them over the din of my iTunes, but it had to be important because they kept getting closer and closer to each other in order to hear themselves over the cabin noise level.
It's one thing to carry on a conversation with someone who's two seats over from you, but it's an entirely different thing to do so when it's in front of someone else's face and one of the participants in the conversation is jerking around the whole time. I'm not kidding...these two guys' faces were not more than 14" from each other and less than that in front of MY face. And one of them is spazzing out with his hands flailing around and his head jerking from side to side. I kept thinking if I waited long enough, Ashton Kutcher and his video crew would come hopping down the aisle and laughing how I just got "Punked".
With every seat on the plane occupied, I had no where to go. I'm not sure if it was one of my seatmates, but someone in the general vicinity thought it was a good time to let the rest of us passengers know that he/she had eaten about a dozen bad eggs for breakfast before the flight. Although my seatmates never missed a beat in their conversation, I was awoken from my iTunes-induced slumber by the odor and said aloud, "Holy shit!". They both looked at me and said, "It wasn't me". After a quick survey of the cabin, I knew it was the fat bastard two rows up when I spotted his head bobbing up and down as he giggled at my exclamation. Ashton still didn't show up.
I've also observed in my flying adventures that when it's time to deplane, the slowest, most sloth-like creatures in the world are the ones who sit in the front of the plane. They're also the ones who can never seem to find their carry-on luggage because the flight attendants seem to play some kind of sick game of rearranging the overhead bins while no one's looking. This is the reason I only bring my camera bag and briefcase on the plane. The camera bag goes in the overhead bin and the briefcase goes under the seat in front of me. My camera bag weighs more than most people would expect a backpack looking contraption should, so if anyone tries to pull it out, it usually conks someone in the head and knocks them out. This must be one of the reasons the airlines overbook their flights; they know some idiot is going to bring something heavy on the plane which will fall on someone else and allow a seat to open up.
When we finally arrived at DFW and taxied to our arrival gate, our flight attendant began making announcements about gate information for connecting flights. I can only guess that they're supplied with a list of passengers and where their ultimate destination is and this is how they know which gates are relevant to the passengers. Shreveport didn't make the list. It must be so low on the flight-worthy list that they don't even bother mentioning it. When we got off the plane, we had to check the display in the terminal to find out which gate our flight to Shreveport was departing. We arrived at Terminal D, but were departing from Terminal B.
For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of making a connection at DFW, Terminal D is the newest terminal and has some pretty decent restaurants, bars and shopping. Terminal B is a different story. Instead of having the choice of a steak at "Cool River" or a burger at "Fuddruckers" like in Terminal D, you're choices go downhill pretty quickly once you take the train over to Terminal B. McDonald's and TGI Friday's are the most upscale you can get in Terminal B. Oh sure, there's a Starbucks and the usual newstands, but that's about it. So, instead of grabbing a bite to eat, we decided to have a liquid lunch instead. Afterall, we had two hours to kill and it's only an hour flight from DFW to Shreveport. That Stella Artois should tasted good after a four hour flight and the aroma seemed to neutralize the nose-hair burning smell of one of my fellow passenger's farts.
Shreveport has to be the most ridiculously difficult city to travel to from ANYWHERE. Regardless of where you're flying from, if you're destination is Shreveport, you're going to get stuck in Dallas, Houston, Atlanta, Nashville or a multitude of other cities the airlines deem more flight-worthy than Shreveport. I can only guess that all the Hollywood types who fly into Shreveport are doing so on private aircraft. Surely they aren't flying commercial flights, right?
As a kid growing up in Shreveport, I remember when the "new" airport opened up and had all the modern conveniences available for airline travel. This was back when Braniff was still an airline and Delta, Royale Air and a couple of other regional carriers served the Shreveport area. After an extensive remodeling of the airport several years ago, the airport is still a dump. It has to be the ONLY airport in the entire country which still requires you to open your trunk for an "inspection" by the TSA prior to entering the airport grounds...seriously. The process is simple: you pull up, a guard gets out of his hut, asks you to open your trunk and then provides a thorough 1.3 second inspection of the contents in your trunk. Really. No joke. I mean, if the Taliban really wanted to blow up a US airport, Shreveport's would not be an ideal target to make a statement about how vunerable we all are to an attack. First, because you would only cause minimal casualties and, second, because you would only disrupt a few flights a day.
So after passing the rigorous car inspection, we go to the ticket counter to check our bags. Being the naive American Airline passenger that I am, I was completely unaware that you pay AGAIN to ship your bag back to your place of origin. Twenty-five bucks for each bag, each way. Did I miss the fine print somewhere? I mean, I bought a round-trip ticket. Why the hell wouldn't they just charge me for a round-trip ticket for my freakin' baggage? Do people really load up a suitcase, fly somewhere and then return with NO baggage? It didn't make a bit a sense, but then I began to think that maybe I missed something in the news saying the federal government had taken over the airlines. THAT would've made more sense. But then I remembered that, no, the Fed hasn't taken over the airlines...yet.
I even thought about just calling a friend to come pick up the bags and FedEx them to me. Surely it wouldn't have cost $100 to send my bags the day before AND have them delivered right to the front door! The more I think about the idea, the more I think I'll consider doing that if I end up having to fly anything but Southwest. That'll show them.
Arriving at DFW to await our connection back to Hartford, we thought it would be prudent to go straight to the departure gate to see if we could get our seats assigned (yep, once again, our return flight didn't indicate seat assignments on our tickets). Seeing the gate area was pretty packed, I said a silent F-bomb and knew it was about to get even more interesting that the rest of the trip. If you guessed that our flight was oversold and we couldn't be guaranteed seats, much less be able to sit together, you're one smart sumbitch! Either you're smart or you've had the distinct priviledge of flying on American.
The gate attendant was a middle-aged, probably a long-time employee (you can tell because they're usually wrinkled up pretty good, bad hair and an attitude to match) and probably ticked off at her cat for pissing on the couch again. You get the point. With the attitude of someone who hasn't had a man in her life for a couple of decades, she informed us we were the luckiest people in the world...if we get on the flight. And guess what? It's the only direct flight from DFW for the day! The news was like getting another fresh whiff of that egg fart on the previous flight. Just kind of hits you in the face and then lingers while you try to figure out what just happened and who did it.
This charming woman then asked if we were interested in giving up the seats we supposedly didn't have in exchange for a couple of vouchers. After asking if they were transferrable to others (my kids in Houston), she informed us that they were indeed AND they would be good for any flight. Knowing that I could use these for my kids to visit for Spring Break in a few weeks, I started to see some light at the end of this travel tunnel. Thinking the value might be comparable to what our tickets costs, I asked the inevitable, "How much are the vouchers?" Three hundred bucks was the response. Are you kidding me? Where the hell can you fly on American for $300? From Houston to Waco? Why, yes you can, but you still have to pay $25 per bag and per flight to have your bags possibly show up. Arrrrrrrrrggggggggg! She told us to come back to the counter in a hour so we could find out if we were "worthy" of traveling on their airplane.
Then it hit me. This is why people go biserk on a flight! I mean, I could have literally choked someone to death I was so PO'd! I felt violated! I felt taken advantage of! I felt like an alter boy!
We bought a couple of overpriced burgers, fries and a drink and decided that if we couldn't get on the flight, we'd at least try to stay with some friends who lived in North Dallas. But the airline managed to find a couple of suckers to take them up on the voucher exchange and we were also able to get seats together. It's not like we talked the whole way back or held hands the whole time. Karen slept for about three hours and 32 minutes of the three hour and 40 minute trip. I finally got to finish my "Wired" issue and slept a little. I had forgotten how exhausting it is to deal with incompetence, but it's like riding a bike and you pedal to the nearest bar to forget the whole ordeal.
I can't wait to forget about this one. One thing I will always remember...if Southwest doesn't fly there, I probably don't need to go there.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Snow and Cold...
I don't hate Connecticut. It's a beautiful place. But the snow's just plain obnoxious. Not only that, but the local weathermen (and before you accuse me of being sexist, there are no female on-air meteorologists on the local stations...at least I haven't seen any) couldn't forecast the outcome of the Dallas Cowboys playing a flag football game against the local senior citizens retirement center. They suck. We were supposed to get 1-3" of snow overnight and into today. By 8:24 a.m., we had 3". It stopped snowing for 27 minutes. It hasn't stopped since.
Because melting snow tends to flood our cellar (apparently, it's a "cellar" if you store bottles of good wine down there), it's necessary to sweep/shovel the back deck to keep this terribly obnoxious frozen crud from filling downstairs with waist-deep water when it eventually melts. I've swept the deck 58 times today.
The good news is, it's not all that freakin' cold. It's been in the mid-30s for most of the day. I can't believe I just wrote that..."it's not all that cold." Phft...in Houston, I'd be wearing an Elmer Fudd hat and all my camo gear...4-5 layers at a minimum. Today, I'm wearing jeans, an Under Armor long sleeve shirt and a vest. Oh, and my "Robert Trent Jones Golf Trail" knit hat.
I hear the summers are nice.
Because melting snow tends to flood our cellar (apparently, it's a "cellar" if you store bottles of good wine down there), it's necessary to sweep/shovel the back deck to keep this terribly obnoxious frozen crud from filling downstairs with waist-deep water when it eventually melts. I've swept the deck 58 times today.
The good news is, it's not all that freakin' cold. It's been in the mid-30s for most of the day. I can't believe I just wrote that..."it's not all that cold." Phft...in Houston, I'd be wearing an Elmer Fudd hat and all my camo gear...4-5 layers at a minimum. Today, I'm wearing jeans, an Under Armor long sleeve shirt and a vest. Oh, and my "Robert Trent Jones Golf Trail" knit hat.
I hear the summers are nice.
Monday, February 8, 2010
The Super Bowl...
Congratulations to New Orleans Saints and all the fans who have loved and supported this team since 1967! What a great victory for all of us who thought we'd never see it happen.
But I do have one question...why did Sean Peyton discuss the on-side kick with the referees? Uh? Yeah, that's what I said to myself when Peyton stated after the game that he discussed the play with the referees BEFORE they ran the play. Maybe I don't know enough about the inner-workings of professional football, but WHY would you discuss a trick play with anyone but your players and coaching staff? Was there some big meeting before the game with the referees to discuss the Saints and Colts game plan? Or is it customary to give the referees a "heads up" on a trick play so they can pay better attention to what's going on?
Maybe the paranoid side of me is getting the best of me, but the more I thought about it, the more I started to think, "Well, maybe the whole thing is scripted." Think about it. Everything leading up to the game is scripted (the location, the halftime show, the security, all the hype...). Why wouldn't the NFL script the game itself? There's billions of dollars involved in the game and everyone in the NFL benefits regardless of the outcome, so why not just script it like a movie and have it come out like you want? Not only that, but you could make an outrageous amount of money in Vegas, too!
Truthfully, I could care less. OUR SAINTS WON THE SUPER BOWL!!!! WHO DAT, baby!
But I do have one question...why did Sean Peyton discuss the on-side kick with the referees? Uh? Yeah, that's what I said to myself when Peyton stated after the game that he discussed the play with the referees BEFORE they ran the play. Maybe I don't know enough about the inner-workings of professional football, but WHY would you discuss a trick play with anyone but your players and coaching staff? Was there some big meeting before the game with the referees to discuss the Saints and Colts game plan? Or is it customary to give the referees a "heads up" on a trick play so they can pay better attention to what's going on?
Maybe the paranoid side of me is getting the best of me, but the more I thought about it, the more I started to think, "Well, maybe the whole thing is scripted." Think about it. Everything leading up to the game is scripted (the location, the halftime show, the security, all the hype...). Why wouldn't the NFL script the game itself? There's billions of dollars involved in the game and everyone in the NFL benefits regardless of the outcome, so why not just script it like a movie and have it come out like you want? Not only that, but you could make an outrageous amount of money in Vegas, too!
Truthfully, I could care less. OUR SAINTS WON THE SUPER BOWL!!!! WHO DAT, baby!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Don't Ask, Don't Tell...
OK...so I'm probably about to lose a few friends over this post, but if you're a true friend, you won't question my logic here.
So, President Obama has decided that the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" mantra of the United States military is no longer appropriate and I couldn't agree more. In my humble opinion, I don't think being gay or lesbian is a choice. I know, I know...there's a whole bunch of you who will huff and puff about how the Bible says it's a sin, but it's also important to remember the era in which that was mentioned in the Bible. Back then, people didn't know that sticking body parts into other parts of the body without protecting those body parts with a thin piece of latex (or sheep intestines) was the sole reason those body parts would become terribly infected and/or fall off. So, in the interest of public health, someone said, "We should tell people it's a sin and God will punish them if they continue this behavior." Problem solved. The fear of going to hell will surely keep this behavior from happening anymore.
But they were wrong. It didn't stop the behavior. I can't explain it medically, scientifically or any other damn way other than to use what most people would call "LOGIC". Granted, God doesn't make mistakes. I'll give you that one, but we, as human beings, do. We also are not smart enough to fully understand how the body works, how the chemistry of the body works or even how genetics may play a role in being gay. Sure, we have a pretty good understanding of how certain things work and what organs do what and why they do it, but if we're so damned smart about the human body, why is there still cancer? Why is there Swine flu? Why the hell can we not figure out how to cure the common freakin' cold?
There have been numerous studies in animals and humans that attempt to explain homosexual behavior. In the animal kingdom, homosexuality is fairly present. Certain insects regularly practice homosexual behavior. There was even one human study in homosexuality that was pretty fascinating. It suggested that families with three or more boys had a higher occurrence of the younger son being homosexual than families with only one son and the rest girls. The study suggested that the levels of testosterone in the mother's body during pregnancy with a male fetus might be offset by the mother's body producing abnormally high levels of estrogen and thus giving the fetus the message that it should be a girl, not a boy. This suggestion by the study applied to women who had three or more sons and the more boys the woman had, the more estrogen produced in subsequent pregnancies.
If homosexuality is a choice, then I chose a long time ago to be heterosexual. I've known I was heterosexual since the first day I can remember being alive. To me, 90% of homosexuals didn't CHOOSE to be homosexual (the other 10% are just confused hedonists). It's in the chemistry. It's in the hormones. It's definitely nothing we've been able to scientifically explain, but the medical community hasn't exactly explained why I have Restless Leg Syndrome either. But, by God, there's a pill for it.
Look, there's nothing wrong with women or homosexuals in the military. As I once heard a comedian explain it, we should welcome women and gays in the military and segregate it, too. In a wartime situation, you would first send in the men, the warriors...let them kill the enemy and then pull them out. Next, send in the women. They'll finish off those who won't comply to our demands. Finally, send in the gays. They'll have the whole place redecorated and spruced up in no time!
I don't have a lot of gay friends or hang around a bunch of gay people. But the ones I do know are genuine people and I've enjoyed getting to know them and they can be a lot of fun to hang out with. If anything, I'm more concerned about radical Muslims (not ALL Muslims...just the radical, "I want all non-Muslims dead", Muslims) being in the military than I am about a gay or lesbian soldier fighting for our country. And just for the record, radical, fundamentalist Christians scare the crap out of me, too.
And that's demotivational enough for me.
So, President Obama has decided that the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" mantra of the United States military is no longer appropriate and I couldn't agree more. In my humble opinion, I don't think being gay or lesbian is a choice. I know, I know...there's a whole bunch of you who will huff and puff about how the Bible says it's a sin, but it's also important to remember the era in which that was mentioned in the Bible. Back then, people didn't know that sticking body parts into other parts of the body without protecting those body parts with a thin piece of latex (or sheep intestines) was the sole reason those body parts would become terribly infected and/or fall off. So, in the interest of public health, someone said, "We should tell people it's a sin and God will punish them if they continue this behavior." Problem solved. The fear of going to hell will surely keep this behavior from happening anymore.
But they were wrong. It didn't stop the behavior. I can't explain it medically, scientifically or any other damn way other than to use what most people would call "LOGIC". Granted, God doesn't make mistakes. I'll give you that one, but we, as human beings, do. We also are not smart enough to fully understand how the body works, how the chemistry of the body works or even how genetics may play a role in being gay. Sure, we have a pretty good understanding of how certain things work and what organs do what and why they do it, but if we're so damned smart about the human body, why is there still cancer? Why is there Swine flu? Why the hell can we not figure out how to cure the common freakin' cold?
There have been numerous studies in animals and humans that attempt to explain homosexual behavior. In the animal kingdom, homosexuality is fairly present. Certain insects regularly practice homosexual behavior. There was even one human study in homosexuality that was pretty fascinating. It suggested that families with three or more boys had a higher occurrence of the younger son being homosexual than families with only one son and the rest girls. The study suggested that the levels of testosterone in the mother's body during pregnancy with a male fetus might be offset by the mother's body producing abnormally high levels of estrogen and thus giving the fetus the message that it should be a girl, not a boy. This suggestion by the study applied to women who had three or more sons and the more boys the woman had, the more estrogen produced in subsequent pregnancies.
If homosexuality is a choice, then I chose a long time ago to be heterosexual. I've known I was heterosexual since the first day I can remember being alive. To me, 90% of homosexuals didn't CHOOSE to be homosexual (the other 10% are just confused hedonists). It's in the chemistry. It's in the hormones. It's definitely nothing we've been able to scientifically explain, but the medical community hasn't exactly explained why I have Restless Leg Syndrome either. But, by God, there's a pill for it.
Look, there's nothing wrong with women or homosexuals in the military. As I once heard a comedian explain it, we should welcome women and gays in the military and segregate it, too. In a wartime situation, you would first send in the men, the warriors...let them kill the enemy and then pull them out. Next, send in the women. They'll finish off those who won't comply to our demands. Finally, send in the gays. They'll have the whole place redecorated and spruced up in no time!
I don't have a lot of gay friends or hang around a bunch of gay people. But the ones I do know are genuine people and I've enjoyed getting to know them and they can be a lot of fun to hang out with. If anything, I'm more concerned about radical Muslims (not ALL Muslims...just the radical, "I want all non-Muslims dead", Muslims) being in the military than I am about a gay or lesbian soldier fighting for our country. And just for the record, radical, fundamentalist Christians scare the crap out of me, too.
And that's demotivational enough for me.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Dogs...
Dogs can be a pain in the rear. But they're still easier to raise than teenagers, don't talk back and act genuinely happy to see you when you come home. AND they're still better than CATS!
Monday, January 25, 2010
Big Man vs Little Man
Once upon a time, there was a battle...a battle of "good" versus "evil". A battle between Norseman and Saints. And when they clashed, the sound was enormous and echoed everywhere. After an hour, it came down to a little man, no bigger than 5' 8", who stood in the middle of the battlefield and brought down those evil Norseman and made them cry. Lesson: It's not always the biggest, the fastest nor the highest paid who win battles. Here's to the little man and the power of foot. All hail the foot!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Possibilities...
You're only limited by your possibilities. Of course, it's totally possible that your limits are rooted in the fact that you're a complete dumbass.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
Keep your chin up...
When life has you down and you feel like you don't have a friend in the world, keep your chin up. It makes it easier for someone to slap you back into reality.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Opportunity
When a door closes, another one opens. But if you're in a room with only one door, you're screwed.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Resolutions...
Keep your New Year's resolutions simple...like, "I resolve to sneeze less in 2010." Or, "I'll ignore others more often." By the end of the year, you'll feel like you accomplished something.
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