F*cking Funny Friday

For today’s “It’s Friday” I am going to change the pace just a bit. Work today is going exactly the same as it has for the last few Fridays so it would be redundant to recap the day’s events thus far. All you have to do is look at last week’s edition and you will have today in a nutshell. Instead we are going to discuss comedy today.

There is a contest today on Sirius’ uncensored comedy station between Mitch Hedberg and Lewis Black as part of their “Funny Four.” I love both comedians and really had a hard time choosing between the two, but I must go for Mitch Hedberg.

“Who is Mitch Hedberg?”

That is one reason he is getting my vote. He died a few years back. There are only two albums of his work available, but the man was pure original genius. So is Lewis Black, but Black is a political comedian. It is not all that hard to make fun of stupid people doing stupid things. Mitch found jokes where no one looked before.

“An escalator can never break, it can only become stairs.”

“I went to the store to buy a candle holder, but they were sold out so I bought a cake instead.”

“I got a business card, 'cause I want to win some lunches. That's what my business card says: "Mitch Hedberg, potential lunch winner." Call me some time, maybe we'll have lunch... If I'm lucky!"”

“It's like X didn't have enough to do so they had to promise it more. "Okay, you won't start a lot of words, but you will have a co-starring role in Tic-Tac-Toe. And you will be equated with hugs and kisses. And you will mark the spot. And you will make writing 'Christmas' easier.”

The man died way before his time. Lewis Black is great, but people will learn of him as he tours. Mitch is gone and every person who does not know who he is will never EVER live a full life.

Who makes you laugh? What style of comedy is your favorite?

Not the Friday Update Yet, But the Gloat

I need to first say “I am sorry” for the story I am about to link to. I swore never to place another story about her on this blog and I have stuck to it fairly well until today, but this story is just too funny to let slide by. Princess Diana Monroe is going to jail! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!!!!

That was mean and I already can hear my mother saying “I did not raise you to be like that”, but she must have because I am like this. Other times I laugh at things before I fully digest them and do feel bad for my laughter later, but not this time. She deserves worse than 90 days in jail in my opinion and would get more if she were not Princess Diana Monroe. The L.A. cops are the most celebrity obsessed group out there I think. Slaps on the wrists all around if the cop has jerked off to a photo of you at least one time.

The thing that tells me she is really in trouble this time is this last part of the story:

Hilton's spokesman Elliot Mintz said at the time that she hadn't been aware that her license was suspended.
Mintz did not immediately return a call seeking comment Thursday.

Elliot Mintz is possibly a bigger press whore than his client is. How many spokespeople can you name? I love celebrity gossip and his is the only name I see in every story. If he is not IMMEDIATELY returning a call then this is a big problem for his client.

HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY

MC Karl Rove!!! In Da House!!! Word to Your Mother!!!

I Miss Writer's Block

ARGH! I failed again. I just cannot get the story out in a way that works. This is worse than the Earworm. I almost want…that band back in my head (almost said ABBA) instead of this. It is worse than writer’s block since this time I know exactly what I want to say, but cannot find a non-cheesy third-grader on crack style of putting it. Instead, it comes across in tragic “he did this”, “then he did this” and it just…..ARGH!

Maybe I should just write out what I intend and then fill in the gaps later. Would that work? Worth a try so here I go.

…

…

…

OK, it sounds cheesy third grade crack illiterate in my head before I can even get it on the page now. Jeebus! The problem is I am trying to write a story that exists within a cliché, but is aware of that fact in a way. I have always loved those characters that act as if they know they are only characters and enjoy the ride. That is what my heroes are. They are two guys who are aware they are fiction.

I think part of the problem is that there is a lot of subtle humor in everything I write that comes across for the actors in my head, but is lost on the page. I know I should try for a screenplay instead, but my story, even without a plot, is too big for a movie and too ridiculous for television. The only way for a proper handling of the story I feel is with text, I just cannot get that first page, screw page, paragraph to work.

I am going to go beat my cats, come back, and try again. Oh, they can read I think cause they both just bolted. Here kitty, kitty, kitty.

Yet Another Start...

I have been a very bad blogger and, as a result, have lost most of those lemmings kind enough to find their way home. I cannot blame them at all. The home has seemed abandoned the last week and the dust is adding up. I am allergic to dust as well so really only have myself to blame. I should probably turn on the “vacancy” neon sign by the road again. Maybe I need a new grand opening sale or something, but I don’t sell anything.

I have been writing these last few days, everyday in fact. I have been working on the same scenario for the past three days and have yet to come up with a version I like. I have the characters, the setting, the actions, and most of the dialogue, but have yet to find a way to piece it all together. The problem is that I am playing with a cliché, yet finding myself coming up with something “too cliché” to work.

My story is the typical “buddy picture” situation set in a world I have been working on the details of for a few years. Sort of a “Mad Max” type reality, but without the mutants and desolation. Instead, I suppose it is more towards the “Robocop” reality where corporations have replaced governments and this story revolves around two competing pizza delivery places. The characters I have because I “borrowed” a few of them from the “Charlie” story. The “Wingnut” short story was a character background for the tale as well. I have three other character details I am working on at the same time as the prologue to the story.

Please do not think I have abandoned my Home for Wayward Lemmings. After seeing Steve G, Southern Writer, and Littlebird Blue talk so much about writing I suppose I got a fire lit under my ass.

Do you ever notice you can dictate pages as you fall asleep at night only to not remember one word when you get up to write it? Any advice for dealing with this for a newbie author?

Sorry

I did not expect the ABBA thing to stay at the top for so long. I have been on a mini-vacation since Wednesday and this is the first I have turned on my computer. Reading the comments, I see I have possibly made some people quite mad. Sorry about the trap- it was not what intended.

I will try to update tomorrow. I really don’t have anything to say right now besides hello so, Hello. Be back soon or, as Winnie the Pooh puts it- Buzy Bakson.

The Return of the Earworm

I know we have all be under the spell of “The Earworm” at some point in our lives, but the sequel- “The Return of the Earworm” is far worse. Trust me on this one.

Take a chance/ take a chance/ take a, take a/ chance, chance/

There I was minding my own business having a cigarette outside when it began. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand up and those bumps from a goose soon overtook my body. It was bouncing about my brain and slowly working its way into my subconscious

Take a chance/ take a chance/ take a, take a/ chance, chance/

I have not heard the song in years and have never been a fan of the group. Something about Swedish disco pop that just makes suicide seem so appealing. I suppose a rather large hole in my head would let the song out and give me a moment of peace.

Ba-na-na-na, na/ Ba-na-na-na-na, na, na-na/ ba-na-na-na, na/ take a chance on me/

Someone help me I am in Hell! Let me know what is stuck in your head today. It might help with my pain. If I passed this on to you, I am so sorry. No one deserves an ABBA day.

Birth of the Wingnut

It felt much looser than it did before. He could feel it rattling about and clanking against the sides. He wondered if he should worry at all about it falling out, but decided his ears were too small to allow his brain freedom, but it definitely did not fit as snugly in his head as it did a few minutes ago. Looking at his watch it dawned on him that dawn was dawning on them all and those few minutes were actually a few hours ago. This was going to be the last time they let Wingnut make the brownies for a 420 party.

Wingnut was a marijuana connoisseur in every way a person could be. He could tell you the type of pot a person had based on a stem if he had to. He kept a sample of every bag he bought and kept them in glass jars in the medicine cabinet. He would take new people on a tour of his bathroom with the pride usually reserved for a first-time parent. “This one is AK-47,” he would say holding up a tiny glass jar. “This is Blueberry; Bubblegum; Juice; Kryppie; the Dank; Maui-Wowi.” The list was never ending. It was honestly amazing he could remember the names of each one considering he smoked so much he once forgot what city he lived in.

The name “Wingnut” was earned while living in the dorms. He was that guy who would take any drug at any time and usually ask what he took hours after ingesting it. He could not only tell how dirty a hit of acid was by looking at the thickness of the paper, but he could tell if it was visual acid or “mind-fuck” blotter. Yes the power of suggestion probably weighed heavily in the outcomes of his acid predictions, but this is simply the story of how he got his name, not if he really was some drug-messiah. The dorm-rats believed so he probably was a minor messiah of sorts. Either way, if you wanted to know if your stuff was any good you took it to the “wingnut down the hall.”

His room in the dorms was THE place to be. A wet towel blocked the airflow through the door so his room would very quickly become a foggy New England night. A foghorn would sometimes blow off in the distance as they smoked their parent’s money away. The lighthouse allowed them to see where the bathroom was and the television’s picutre could sort of be made out through the mist, but mostly no one was paying attention to much of anything except their hair growing and the brain cell apocalypse happening in their heads.

Wingnut graduated with a degree in chemistry, which really does not say much for the university he attended or rather paid for. It is not fair to say he “attended” anywhere since attendance requires being there. He took his classes by proxy. Any class with over a hundred students made it near impossible for any professor to know their student’s faces. All he needed was for someone to sign his name to the roll sheet and let him know when a test was. This way he only had to show up for the labs which usually consisted of a lower student to teacher ratio.

The reason Wingnut got his degree in chemistry was his desire to create the perfect drug. He loved acid probably more than his mother, but hated the come-downs. He would describe them as ripping out one’s intestines, stepping into them like a bag and entering a potato sack race then, after all that effort, losing the race. It was his mission on this Earth to give tripping people everywhere more bang and less pain. What other major could help him produce such ends? “Everything in the classroom will either blow you up of fuck you up” he loved to say. It was his catch phrase.

He never found the perfect acid, but he had mastered the recipe for brownies and his room was still the place to be. It was no longer in the dorms, but in a house just across the street from campus and he was no longer a student, but now a professor, yet the parties remained the same. His brownies unscrewed the fasteners of your mind and allowed it free-range over the farm.

He called them “The Stoner Mind-Munchie-Trap” and it was an apropos name. After eating just one a person would become victim to the most uncontrollable munchies ever known to man. The only thing that would satisfy these munchies would always be chocolate and, by the time the munchies completely took control, the brownies would be the only chocolate left. Soon the dilemma presented itself: do you satisfy your munchies by becoming more stoned, setting up a new munchies attack in thirty minutes or do you just ride out the munchies and find something salt based?

No one ever went the salt road and it would usually be about dawn that the loose-brain syndrome would set in. They would always swear he would never be allowed to make those cursed brownies again, but, the very next April 20 he would get the call to bring those “awesome brownies man.”

The Mamas and the Fridays

Friday, Friday (ba-na, ba-na-na, nah)
Can’t trust that day (ba-na, ba-na-na, nah)
Oh Friday, Friday
Never turns out
The planned out way
Oh Friday morning
You gave me no warning
Couldn’t guarantee
That Friday evening all my techs would be happy

“Is it time yet Papa Smurf,” is the question I have asked of me every time I walk out of my office today. Not verbally asking me mind you, the question is hidden in their eyes. They know we are closing early and they know I get to decide the time and they all know I am a lazy person, so they all know the time for closing will be fairly soon.

“Not just yet my little Smurfs,” I say to them as I go to the bathroom.

“What about now Papa Smurf?”

“Not just yet my little Smurfs.”

“Soon Papa Smurf?”

“Yes my little Smurfs, soon.”

All of our patients and techs are confirmed for the weekend, a weird feat for not even 1:30 on a Friday, but I am not going to question it. Right now I asked them to find a few more patients so some of my part-timers can get a few hours, but there will very likely be no luck in that area. We have been moving people around quite a bit lately and our “move up” list is empty. I even lost one of my part timers today due to a lack of work. Sad actually, but just a little: he thought overtime was part of the deal and got upset when he didn’t get any.

I think they think we can legally work them as much as they want to work. They don’t realize overtime pay is to punish the company for not having enough people. We legally cannot have him work over 40 hours without overtime no matter if he wants it or not. We hired enough people so overtime vanished and now we are short again. His actions are going to give someone else overtime and net him nothing because he left.

Isn’t that Ironic/
Don’t ya think?
And yes, it is raining today, but it is no one's wedding day and I have not paid for any ride, let alone a free one.

Oreo Killed the Hitman, But He Didn't Hurt the Family

I can attest to the fact that Oreo, my kitty, was no where near North Platte, Neb. today and was in no way involved in the tragedy that befell that poor family.

AP-Two stray cats got into a house and attacked three people inside, then were euthanized and checked for rabies, authorities said.

The cats entered Melissa Breva's house through an open front door on Monday, and attacked two women visitors and a boy, authorities said.

"I thought I had seen it all, but I have never seen anything like this," Chief of Police Martin Gutschenritter said.

Animal control officer John Pettit responded to a call for help, Gutschenritter said.

One woman was scratched and bitten on her legs; the other woman was bitten on her right calf, authorities said.

After talking to them, Pettit went to his truck for snares, then heard screaming from inside the house.

"When he ran back, he saw a young male with blood over his face," Gutschenritter said. "He was bitten on his forehead, nose, left ear and right cheek."

It is 100% his M.O. (just ask that hitman), but he did not and would not attack a child. Just wanted to clear that up.

P.S.-Picture not of the official killer Oreo, but that looks exactly like him.

Insomnia Tips for Lemmings

First my homework:
Alberto Gonzalez is the A.G.
Alberto Gonzalez is the A.G.
Alberto Gonzalez is the A.G.
Alberto Gonzalez is the A.G.
Alberto Gonzalez is the A.G.
Alberto Gonzalez is the A.G.
Happy now Rex? =P

It seems many of the Lemmings are suffering from insomnia. I think that would make it time for the Helpful Lemming Sleep Tips. These are the usual recommended practices one should engage in before going to bed so that you can achieve those ever elusive "Z's."

1. Avoid caffeine six hours before you plan to go to bed. Caffeine has an incredibly long active time and that soda you have at lunch possibly can keep you awake that night.

2. The bed should be used for sleeping and sex only! Do not watch TV in bed, do work, blog, or any other activity in bed. Condition yourself to realize that when you get in bed you are going to sleep.

3. Keep the same sleep/wake routine on weekends that you keep during the week. We are all tempted to stay up later and sleep in on weekends, but those two days of sleeping late disrupts our pattern and it contributes to those horrid Monday's.

4. Consider having a sleep study performed. Many patients come to our lab claiming they never fall asleep, but once hooked up we find they are getting to sleep, but not getting rest. This could be caused by Restless Leg Syndrome, Sleep Apena, any other of the 80 known sleeping disorders, or can simply be stress related.

5. Make sure the room you sleep in is dark and the temperature is comfortable. Being too cold or too hot disrupts a person's sleep.

6. Don't worry about those cliffs. They will still be there when you wake up.

Most people suffer from bouts of insomnia at some point in their lives. The more stress we are under the less sleep we feel we are getting and with the myriad of sleeping pill commericals on television it is easy to self-diagnose ourselves with Insomnia, but Insomnia is a specific disorder and not simply a lack of falling to sleep. Try these tips if you are not sure if you are suffering from Insomnia and, if you beleive you are, seek medical help. There is no reason for you to be missing sleep in today's world and sleep is just too important to be placed aside.

Thinking With My Fingers (Though They Never Fing)

I am not a doctor although I do play one sometimes towards closing time at bars. I do work for a sleep lab though and this gives me a little more knowledge in the field of sleep than your average layman. I should state that everything I am about to type here is 100% my own opinion based on my experiences in this field. Nothing I am writing should be taken as medical advice nor should I be taken as any sort of expert. I know this is probably obvious, but in today’s world of lawsuit happy lawyers I cannot take any risks.

The FDA today released a report that it is going to recommend warning labels on a slew of sleep medications because of a supposed higher risk of sleep-driving. Firstly I would like to say I am not going to deny that people on these sleeping pills are not driving their cars; it is fully possible and within the realm of possibility, but the cause is not. We like to treat symptoms and not diseases.

Parasomnias are sleeping disorders that usually involve some form of physical movement. This can include sleepwalking, sleep-eating, teeth grinding, or bouncing of one’s head. They are more common in children than adults, but adults are known to suffer from these conditions as well. Most people who suffer from them think they are anything other than a serious medical condition and therefore rarely seek help for them, but they do suffer the effects.

If a person with parasomnias does go to see a doctor, it is usually for help falling asleep because they feel exhausted during the day. Of course they are exhausted during the day since they got no real rest at night. They think they slept, but they didn’t. The doctor then prescribes a pill to help the patient get to sleep without ever bothering to think about why the patient is not sleeping.

The patient usually insists on a pill because they have self-diagnosed themselves (thanks to those great ads) and the doctors are too busy to argue so they give it to them. Then, months later, they suffer from their parasomnia again, only now they are also under the effects of a sleeping pill.

The pill is designed to help a person sleep through the night so of course it will keep this person asleep as they wander about. They probably had become aroused without the pill every other time it happened. The obvious conclusion is that the pill is the cause of the parasomnia.

The simple question is this- is the percent of those suffering from these parasomnias while on the medication higher than the percent of those who suffer without the medication.

If let’s say 3% of people (made up number)on medication sleep-walk and 3% of the general population (another made up number) does as well then I would say the parasomnia is in the patient and not a result of the pill. Of course you can’t sue a parasomnia for the same millions you can a drug company.

At some point in time my boss is going to read this entry and let me know all the things I got wrong so expect corrections.

Political Quickie

The White House is blaming Harriet Miers for the firing of the US attorneys today. It is a good choice considering she was the Attorney General before Gonzalez was and she probably did want the people fired. I do have a few questions though now:

1. If Miers did do this and it was so wrong, why did Bush want her to be on the Supreme Court? They released E-mails yesterday implicating Miers in the firing, yet said she was the best qualified person to be on the Supreme Court. If they had these E-mails then they knew she was not qualified.

2. How many scandals are we supposed to forgive before we proclaim Bush the most incompetent President in U.S. history? No WMDs; increasing terrorism world-wide; Katrina; Walter Reed; Halliburton; election fraud; 9-11; immigration; Enron; and Plame-gate- and they still have two years left to serve.

More on this later…

Update- My mom caught a boo-boo I did. I am so embarrassed- not that she caught me, but that I made one in a political piece.
Harriet Miers was the White House Counsel and NOT the Attorney General.
Whoops =D

My Brush with Teeth

It was a tad bit more than just a “semi-forced” post to be perfectly honest. It was a full on, 100% forced post in that there was this guy standing behind me with a small caliber semi-automatic pistol aimed directly at the back of my head. The growing bald spot was playing the part of bull’s eye for my trigger-happy assailant. He told me to just give him an excuse. I told him I didn’t believe in excuses, just reasons. Excuses seem to pass on the blame while a reason just explains the why.

“Why for example,” I asked him, “are you in my home with a small caliber semi-automatic pistol aimed at my head?”

“I have read you blog,” he began, “and noticed you have not said anything about the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame taking place tonight. Some pop culture fan you are. I decided that the situation needed immediate rectification. So here I am.”

“In my bedroom?”

“That is where your computer is. Now please start typing what I tell you.”

“Why don’t you just type it yourself?”

“Then who’s gonna hold the gun on you? Please, I am a professional.”

“So? You know what you what to say and I don’t. It just makes sense for you to do the typing. I’ll tell you what; I’ll hold the gun on myself.”

“It won’t feel the same.”

"We could try it."

"Have you ever been a hostage before?"

"Nope, this is my first time."

"Then please just leave it to me."

“I could hold the gun on you as you type,” I offered. I really wanted to be helpful by this point for some reason.

“Naw,” he said scratching his chin with the barrel of his gun, “I think we would be better off just sticking to the original plan…”

"Fine," I sighed.

“I hold the gun on you, you type what I tell you then I shoot you.”

“WHAT?!”

“Oh nothing, just thinking out loud. Now then, the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame…”

I had to think fast. I mean he may be one of the best in his field, but he was certainly no rock critic. How many words can this guy really think of in a given sitting? I had two maybe three paragraphs at the most to come up with something, anything to distract him. I thought of making some spaghetti or some other form of pasta, but then decided playing up to the hitman cliché might just make him angrier.

My fingers were typing every word he uttered as my mind raced through every option I had open to me. Considering that I had no options open to me, it really did not take me all that long to run through them. It was at that moment the hellion of my house entered my bedroom.

I knew Oreo was only playing and Oreo knew he was only playing and I am sure the coroner will see Oreo was only playing, but the poor hitman will have to be told in his next life. I really need to clip those claws one day I think, but that is the reason behind the previous lame post. Next will be some other bullshit excuse for this lame post. I mean reason for this post. I don’t believe in excuses.

Semi-Forced Post

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame always struck me as a ridiculous self-congratulatory form of monumental masturbation. To erect a building in order to recognize and immortalize yourself will always strike me as monumental masturbation, that is not even my major complaint about the RnRHoF. My biggest complaint about it is that it is not even a proper tribute to Rock and Roll.

Rock and Roll has always been about rebellion so how can a museum properly express this attitude so important and fundamental to rock and roll? It can’t is the short answer and the long answer is much the same with a few choice profane words mixed in. There is no possible way any museum can properly do a better job of showing what Rock and Roll is better than the music already contained on the vinyl.

If they want to immortalize rock and roll, they should focus on the music and not the gimmicks used by the bands to get some glimpse of fame. The boots KISS wore are neat to look at, but it has nothing to do with their contribution or lack thereof to Rock and Roll: it was simply what they used to distract from the reality that they honestly could not play. They knew the notes, but not the music.

The Hall of Shame has also weakened its credibility by adding non-Rock musicians to their ranks. Would Richard Petty be included in the NFL Hall of Fame? Of course not because Richard Petty was NASCAR and we are talking about a football hall of fame, so why are country and rap artists in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?

The Sugarhill Gang, Mellie Mel and the Furious Five, Run DMC, etc are all pioneers and they started a form of music that is dominate today, but they are not rock and roll. I have never heard these bands on any rock radio station in my life. They are hip-hop and should get the starring role in a Hip-Hip Hall of Fame, not have their contribution to music diminished by mis-categorizing them. Remember, I am talking about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, not the Recorded Music Hall.

Finally, everyone is making such a big deal about Van Halen not showing up this year as they are inducted. It boils down to Eddie and David not getting along….again. This would be the fourth called off reunion for these guys, but that is rock and roll to its core. Paul McCartney/ John Lennon, Jimmy Page/ Robert Plant, Mick Jagger/ Keith Richards- the list is endless of songwriting teams that hated each other. It is practically required for success in music. I can think of nothing more fitting than a band so at war with themselves that they cannot even accept an award together. How “Rock and Roll” is that?

As of now Michael Anthony is the only original member who is going to show up at the ceremony. David refuses because he is not allowed sing at the show. Instead, the Hall is going to have Velvet Revolver perform covers of Van Halen classics. What the hell is that about? The bassist and singer for Van Halen are going to be there and are willing to perform and those in charge of the Hall are opting for a cover band? Now the lead singer is so insulted he is not coming at all. Some honor.

“Thanks for what you did guys, but we feel you are too old now and we want to give the spotlight to these guys with a new album coming out.”

The Hard Rock Café is a better tribute to rock and roll than this stupid monumental masturbation complex. At least the Hard Rock has good food and mass commercialism to go with their dusty guitars and KISS boots. Booze, food, and cash- now that is “Rock and Roll”, baby!

Friday on Calle Ocho

After months of odd Fridays, today we find ourselves almost at a normal one or as close to normal as Fridays for me get. I have more techs than patients once again, but that also means no overtime is being handed out so I did great from my boss’s perspective.

The girls are working on adding more patients, but I really am not expecting them to find any. We have been moving people around all week and I really think we have exhausted our “move up” list. I am guessing some people are just not going to be working this week. The only ones left to move are the special request patients and they really cannot be moved. We had to make too many arrangements to meet all their requests to have everything ready at this short of notice. Part of me feels bad, but most of me is doing the Nelson impression from the Simpsons. You know the one: Haha!

I am not a big bastard at all. I am not denying I have bastard tendencies, just denying the girth of my bastardness. When I look at the list of people I work with that I don’t want mad at me the techs fall at the bottom of the list. They are voices on the phone to me while everyone else I work with has a face. It really makes a huge difference.

There are those techs that are here simply for a paycheck while others are loyal to the company. There are those who refuse to adjust to the ever changing medical schedule and others who are there whenever we need them. Which would you take care of first? We bend over further than most companies do for their employees and honestly way overpay them for the job they do simply because my boss believes employees are the sole reason a company fails or succeed and the employees should benefit from the success. The only thing they ask is that the employees care about their jobs. It is funny how everyone is your friend during the feast and they forget your name during the famine.

This weekend is "Calle Ocho" in Miami. What is "Calle Ocho?" It is Spanish for "Eighth Street" and is a Carnaval Miami. I assume it has something to do with Lent, Easter, Marti Gras, St. Patrick's Day, and everything else going on right now. I do know it is a HUGE party. Miami is great for a HUGE party if nothing else.

I have no date this weekend which means I am going to actually make it to a movie. I can’t decide if it is going to be “Zodiac” or “300”. My initial plan was to have seen “Zodiac” last weekend, had a great time on the date, and take her to see “300” this weekend. Now I am a week behind and need to figure out if I see “300” on opening weekend before anyone can ruin it for me or see “Zodiac” which I have been waiting for. Both are three hour movies so I can’t simply pick the shorter/longer one to see and both are theater movies so I cannot simply say “I will wait for (blank) to come on DVD.” A coin flip is in the cards I believe or just a six hour day at the local Cineplex. I have no real life so I think the second option is going to be the plan. A full review of whichever will be coming I promise.

Happy Eighth Street to Everyone!

The Drugs are Typing for Me Now

I was taking a nap after work and this was my dream. I really have no ideas as to why or why I am posting it. I think to document my mind is not quite right even while I sleep maybe.

“Oh my G-d,” the masked criminal in the cliché black and white striped shirt screeched through his bandana covered mouth. His cohorts turned just in time to watch the Dynamic Dou smash through the windowpane and land in a perfect comic book pose amid the raining shards of glass. Batman gazing in disapproval through his cape-enveloped form and Robin doing something quite gay looking in his green underwear and yellow cape. It almost looked as if the boy wonder was dealing with a horrid wedgie. Regardless of his current discomfort this was crime fighting prime time.

The two heroes leapt suddenly into action as the masked villain screamed to his boss in the back “it’s Robin and Batman! Run!”

“What do you mean ‘Robin and Batman’” the Caped Crusader asked with a slight degree of pain in his voice. “I am Batman ya know. I was doing this before he was even born. I found him in a damn circus and gave him all this. Can’t you show a little respect? I work hard man!”

“Look,” the criminal said looking down at his shoes, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“NO, you didn’t. I know I wear a mask and beat people up and all, but I got feelings too.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” the forgotten about boy wonder intervened, “I get mentioned first once and you throw a hissy fit? It’s supposed to be ‘Batman AND Robin.’ It’s about the “and” which means we are equal. We are partners I thought. It shouldn’t matter who comes first.”

“You’re right, chum. I’m sorry. It was my mistake.” Batman looked warmly at his brother-in-arms and fellow crime fighter, “It should have been ‘Batman with Robin.’”

Robin was taken aback by this for a moment, but only for a moment. His mind was much sharper than the aging partner’s was and worked it all out rather quickly.

“I like that better actually,” he said with a smirk. “It means you are with me. ‘Where’s Batman at?’ ‘Oh, he is over there WITH Robin.’ That is awesome.”

“No, wait,” Batman threw his hand out to halt the words from travelling somehow, “I mean Robin with Batman.”

“So I get top billing after all?”

“I could fire you, you know?"

Libby 20% Innocent!

I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby was found guilty today on four of the five charges filed against him in relation to the "Plame Affair." While he will appeal the decision, as of now this means that Libby learned about Plame from Cheney and other White House officials instead of from the press as he claimed. Given that Plame was undercover for the CIA at the time her name was leaked, this would make the release of her status with the CIA a very serious crime.

Will this saga end with Libby or was this just the tip of the iceberg? The truth is that this verdict answers nothing really other than Libby lied when asked questions about where he learned the name. It means the information he gave is not true and not that the opposite must therefore be true like most will naturally assume. There is plenty of reason to suspect the VP, but the sad truth is that the Libby conviction bares no weight on Cheney or any other official unless you can now prove whether he was instructed to release Plame's name to the press.

I am not saying to not look, I am simply saying this is not cause for celebration today. The American people were misled by those we entrusted with our lives and we should never be happy we were decieved.

F*@k'in Liberal Guilt!!!

I giggled. I smirked. I thought of many jokes I had heard before and even created a few new ones. I am human, but so was the object of my laughter. He was homeless and shaggy. His hair, one matted salt and pepper dread mange. His beard made him eligible for a ZZ Top fan club meeting, but I doubt he chose to have it. It, like his head, was colored salt and pepper only with a few other hues mixed in from who knows what.

The only sign of his having a face was this dirty protrusion coming from the center of the mess of hair that could probably count for a nose. Other than that, it just looked much like a dirty used cotton-swab sitting on a pair of shoulders walking in the Miami afternoon sun.

His walk was more of a broken gate than an actual walk. His shorts allowed anyone watching to plainly see that arthritis had long since left him unable to straighten or bend his knees leaving him hobbling along the sidewalk. They almost appeared not to be under his control as he passed by clutching an empty plastic 20-ounce water bottle, which appeared to be his sole possession.

I came out of my office to have a cigarette break because my life is so hard and stressful as this man walked by. I had to stare at first because I was not positive I was looking at a man. He seemed almost like a bear in a dirty windbreaker. He was shaking his head back and forth as he walked towards me; well, not towards me, but towards the direction I was in.

I could hear muffled talking which soon cleared up into a lively debate as he came closer. I looked around to see if I missed anyone else with him, but I didn’t. He was one of those homeless people you hear about who are yelling at someone not there. It was quite a heated debate, although I could not make out anything English in his ramblings.

I giggled. I smirked. I thought of many jokes I had heard before and even created a few new ones. I wondered who his carrier was and how his reception was. Mine is quite horrid there. I wondered about some other homeless guy somewhere having the other half of that conversation.

I thought of many jokes in a fraction of a second, and then got smacked in the head by a ton of guilt. This was a human being I was mocking, possibly someone’s father or husband and certainly someone’s child. What separates him from me? Fate?

I know my life and can tell you it is not choices that lead him there entirely. I am a member of the “Lucky Sperm Club” and that is a fact. I have a good job because I was given a good job. Yes, I earned keeping it, but I still got my foot in the door because I was lucky. In ten years time who knows where I will be? Who am I to laugh at some poor homeless guy simply because he cracked under the strains of life? I doubt I would even last long enough to crack if I were in that situation. I also know I would get any job I had to and maybe that is what separates me from him.

Sorry to write twice about the same thing, but it did not leave my mind after writing the first one. Here I am seven hours later still thinking about it. There is an image burned into my head, but I don’t know if it is of him, or of me refusing to look at him as he passed.

If society acts like someone doesn’t exist for a long enough period of time, can that person forget they exist themselves? If so, did I just add to this man’s delusion by not seeing him?

I’m gonna try and let this go; there is nothing I can do now except try and alter what I do next time. Sorry again.

Realizing the Lucky Me

I was just thinking: the worst part about being homeless has to be the fact that you are stuck with an annoying invisible friend. I have never seen a homeless guy walking down the street in the middle of a pleasant conversation with their invisible friend. Instead, they always seem to be stuck in the middle of some really intense hostile debate that they are losing. That has to really suck more than we can imagine.

I am not implying that every homeless person is saddled with the annoying invisible friend by any means. I have seen plenty of homeless people completely lucid and aware without the slightest hint of an imaginary companion, but I have never seen one with a friendly specter friend. I have yet to see someone walking down the street all alone shouting “you are right man!” I have never seen someone give half of a high-five to no one. There seems to be no Casper for the homeless.

Perhaps we need a homeless dating service or something to help their plight. Being homeless is hard enough without the loneliness and isolation. I assume at least half of those homeless are suffering from some form of mental illness that only grows stronger and more severe as they spend time on the streets away from caring people. Medication does help, but having people to talk to always helps so much more.

This is on my mind today because I just saw the cliché homeless man walking past me while on a smoke break. He was one of those elderly men who has obviously been alone and unsheltered for quite some time. His hair was a single giant dreadlock and his beard had at least a good three shades of color to it: two his natural color and the rest only G-d knows. He was in the midst of a very intense argument in his babbling bum language and, as he passed me I found myself looking at the ground to avoid eye contact.

Why did I avoid eye contact with this man? Did I fear his plight would leap from him onto me? Was it easier for me to go about my happy day if I did not see him? Is there anything I could have done for him if I had seen him or is this just what we tell ourselves? I will never know because I did nothing as he walked past me except think of a few jokes I heard about homeless people talking to no one. The main one was that all homeless people were telekinetic and were actually having conversations with other homeless people in other states. Amazing the things we do to avoid the pain we should feel sometimes, isn’t it?

Lemming Love Line Lament

“In an effort to, make clear to whoever,
What it's like when your shattered .......
Left standing in a lurch,
In a church with people saying .....
My God, that's tough, she stood him up,
No point in us remaining .......
I may as well go home,
As I did on my own,
Alone again, naturally.”- Gilbert O’Sullivan

I will give you three guesses, but you should only need one. I don’t know what happened, but I know that one day I will get a second date. It will happen for me. I think I deserve one.

In answer to “what happened” I can only say I spoke to her at four and everything seemed great. She was going to get her father to watch her kid and call me right back. Then four turned to five and five soon to six. By six-thirty, I began to suspect a “stood up” scent in the air, but remained positive. It wasn’t until right about now that I gave up and accepted my fate.

“Stranded at the drive-in
Branded a fool
What will they say
Monday at school”- Grease

I am not upset even though I probably should be. Part of me is actually relieved since I do so hate leaving my house at night. It could also be a sign to pursue that Kristin Dunst looking girl I saw at work the other day. I am not one to believe we just “notice” people without there being some reason.

Tonight’s turn of events is probably for the best and is certainly how things were supposed to work out. I have no doubts in that. I just want a second date just once is all. The worst part about being stood up is that nothing changes in your life and how bad is that really. It’s not like you are more alone than you were before.

Run, run, run for the roses
Sooner it opens, the quicker it closes
Man, oh, man, oh friend of mine
All good things in all good time- Grateful Dead

Indeed, All good things in all good time.

Hey Now! You're a Rock Star!

Oooh-eyyye, ooooooh I’m still alive! Yeaaa-eye, ooooooh I’m still alive!

I made it home and the Friday did not get me. As G-d said to Darwin: Screw you buddy! Those great and wonderful girls I work with managed to fill every single empty bed I was facing. I had to cancel not one single person and only one person is getting overtime this weekend. Yes, I rock! I forget sometimes how much I rock, but then a day like today reminds me of that one simple truth in my life: I rock!

Keep in mind that one’s ability to declare that they do in fact rock may have nothing to do with that individual’s personal abilities. I did very little for the success handed to me today; no I would rather just think my Mojo and vibe is just that powerful that the forces normally working against me were beaten into submission by my sheer will power and presence. Maybe it was the begging or the tears, but let’s not talk about that because right now I would rather concentrate on two simple words: I rock.

We are talking about Led Zeppelin in 1975 type of rocking when we discuss how much I rock. There is no Def Leppard or Honeymoon Suite style soft rock going on here. The rocking I did today is pure three-chord, out of tune, drunk as hell, dying in a plane crash rocking; maybe even choking on your own vomit rocking. Pick your favorite rock cliché and, as long as it is bad ass, that is me today. Give me a theme song and hide the cattle!

Look, a shiny thing on a string!

Sometimes I hate being a nice guy. My date tomorrow was supposed to be to see “Zodiac” which is a movie I have been waiting for since learning the story on A&E years ago. It is a story that was made for a film and I asked the girl to go see it. She honestly had no interest in the movie, but was willing to see it with me. Sweet gesture and I agreed to take her to one of those “torture” movies she likes (like Hostel or Saw) in exchange, but today I learned “Zodiac” is three hours long- I can’t do that to her.

I can’t make her sit in a theater for three hours watching a movie she does not care about yet would completely be engrossing me. What kind of date would that honestly be? If I were selfish or something I suppose it would be a great date, but I am too empathetic for that. I would actually not like the movie simply because she was bored. It sucks being a nice guy. Instead we are going to go and see that “23” movie. No idea what it is, but it looks like a popcorn movie. I like popcorn. It also has Jim Carrey in it. I like popcorn.

The Friday Update (Title Pending Approval)

I am beat. I can hardly focus my eyes and they hurt even while closed. My head and brain are conspiring to find some way to force me into a reclined position and even my fingers are not cooperating as I try to type. It must be Friday or something.

I have more techs than I have patients this weekend which is rarely a good thing. Yes, it lets me cancel a few of the more problem employees and yes it means I was able to get all the techs I need confirmed, but there is still the aspect that they need to work their hours. They get benefits based on fulltime employment and when things like this happen they get free benefits. Hardly fair to those who must work all their hours, but there is little I can do from my end. I have begged and pleaded with the schedulers to do everything they can to find patients and I can hear two of them actually making calls during their lunch. Now that is dedication!

Since I tend to take Saturdays off when it comes to blogging I should probably give you the news today- I have a date this weekend. I know, I am shocked as well. Not entirely sure how it happened, but my brain took it upon itself to ask the receptionist out from the nerve treatment center I have been going to. Yes, the 19 year old I took out once before, but she is 20 now. I won’t feel like as big a perv this time I think. I just hope I can get past the 16 year difference this time because I do like her and I am pretty sure she likes me. The hang up is mine and I need to decide if I can handle it. I think I can.

I am not much in the writing mood right now. I think it is due to my splitting headache so I will update more later. Have a great day until the next Lemming News.

Sorry about the bad taste of yesterday’s headline. I was not mocking Anna at all, but rather the constant news coverage of her death. I read it today and realized it seemed rather cold hearted.

Anna Nicole Smith Update- She is still dead. More if conditions change.

Today Littlebird Blue was my blog muse and got me thinking about books. Unlike most of those I have encountered in the blogosphere, I am not really a reader. I can count on my hands the number of books I have read cover to cover that were not assigned in school. I do not hate reading or anything like that; I just do not have the attention span to finish 99% of the books I have started. I made it 25 pages into the first Harry Potter book for example before growing bored of it.

Here is a list of some of the books that have affected my life. I hope you find something new to you here. They are in no order.

1. Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah by Richard Bach- My most prized possession is my hard cover first printing of this book. It is more than an inspiring book on its own, but also contains some honest secrets of life within its pages. Reading it once will forever change the way you see the world. The one thought from the book that has always stayed with me is this: There is no such thing as a problem without a gift: we seek problems for the gifts they bring. If you have never read this book, go now. If you have, do it again, now. If the stores are closed, improvise, but read it now!

2. The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff- This is an amazing book that uses Winnie the Pooh to teach Westerners the principles of the Eastern philosophy of Taoism. What at first sounds like a silly and comedic book (it is often mistakenly placed in the humor section of bookstores) slowly opens you mind to a new way of looking at life completely foreign to everything we learn about life, yet so much better in so many ways.

3. Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo- I am ashamed to admit discovering this song because of that Metallica song, but at least I discovered it. I read this book three times in the twelfth grade. We were always raised to believe that there were only two options when returning from a war: a hero or dead. This book takes you into the head of a man who found a hidden third option- forever handicapped beyond repair. Without sight, hearing, speech, and limbs this book takes you from dream to memory to agonizing reality without you or the main character ever really knowing which is which. It is impossible to read this book and not come away a conscientious objector to all war forever. This book will stay with you forever after you finish it.

4. The Illuminati Trilogy by Robert Anton Wilson- The predecessor for National Treasure and the Da Vinci Code, this is the original conspiracy tale mixing history’s mysteries and secrets with a far out tale of murder and world domination. Covering every known tale from the Free Masons to the Kennedy assassination to Atlantis, this book weaves in and out of multiple times and dimensions, boasts upwards of fifty main characters, and takes about 500 pages to really get started. While it sounds average, what makes this book so amazing is the appendix where it gives the proof to things you would have sworn were fiction and the parts you bought were made up. You will forever question reality after reading this one.

More as I think them up. Thank you for the inspiration Birdie. I hope these interest any of you.