Thursday, December 31, 2009

New Year's Resolutions

So, New Year's Day is just mere hours away. And people are getting all their New Year Resolutions in order. I predict by March that 95% of you will fail to make it through most, if not all of them. I don't say this to be mean or some kind of "negative nellie", I'm just being real.

From the Bureau of Homemade Statistics:

95% of those who make resolutions for the new year will fail to succeed in all of them. Of those that do manage to succeed, the success is based on a curve of any number of teh resolutions being attempted. 87.4% of people lie about completing just one.


For me, I'm making one last New Year's Resolution. And I should be successful in amking this one happen. It is to never make another New Year's Resolution again. EVER

This is either a pass or fail measure. I am planning for full success. Partially becauswe of the stupidity of these things, and partially because I am pretty lazy. NOT making a list of things to do seems to be easy enough. Definitely easier than actually making that list.

Plus consider this thought: Given the high failure rate of resolutions made at New Year's time, it makes a good competition with government performance. For those of you who pay attention, name the last major success of government. And don't grade on a curve. If you can't give it a legitimate "A", then it doesn't count as a success.

Besides the failure rate of resolutions, think about what making them means. It means you see needs for improvement. On its face, this seems natural as none of us are perfect. However, it means you aren't happy with your situation, or with yourself.

Well, I'm fine with me, and any problems I see must not be that bad if I'm not going to take care of them, regardless of the time fo year. New Start my ass, that can happen anytime. And if you have a problem with me or my situation (and ladies, I dont mean me being married so you can't have me, so back off that one), well then that isn't a problem for me to solve. That's your problem you have to work out on your own.

So you can either like me, put up with me, or ignore me. Anything else I'm not going to acknowledge, much less put forth an effort to change that status. I wasted far too much of my life trying to fit in with the popular crowd, also unsuccessfully. So screw it.

If you do make a resolution, I wish you luck. I just don't want to hear about it, unless you actually made good on it. And if you failed at one, don't expect me to be surprised. Its normal. I'm not all that great at aiding your pity party either, I'll just try to one up you until you get frustrated and give up.

Despite my rant, I do hope you enjoy your New Years, whether you're out celebrating or staying in.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Lebkuchen and Sledding

Okay, so more Christmas weekend stuff to get through. The last post was chock full of pictures. This one will have less of those, and should be shorter overall.

First off, Christmastime means one very special package that comes every year without fail. My aunt Denise knows how much I love the Lebkuchen treats, so I always get a couple bags of that, along with a couple packages of the other ginger treat, Contessa. Very tasty stuff. It comes specifically for me and my mom. It turns out, my family kind of likes it too. I leave the package on the counter with a certain amount in the bag. I come back by it even 5 minutes later, and half of it has disappeared. My family is ninjaing (ninjaing is NOW an official word in my vocabulary. You all might as well capitulate and add it to your linguistic repertoire.) my friggin lebkuchen. I have mixed feelings about this. I should be happy that they like some of these very same treats I grew up enjoying, and cannot be bought out here in Iowa, as far as I am aware. And yet, I'm mildly upset, as my selfish side says the lebkuchen is "MINE! ALL MINE, DAMMIT! KEEP YOUR GRIMY HANDS OFF OF IT!"

I'm sure at some point I'll receive a talking to about how being selfish is bad, and not of good character. I need to set a good example when it comes to sharing, blah blah blah. You can rest assured though, that your superhero will use his magical power of selective hearing and tune it all out. I'm so good at that, that I may have received this talk multiple times and still remain totally unaware. Good for me.

Well, this year's Christmas turned out to be a pretty big hit all around. My Dad got a slingshot screaming monkey. He collects monkey stuff. If mom didn't secretly purge pieces of the collection I'm sure he'd have at least 100 monkeys sitting around his house somewhere or another. I don't think any part of the house is out of eyesight from one monkey or another. A creepy proposition now that I think of it. I may have been enjoying my morning constitutional under the ever watchful eyes of a monkey hidden amongst the plants, for all I know. Mom got her bath products as usual. Christmas is when she stocks up on this stuff for each year. My wife got her juicer, and some spice grinder/shredder thing. (I dunno its name, I was just assured certain death if I use it to shred cheese) My sister, well she got a bookmark. It turns out she needs more, since she mysteriously chews all of hers up without realizing it. I think her and The Colonel need to get together to have a fiber binging vacation or something. Sophie got all kinds of stuff, clothing, a few toys, you know, baby stuff. Vic, got his candy, SourPatch Kids. Apparently candy is rather amusing to him. Another present he seemed to take delight in was whenever I left my new slippers, courtesy of my in-laws, laying around. If I didn't have them on my feet, Vic was wearing them. So now I have to find a similar pair, so he has his own for those cold days. He's from down south, so he has sensitive feet don'tcha know!

The boys received all kinds of toys. But Santa, also brought them two brand new red sleds for Christmas. So the day after Christmas, when the weather cleared up enough to go out safely, Vic and I drove them down the road to the local golf course where I used to sled while growing up. There was a LOT of snow, and only a few people had been sledding prior to our arrival. So slick paths they were not. Most trips ended up with sled and rider being separated by at least a few feet. These sleds, being plastic and small were enough to hold a single kid, and barely a single adult, however a kid and adult rider at the same time caused mass burial of the sled maybe halfway down the hill.
Buggy trudging up a hill. Independent as he is, he has decided that he needs his own hill to sled on, not the one his brother or any of the other kids are using. Eventually other kids followed to use his hill. If Buggy has my ego, he'll only see himself as a trendsetter, and his later years living at home will be a battle of egos between father and son. I only hope I can still win then.
It's hard to see it when its all white and snowy out, but behind us, there is a huge drop off from our hill....most of the ground you're seeing is actually on the other side of the valley.
I made it partway down a small hill before the sled finally bucked me off and tossed me into a drifted side of the hill. I am thoroughly buried, and was comfortable with just dying right there. It turns out trudging up snow covered hillsides in full outdoor gear is well beyond my cardio capacity currently. I believe 8 cardiac arrests were recorded on myself alone.
Here's Josh just prior to going down yet another hill. The boys were thoroughly enjoying themselves this day.
And here is Vic and I getting all bundled up for the sledding excursion. I hadn't been sledding since probably 1990 or 91. This was Vic's first time ever. We were a mix-n-match collection of outdoor gear, almost none of it our own. But we stayed warm the whole time, despite blazing trails through nearly waist deep snow at times. Buggy had to stay in our tracks lest he get lost underneath the white billowy blanket in certain spots.
And of course I'd be remiss, if I didn't post a picture of my dad's dedication to the art of grilling. It's either that or his disdain for making dirty dishes unnecessarily by using pots and pans on a stove. So, here he is (also known as the Evil Duane), grilling outside while the snow falls around him.

Christmas...12 Feet Under The Snow!

So, I was itching to get back to write about all the new stuff that has happened this Christmas holiday. Now that I'm here and in front of the computer, I'm a lot more overwhelmed than thrilled about documenting s short snippet into the life that lends itself to the Mind of Mookie.

But first off, a little housekeeping is in order. To all you idealist people who kept wishing and praying for a white Christmas....let me be the first to say thank you very much. In two weeks, I've seen around 30 or so inches of snow. In two weeks, we have met our yearly snowfall average. Winter technically started a week ago. As a man who is NOT a fan of precipitation in any form, you can take your wishes of a snow filled christmas and stick it in some places best not actually said in this public forum. Christmas morning found my car lost...and only by the graciousness of my dad to plow the snow out of the driveway was my car even visible to be dug out. So thank you.



So anyways... On Christmas Eve I get off work at 8am, and we travel the two and a hlaf hours to my parents for Christmas and the ensuing weekend, which lasted longer than anticipated, but we'll get back to that later. Roads weren't too bad, mostly wet, but got a bit icy as we got closer to our destination. Had we left much later, our trip may have been more aptly described by the hit song "An Icey Dicey Christmas" as sung by Burl Ives.

As some of you have already read, I recently acquired a niece after a kindly stork dropped by my sister and her husband's place in Florida. So this was going to be our first time seeing her in person. About 35 minutes into the trip my wife realizes she left the camera at home. Well, given the storm predictions, we'll just have to hope my sister remembered hers and can send us photos. My sister came through not only with a camera, but a laptop to upload the photos to an online storage site, Snapfish (Let me be clear...this is not a paid endorsement. None of these damn companies I ever mention think to offer me money to brag about them on this most popular of blog pages), so they would be ready to be organized once we made it home, and for me to be able to post them here today for you to enjoy.

Well, anyways, we got to see our niece, Sophia. I made her smile, mostly because I'm on the same level as new babies when it comes to maturity. Also, I like to burp and poop alot, so we have lifestyles in common.


So here are a few pictures of my new niece. With her mother in her new Christmas dress. Then again with my wife.
And here is Sophie, slightly intrigued, but still not sure about this Christmas present business.
And of course, helping Daddy play some cards. And trust me when I tell you, he needed all the help he could get. He may be part Rocket Scientist, but when it comes to games of chance, the playing field is leveled out a bit for the reast of us lowly peasants. And there she is laying on a blanket with me looking down on her. Don't mistake my smile for pure joy. I'm still curious about this little one. Hard to tell if I really like her or not. She cries a lot, which disinterests me. Now, I know what you're thinking: Shame on you Mike, she's just a baby. and then there will be my wife telling me to drop the macho uncaring act, and that she'll have me wrapped around her little finger. Whatever, I say. We were busy amusing each other with making raspberry noises at each other. What can I say? I'm easily entertained. We'll see how she is when she gets older. If she ends up anything like her mother was, it wont be good. Any car rides while visiting will be accompanied by a lot fo bickering in the backseat and my brother-in-law incredulous at having to chastise both a child and an adult with the idea of turning the car right back around and going home. And of course, the jeers of "she touched me first!!!" whining out of my mouth. Should be interesting to say the least.



Anyways, it was the 24th of December, which of course means it is Buggy's 6th birthday. Another first and only milestone in his life. He'll never turn 6 again. His "Uncle Jim" usually puts himself in charge of making birthday cakes for the boys. He definitely outdid himself this year with a multi-layered cake, plus a couple cookies, a lot of icing, and a motion sensor dinosaur built into the birthday cake.

So we had a birthday celebration, prior to a bunch of people coming over for the traditional Christmas Eve get together my parents have. Weather, being all snowy and blowy, kept a few people away this evening, but still a good sized crowd for such a small little house.

The next morning, after we all finally woke up. Becky and Vic, obviously awoken by their baby, and quite possibly by my two boys who shared the bedroom with them. I, on the otherhand, not being the center of attention at the ripe old age of 30, no longer get up 3 hours before dawn to raid the stocking and start figuring out which presents are mine. I'll get up when either my bladder or everyone else decides I need to get up. But I have to admit, the tree looked pretty good and sparkly. It was a shorter tree than usual, but rather full and balanced, which always makes for a prettier Christmas tree. Add the presents and the shiny bows that add to the glow off the light-adorned tree, and there is still that little flicker of magic that Christmas always holds over the imagination.

Everybody scored some pretty good loot, but the best present I got was actually the present I gave to my sister. You see, in all my years, I have been able to pretty much pick up a package and guess the contents underneath the wrapper, with almost 100% accuracy. It's a gift that can't be taught. Well, two years my sister has managed to mess up my formula and my guesses were wrong. That was years ago. But this year, after all had been forgotten by most, it was my turn to get her.
I enlisted my mom's help in wrapping up multiple boxes inside each other...add some tissue paper here, packing peanuts there...it was quite the job. In one of the random boxes, I had taped her gift card to the inside front, in a position where she wouldn't notice it. She went on to the next box, pulled another out of the bag, opened it up and found a smaller box. And neatly folded inside this little Jewelry box, underneath the protective batting layers was a note telling her that she had still had some looking to do, and that somewhere in the mess she had made was her actual gift. It took awhile, adn I finally had to point out the box to her. The look on her face (my mom prophecied the night before while we worked on this project that Becky would cuss me out for this, which she did) was more than satisfying. Her frustration and the "I'm gonna kill you!" look made my Christmas.







Monday, December 21, 2009

Rent-a-Cop of the Year Awards

Well, after a long, hard fought competition, the Rent-a-Cop of the Year for 2009 is...... (okay so I haven't learned how to make a drum roll noise happen here, you need to do it yourself):

Colonel Beauregard Sterlng Lovell, Head of security at the Mookified Compound. What he did to earn this illustrious honor: took out Rent-a-Cop Manager of the Year 2008, Stew Holloway, when he came to check on the Colonel. After Manager Holloway stepped on his tail, The Colonel sprung into action with his cat-like reflexes, did a jiu jitsu leg sweep and then sprang at Manager Holloway's head, and biting him on the ear.

Let me be the first one to say, this contest was obviously rigged somewhere along the line, and by rigged, I mean NOT IN MY FAVOR!!! I was one of the 6 judges for the competition. Now before anyone asks how ethical it might be for me to be running for the award while being a judge...I invented the friggin award, so get over it. After hearing the announcement, I found the head judge, Manager Holloway, and asked for the breakdown on the votes. Apparently I was the only one who voted for me. Given my track record of excellent rentacopping, I was rather shocked at this. Apparently I didn't bribe the right people here. (In retrospect, bribing myself, a sure vote, was probably not worth the time, energy or cost that could've been invested in one of the other 5 judges).

Also upon hearing the news, newcomer and runner-up for the award, Trevor "Irish" McCarthy was also not pleased, and recently commented on his facebook about how he would be gracious, yet wished the Colonel harm, in hopes of taking his place. Irish was then informed that unlike other meritorious awards like Miss America (Irish also missed out on winning this one, after disparaging homosexuals rather blatantly when questioned by Perez Hilton- almost to the point of being arrested for his disturbances), there are no duties to the community or anything resembling service requirements associated with this award. Once you win, you win, and all losers (which I guess includes me) will just have to wait for next year in hopes of being bestowed with such high honors as the Rent-a-Cop of the Year Award.

It was however a very successful gala last evening. Lots of cavorting about drunk on jelly donut filling, or glaze, as well as highly intoximacated rentacops loaded with all sorts of liquor, and probably a few other things, like drain cleaner (Irish), windex (Manager Holloway), and the like (Me- not sure what it was...scrubbing bubbles maybe?).

At one point, all human rentacops vowed revenge on the Colonel for having upstaged them, a brawl ensued, we haven't seen the Colonel since, however we have all managed to be coated, inside and out, with his hair.

Three upstanding rentacops made citizen arrests on themselves for drunk and disorderly after having gone, not through the window in the midst of the fight, but managed to take out the wall itself, and land in the parking lot. One, is testifying both for and against himself in a trial set for just after the New Year. We haven't figured that one out yet. But, if you thought lawyers were full of shit, be prepared for this idiot rentacop to make you proud at his ability to upstage even the best of lawyers.

WE haven't seen Irish either. We last saw him bragging about his ability to maintain the fight while imbibing an entire 55-gallon drum full of Irish Whiskey, without being knocked out, or passing out. He's probably still somewhere in the rubble trying to get the last few drops down before the cleanup crew clears all the debris away, finds him, and kicks him out.

In all the drunken madness the Rent-a-Cop Manager of the Year award ended up going to former NPI supervisor Hayley Eash. She was not in attendance at the great gala, but received 5 out of 6 first place votes in the human poll. The Harris interactive computers had her at .945, while the AP computers had her as low as .796. BCS representatives were unable to explain these discrepancies, but did issue a statement to the effect that the system is what it is, and works effectively enough to determine a national championship. Somewhere, Congress is looking to investigate the BCS' role in determining not only college football, but also the Rent-a-Cop of the Year awards as well. Representative Barney Frank was clearly annoyed that after Manager Holloway stole the ladies swimwear event with style yet didn't win.

Either way it was fun, we were all drunk and/or in jail despite our supposing to have been on duty. Irish and the Colonel are AWOL....could be that Irish found the Colonel, and perpetrated that harm he wished and is off burying the body. But until he returns and files an incident report, details are sketchy at best. We're still a bit busy nursing our hangovers and in some cases, consoling their Bubbas as they get bailed out pending their hearings. If we ever recover any photos from the event we'll be sure to update you. If pictures of a few goats surface, don't judge us.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

A Family Together...With Your Help!

My friend Jay, and his wife, Naomi are in the process of adopting children from Ethiopia. They have cleared the first set of major hurdles towards realizing their dream of having a family. First off I would like to thank everyone who has already helped contribute towards their cause. You can only imagine how much your help means to them.

They now have some last steps to complete while awaiting their referral for their future children. For a basic breakdown in how you can help click this link: http://burnsadoption.blogspot.com/2009/12/dossier-completed.html


As it mentions in the link, you can donate via Paypal by clicking on the PayPal link on their page, or if you do not have PayPal you can send any and all donations directly to the address: 822 Jonathon Rd. Powell, WY 82435
Please make any checks payable to "Ethiopia Hope Fund". All donations are tax deductible, as they are run through Harvest Church.

Every little bit helps out Jay and Naomi, as they scrape together their own funds as well to make their dream of having a family come true. They thank you very much for any help you can provide!

Friday, December 11, 2009

It IS Haunted, I Don't Care What Anyone Says


After having heard some stories about Hoyt Sherman Place here in Des Moines, a few of us thought to look up the "known" haunted locations here in Des Moines, Iowa. When googling "haunted places in des moines" and "haunted places in Iowa" one gets millions of hits because even when using "" (<---these) around a phrase, you still get hits for anything that involves any of these words. I swear people could have told me that googling made research easier, but to me it seems to cloud things up worse than before. Maybe I just havent mastered the art of google. But either way, Hoyt Sherman was not listed. However, while for the purposes of finding a picture of the mansion known as Hoyt Shermna Place, I came across a link to paranormal investigators having done an investigation at this very location. Pretty dry read, adn no good stories or anything that really make fo rgood listening/reading, but here it is:

http://desmoinesparanormal.webs.com/hoytshermanplace.htm

So anyways, you have heard me talk about this place before, if you were reading my blog back during the infamous bat attacks rentacop incidents, earlier this summer. I may have even blogged about the time I was there respnding to an alarm with a fellow patrolman, who lifted the skirt of the stage in the theatre. After having been there 10 minutes already, this simple action suddenly led to very soft playing music, something that sounded like it was out of the 1920s or 30s. Creepy stuff to be sure. I was definitely ready to leave upon that.

Well, last night, or rather this morning at about 4am, things got a whole lot creepier. And by a whole lot, I mean, I'd rather pee my pants in public than step foot in that place after the lights have been turned out, and especially never again while I'm alone.

So, I was chatting with my supervisor, Stew, when I got the call from the alarm company saying they had motion in one of the emergency exit stairwells. My supervisor offered to come along, which was okay by me, I prefer to have company while I'm there anyways. This place is rather big and kind of scary. So we get there, and this particular zone is on the theater side of the building, (there is the house, and then there is the theatre... the alarm system is set up to montior them as separate zones altogether), so we enter in through the theater entrance. We make our way down through the floor level seating, and I notice a stocking cap laying in front of one of the seats. No big deal, they are showcasing The Nutcracker, and someone who watched the show probably lost track of it and left without it. I set it on the front of the stage as we head to check the stairwells, and all the back storage and dressing rooms.

When we come back out, the hat is no longer on the stage. Okay, no need to panic just yet. Maybe the keyholder, who is the maintenance man (I believe) got called as well, like usual when we have an alarm. He must've come through while we were in the other rooms, saw the hat and grabbed it to take to the lost and found depository. Having cleared the theater side, we decide to go into the house to see the keyholder and let him know that nothing is wrong. Well, the door is locked that wil take you into the house side of this monstrous building. Not that unusual, but when I unlock it, the alarm goes off for the house side, which means...noone else is there. However, in that old sitting room that serves as a side lobby, there are some sculpted busts. On top of one particular busts, sits this blue and white stocking cap...just like the one we found in the theater, which I had left on the stage. Now this is just far too creepy for me, and as well for Stew. We quickly took care of the alarm system, rearmed it, locked that place up and got the hell out of dodge.

I think the next time that alarm comes up, I'm either sending someone there and handing them the keys to take care of it, or I'm coming in with full intentions on torching that place. Bats are one thing....hats moving from one side of the place to another, through locked doors and not setting off alarms, and noone else seen on sight...well, that's totally different, and it aint cool at all. I'll be the first one to tell you, that my little macho image is truly stricken dead when this kind of stuff happens!

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Quantum Theory Has The Cubs Winning the World Series

Now, maybe I don't have a firm grasp on everything there is to know in this universe of ours. I know what you're thinking. Mookie DOESN'T know everything? Yes, hard t believe but true. And part of that reason is any subject that began with the word "quantum" generally sent me into my own little world to ignore a subject that more theory than possibly conflicting facts.

I now believe in Quantum something or another Theory. I have decided, after working last night, that somewhere in an alternate universe, the Chicago Cubs did in fact win the Wolrd Series. How do I know this. Because Hell Has Frozen Over in Iowa!

Not only did we get more snow in one storm system than we have had since 1996, (we had 16 inches dumped on us), but the temperatures dropped into single digits with windchills WAY below zero. The wind was gusting between 45 and 60 miles per hour, creating white out conditions. And not just regular white out like you use on paper, and can see the mistake...this was Super White Out. It erased the front end of my patrol car from visibility altogether. Recently plowed roads were re-covered by a big blanket of white blown back ontot he roadway by the highg winds...most multilane roads had one driveable path, and if it was a two way road....well let's just say that thanks to a big tractor looking snowplow who refused to hold up until I could get around a big drift that erased part of the road, I became stuck...100 feet from the building my work is located in, and 400 feet from the building that I was responding to an alarm at. Naturally noone was available to help a rentacop out. so, I ran (and by run I mean in slowmo as I bounded through drift after drift like some sort of sled dog with only 2 legs) to the shop grabbed a shovel and proceeded to scoop my patrol car free. In the process I could barely see the car I was scooping free, and simultaneously trying to remain in position to do the job as th wind tried to blow my butt across the road. My already cold legs that had been exposed to lots of snow from earlier events, were now being windburned THROUGH my pants. Already exposed to moisture and frozen half solid, this was not good. I'm pretty sure I died from exposure...twice.

To back up a bit....I got up in plenty of time to go to work, but i spent ten minutes getting unstuck from my parking spot here at home. I make it to the shop..well the south entrance to the parking lot, and spend 20 minutes digging my way out of that with an ice scraper of all things. I go to the north entry, get stuck there, and it was an hour after I originally got on scene before my car was rescued and allowed to be parked in the lot behind our work garage. I braved the treacherous roads, and was forced to do more drive-by checks than actual lot patrols at many of my accounts as there was NO way to access the property without getting stuck again, and I'll be damned if they pay me enough to bound through nut-high snow drifts in single digit temperatures just to walk around a building while I risk my patrol car getting bashed up or buried by the DOT snow plows going up and down the mai roads in fruitless efforts to keep them open even a little bit.

I made a few extra efforts to make a more complete job at properties, btu most of it was simply driving the roads around them and making sure there was nothing visibly wrong with the places. Then at about 4am, I get a call to go to a residential house buried deep in the heart of residential development and about 6 or 7 blocks from any main road. I made it down the side street that intersected the street I was looking for. Then I humped it the 75 yards through snow and high winds blasting my face just to walk around a house that has been drifted shut, and showed no signs of entry. the alarm were interior motion alarms, no perimeters. I leave, I manage to get back to the main road and on my way....20 minutes later, I get teh call for the same place, same alarm. The homeowner is in Denver, and insists we re-check the place. All I have to say is the only way someone was going to burgle that house was to come up from underground and drill through the slab underneath. So back I go down the side road that hasn't seen a plow in probably 8 hours or more, hike through the snow to their house where I could hike through more snow and find out that there still was nothing wrong with their place. I told the alarm dispatch compnay representative that the resident owes me a christmas present for that kind of service...with a tow ban in effect, had I gotten stuck down in that neighborhood, well, lets just say it would be tomorrow or the next day before they would be allowed to come rescue me.

After that all was well...for awhile. I ate breakfast INSIDE the Mcdonald's where they had a cleared out parking lot. I needed to warm up and relax for a bit. Then I got called for 2 different alarms.....on the way to the second one was when I got stuck, as described above, by the shop. Then, my relief got his personal car stuck outside his driveway. I had to go pick him up. I got the patrol car stuck around the corner and a half block down from his place....more shoveling. I will be the first guy who dies of a hernia and a heart attack at the age of 30, along with hypothermia and some frostbite. This is honestly what I was thinking during this shoveling incident. But, we got out, got him to work. I shoveled my personal car out of its spot behind the shop so I could come home. I get on the road out to the main artery, where I got stuck again in the plow slushed mess. I used my cold wet booted feet as the shovel to kick everything out of the way, so my little car could actually get moving. Didn't matter at that point, I was ready to amputate with or without anesthesia anytime. My feet felt like blocks of ice, or frozen clubfoot.

The low fuel light was on. So I had to baby the car to the nearest accessible gas station. As I pull in, I see two guys stalking me. One with a camera, the other with a microphone. Having been, what I can assume was fully rested over the night while I worked, they came up and asked to interview me about my night and the weather.

You see, I really am that important. The local metro news needs MY opinion. However, I do have a face built for radio, and a voice for silent movies. I suspect any mention of me might be my name, and a recapping of my comments by the reporter with his pretty little made-for-tv face.

But now, it is time to warm my innards with coffee, and my feet somehow. In the army, they always taught us to put our cold hands either in our armpits or crotch to avoid frostbite and exposure issues, since those two areas are teh warmest on our bodies. I contemplated this with my feet, then realized I'm not that flexible to begin with, and there is no way that could be comfortable even if I did manage to cram my feet into my armpits or crotch like some advanced yoga pose.

I expect better working conditions tonight, or I just may quit. Should've listened to my wife and just stayed home from work last night. I blame my dad for instilling such a sense of responsibility in me...damn him anyways!

Friday, December 4, 2009

Short History of Warfare and Its Contemporary Failure

I'm looking at what should be a pretty complex issue, however as usual I will most likely ovrsimplify things, for easier writing and easier comprehension of the basic points I'll be making (a tactic that can often be mistaken-sometimes correctly- for me not wanting to melt my brain with hard thinking) today.

"War's very object is victory, not prolonged indecision. In war, there is no substitute for victory" --General Douglas MacArthur

The quote seems simple enough, as it should be. Most things in this world are simple, until someone with a more than just an ounce of intelligence starts scrutinizing them and pondering enough scenarios to fill a library, along with those who choose to counter with their own thoughts. The human mind is capable of a lot, which has led to much good, much bad, and much ugly things in our world.

War fits the latter two categories. War is very often the result of disagreements over simple things. One man disparages another man's ego, and suddenly a duel is in place for them to settle their differences, no matter how many people are dragged into their conflict, willingly or otherwise. Rhetoric is ratcheted up on both sides, in the hopes of compelling others of their own righteousness, and possible allies in their "fight against evil."

War and Politics have been intertwined with each other since the invention of both. In the beginning, politics often led to war. Then the armies fought it out, with total victory in mind. While politics played a role int he war, it was often mere infighting as to who got to do what, and who gets credit for this or that. But neither side ever deviated from the main goal, which was to dominate and eliminate the enemy until the point of surrendering. Many times, the same war was fought between the same opponents, multiple times, with just a different name assigned to each particular conflict. While armies decimated each other, it was a back and forth of unsettled politics between the foes, with certain stretches of 'peace' between the events.

One example of this would be the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812. American authorities and British authorities had squabbles, first resulting in the war for our Independence. Later, political and economic reasons, led us back into war with the British. Since that point, both countries have gotten along for the most part, keeping a more peaceful temperament with each other. There are of course, thousands of other examples, such as European Empires fighting back and forth over the centuries, but I'm not going to muddy the waters by including each and every one of them.

You look at politics even in the Civil War. Politicians shaped the arguments, engaged the people, next thing you know, America is imploding on itself in all out war. Strategy was largely determined by generals. Occasionally the Commanders-in-Chief would step in if a general wasn't doing his job, which was create victories. Lincoln was forced to re-assign, or outright remove many generals for their failures, ineptitudes, or downright unwillingness to take the fight to the enemy on multiple occasions, but we wont get into specifics on that today.

The last "conventional war' that was ever really fought, at least as far as American involvement goes, was World War 2. Armies were identified with clear distinction, and the name of the game was killing the enemy and taking land, chunk by chunk, until the enemy surrendered. Even within this war, political infighting was apparent within the ranks of any given country's military and government, as well as between nations and their allies. But, as I mentioned earlier, in the end, the goal was clear. Tactics and basic strategy may have changed, depending on the situation on the ground, but the overall strategy was simple: Defeat the enemy everywhere you meet him, and drive him back to his home. He can choose die or to surrender. There are NO other underlying circumstances to be optioned. You send out your soldiers to win the war, so they can come home.

Well, World War 2's ending saw something a bit different than that. After victory was declared, many nations' armies occupied enemy territory even as peace was assumed. Two superpowers emerged in the world. First was America, who had helped greatly the efforts of Europe to get out of the Nazi chokehold, while also battling the Japanese on the other side of the world. Second was Russia, who depsite losing tens of millions of soldiers, had kept Germany from expanding its control over them, and helping the allies make headway into Europe by obliging Hitler's attempt at a two front war. Disagreements were rampant between the allies and the Soviets over who got control of where, and a nearly 45 year standoff ensued known as the Cold War.

Enter Politics not only as the decider of when war would be waged, but where it would be engaged, how it would be fought, and to what extent it would be fought. The world was suddenly divided into two camps. You either supported America and Capitalism, or the Soviets and the Communist form of government and economics. True, some countries essentially tried to stay out of the mess, but the majority of countries around the globe found themselves tied more to one side or the other. Again this is a vast oversimplification. If you want a lot more intricate detail, you can find a wealth of knowledge from a fellow blogger, Scott, over at http://scotterb.wordpress.com.

America soon adopted a foreign policy that was designed around the idea of stopping the spread of communism, whereever in the world it may show its face. Our next major conflict found American forces in Korea. The Korean peninsula divided itself up. You had the communist regime controlling the north supported by the Chinese, while leadership in the south attempted to avoid communism, enlisting the help of America to repel communist forces. It was a drawn out conflict, which technically still exists today. Peace is fragile under a truce, as neither side could force the other side to surrender, and technically the two sides remain at war. While militarily the war could have been won, politics played a major role in deciding just how far American forces would go. For all the sabre-rattling America did as a government in response to the "communist threat", she did not wish to fully engage China or Russia into the war. The threat of nuclear war was always there, as the Soviets had developed their own arsenal in response to America's nuclear capabilities (and history of use at the end of WWII), and neither side wanted to test the resolve of the other. Evnetually the 38th parallel was drawn as the dividing line, and the Korean peninsula remains divided to this day.

Years later, after Vietnam had won its independence from France, America had its own advisors in the south of Vietnam, helping fight and train with their armies, while Ho Chi Minh led a communist movement from the north. Minh' splan was to keep Vietnam unified under a communist banner. America and the south Vietnamese were determined to repel the communists.

While guerilla warfare has always been used in conjunction with conventional war tactics, this was the first war in which America found itself on the opposite end of a well sustained guerilla movement. American forces were harassed daily by guerilla forces consisting not only of regular army units, but iregular units as well. And interesting turning of the tables, considering these tactics were used successfully by the Americans in their own war for independence from Britain. While taking massive casualties through this long drawn out war, the American forces had successfully repelled guerilla attacks as well as win every major military engagement during this time. However, politics was playing a heavy hand in this engagement. American Commander of the Army, General William Westmoreland, asked for and received the troops he asked for to fight this war. Militarily we had the ability to engage the enemy and drive them back to Hanoi. Politically, we were not willing to do so, give the possibility of threat from the Chinese and the Soviets, and what that meant as far as possible large scale war again.

And so today we look at current American war zones, Iraq and Afghanistan. Militarily winnable wars. However, we have also engaged a multitude of other objectives, such as the spreading of democracy, stability of the governments and the regions as a whole, and I'm sure a host of other things, that Scott can go into more detail about.

These days, almost no war is winnable under the whole sense. No country seems to be willing to define just what victory is (Hat tip to Classicliberal2 for pointing that out. Note, this link wil take you to his blog, not the specific comment. He's very smart, and write's well thought out commentary. Despite he and I often disagreeing on most things political, its a good conversation and learning experience)
Victory these days, is so multi-sided that we send off our soldiers to go fight battle after battle, usually with no idea what the actual goal is. I mean sure, from the young soldiers perspective, go find and kill the enemy. But the macro scale of what the war is about, or what defines victory is often shielded from or completely incomprehensible to the common soldier.

And to a certain extent, I think that part of the PTSD we see in soldiers these days is the direct result of constant political shifting of the winds in regards the war (and not necessarily our ability to diagnose it better than in the past). A soldier fights small and large battles, but with no clear direction on where to go. The mission changes every day, victory is either not defined very clearly, or defined at all, bsides some vagueries thrown out by the higher ups. And sometimes I wonder if THEY even know what the overall objective is.

There is a lot of conjecture on both sides (pro- and anti-war) as to why we are in Iraq and Afghanistan. Iraq is winding down, we hope. Afghanistan is heating up again, after what seemed to be a long time stuck in a holding pattern. Some wish we'd pull out immediately, which comes with serious political implications. Others say we ought to throw more soldiers (which the President has decided to do on a smaller scale) at the effort there in Afghanistan (which also has serious political implications).

These days, the idea of a pure war do not exist. They are entirely too intertwined with politics, which are often filled with a whole lot of 'what-ifs" to function as they were intended. Which really makes it a disgrace and a show of dishonor to our troops to send them places to do things to which there is no real end game. We send them off to foreign lands to either babysit, or to inflict, view and experience death on a daily basis, only to someday bring the live ones back, and having accomplished nothing but the shedding of some blood. Also to is the concept of fighting a moral war, that somehow we can change the rules of engagement to make it somehow better. This can only be accomplished in the circles of theoretical, but misguided minds.

As a military history buff, and a former member of the military, I make it my official position that unless we can define our goals and just what victory is, our government has no business sending our troops anywhere. Let them stay here in the states and territories with their families, ready to defend our own citizens, until a clear need to dispatch them away to far off lands actually arises, and then, and only then, with a clear plan in place for the military to do what it does best.
If we adhere to such standards, I think that the relatively few wars we would actually engage in would be far more supported by the people here at home, which in turn would make it a less politically divisive issue to tear each other and our leaders at the time down.

Glad I'm a Boy and other happenings

This morning I came home from work. In the midst of telling my wife about my evening, she suddenly interrupts with "OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD"

While my work shift had some actual work involved, I didn't think it was so exciting that it would elicit such a strong and loud response. She was standing in front of the bathroom mirror doing what women do with their hair. I don't know about this kind of stuff. My involvement with my hair is cutting it back off as much as I can (also read: as short as my wife will allow it to get, apparently she isn't into the boot camp haircut on my head) Anyways....I thought, well maybe she burned herself with one of those hair tool thingys that women use. But no, that isn't the case. As I walk in to see her, she is examining a very lightly colored hair, it was pretty much white. I say pretty much, because it wasn't entirely white. It had SOME coloration to it. Now my wife wears vision correction devices. I on the other hand have better than 20/20 vision. So obviously I can see better than she can.

But she's freaking out about finding grey hairs on her head. She's 29. I met her when she was 17 when I met her. She had these ultra light colored hairs back then. I guess she never noticed them before. but she is completely focused on her having grey hairs. Apparently her mind can't get past what her eyes see. I attempt to explain to her that these are not "old lady" grey hairs, but merely the same kind of super light colored hairs she has always had. I've seen pictures of her when she was young and had hair that nearly qualified as albino in its coloration. While your hair may darken to a different hue over time, you never lose all your natural coloring, even the really light stuff. I know this, she SHOULD know this, but naturally being a woman, the first reaction is not to be logical and develop a clear sense of conclusions. Nope, its to freak out in some weird traumatic emotional overload.

And yes, I can get away with saying this, because my attempts to quell her emotional tide have already gotten her irritated with me...and being her boyfriend, fiancee, and husband for so many years, the hole I've dug for myself is so deep there is no hope of ever getting out of it. I'm currently constructing a state of the art nuclear proof bunker while I'm down here. I have already offered the rational, well thought out, and sensible conclusion as to what the hair was, and all without a hint of emotion. Well, there was some emotion, but it was the immature giddy kind, as I used a higher pitched voice while mocking her initial spastic verbal reactions. But beyond that...completely sensible. God, I am sure glad I'm a boy and don't freak out over such small fry stuff. I now shall sit back and await a unified female backlash for this posting here in the blog as well as from the facebook community of female friends who will chastise me about my insensitivity, to which I say "Screw it!"

The Colonel May Need to be Demoted

After returning home from a weekend full of Thanksgiving festivities, my wife decided it was time to erect the Christmas Tree. Not a big deal in my eyes. The Colonel however had ideas of using it as a training opportunity. At some point a few days ago, he attacked the tree vigorously in an attempt to make it submit. My wife caught him in the act. With one of the fake branches the cat had managed to dislodge from its place, she whacked the Colonel. He ran off to hide.

That was 4 days ago. Now, I get the whole retreat to regroup after a vicious attack like that. I've done it before, and will probably do it again. But I always come back. The Colonel has, as of the last 2 months, become oddly affectionate, and will crawl up in our laps for some relaxation while being petted. However it is day 4, and every time she approaches, he runs off and hides. Clearly the Colonel has become a coward. The Mookified Army, including the Feline Division, is expected to act bravely and smartly in all situations and never fear an opponent, no matter how ruthless they may be. As the Commanding General of the Mookified Armed Forces, i take to the front of the charge, involving myself in all the glorious battles that ensue, as a true leader should. I smart at my wife, knowing full well that I may be awakened from sleep being victimized with a maneuver called "The Claw" ripping my abdominal muscles away from my body. It tickles and hurts all at the same time, and yet, I return with aggressive rhetoric and offensive strategies of pure genius. I also know that at any given confrontation my wife may tweak my highly sensitive and tiny little nipples as a response to these offensives. It hurts like no one's business. But, the campaign must continue, no matter how many injuries I receive or purple hearts I find pinned to my uniform. Because in the words of a highly touted rap artist, "I ain't scurred."

Today, the Colonel had to be coaxed to her so she could pet him and let him know she still loved him. He was more than just a little apprehensive about this meeting. Clearly though, the Colonel has demonstrated a propensity for cowardice when it comes to my wife. It was a disappointing and embarrassing moment for me, as his commanding officer to see this streak of yellow painted boldly down his back. He will have limited time to earn his right to retain rank, otherwise, I may have to demote the cat.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

The End Is Near!!!!

No, not the apocalyptic end, or anything like that..at least I don't think so anyways.

Nope what I'm talking about is the end of the year, which also means the highly anticipated Rent-a-Cop of the Year Awards Ceremony. If you haven't been awarded a VIP ticket, just drop me a note, and we'll get you a seat reserved.

For those of you still wishing to contend for this prestigious award, there is still time. If you want to make a nomination, pass on this notice on. ALL NOMINATION FORMS MUST BE RECEIVED NO LATER THAN MIDNIGHT CENTRAL STANDARD TIME ON SUNDAY DECEMBER 6, 2009. Late entries will not be accepted.

The requirements are first to have worked a security gig of any kind DURING 2009...yes even those of you who acted as protective big brothers over your 4 yr old sister's birthday party at the Chuck E Cheese's will be accepted.

Secondly, you must submit a picture of you in your security uniform, even if its a stupid shirt that just says 'security' on it. All poses are accepted, be it a simple head shot, a mug shot (for those of you who went to jail for beating down some poor bum for rooting through one of your clients' trash bins), an action pose, etc. NOTE: We do NOT accept racy photos. Should you submit one, even as a jokey extra photo, to the committee, you will find yourself the subject of many blogs, web pages, maybe an ad in the paper or with online advertisers..but you will be given exposure of the negative type. We will also subject your email inbox with more spam than you thought could possibly fit. If you have limited space email accounts, we will crash them. Oh, and you will be docked points that go toward determining the winner of this award. All of these proposed consequences are not to be considered a threat, a promise, or any other like word. Merely a fact.

Thirdly, you must submit your accomplishments as to why you should be considered for Rent-a-Cop of the Year. This can be done in essay form, or merely enumerating your vast accomplishments. These must be actual events; you can't go making up fictitious events like saying you were responsible for stopping terrorist-hijacked planes from crashing into your beloved lego tower. And the language must be clean. In other words, if any word you use would get a 10 year old kid's mouth washed out with soap, I'd suggest you replace it with a different word of synonymous meaning. This is a disqualifying offense.

Fourthly, This year we have eliminated the talent contest as well as the swimsuit competitions. You can thank last years contestants for taking things a bit too far. I still shudder at the big hairy guy in the speedo. Trust me, this is for the well-being of all involved.

To submit your info, merely send all requirements to my email: mookie369@yahoo.com with 'RENTACOP 2009' in the subject header. This will be a BYOB event. Hey, we're rentacops, which can also be read as 'poor broke bastards'.

TO ANSWER A FEW QUESTIONS POSED TO THE COMMITTEE:
1. To those wondering why I, Mookie, can be in contention for the award, while being on the judges' committee as well....hey, I invented this award, therefore I make the rules...get over it, or don't participate.

2. No, we will not divulge the contestants to the others involved until the day of the award. You can thank a couple guys who tried to mace and tase the competition a few days prior to the 2007 awards ceremony. We do not condone skewing the results through premeditated assaults. Which leads us to the next question...

3. YES, you do have to be present at the Awards Ceremony to win. If you aren't there, you can guarantee you lost.

4. NO, we do NOT pass out little awards for participating. This is America, and we believe in true competition. There is only one winner, and one winner only. The losers just have to suck it up and hope for next year.

5. Yes, contestants complaining about the judges, the outcome, or any other process associated with the competition have the right to be shot without prior warning. In other words, no bitching allowed. Before, during or after does not matter. We will have you shot in cold blood. We allow gloating by the winner no matter how horrible it is, but no sore losers.

6. This is a Badge and Tie affair for the contestants. Be sure to adhere to the rules, or you will be docked for it. For spouses, significant others, civil partners, or mere spectator attendees...you can wear whatever you want. but since sometimes things get a bit too celebratory in nature at these awards shows, you know with crowd control lacking since the Rent-a-Cops will all be at VIP tables on stage and off-duty (meaning we don't friggin work that night for anything), I'd wear something you don't mind getting dirty...or wet.

7. This Judge can be bribed with a new pair of regulation black combat boots (size 8 1/2W)

That is all. Remember...all nominee forms need to be completed and turned in to my email box by midnight of Sunday, December 6th, 2009.

Monday, November 30, 2009

Curiosity Creative Writing Exercise

The object of this exercise is to creat a short story from a multitude of authors in a semi-fractured style. Write as much or as little as you like to take the original storyline and add your own take on the next events. Copy and Paste the previous chapter(s) and then add your own. Label your chapter number and your name/moniker at the top and then tag 2 people to pass it on to, for them to continue the story and see how it can develop through those different paths. Do NOT tag it back to any previous author of your story's chapters.

Chapter 1- by Mookie

It is summertime in the middle of the day. Moms and dads are at work, so my friend Jay and I, having nothing better to do, go down into the ravine behind my house. We have decided that today we will build a small fort and a campsite we can call our own. This small stretch of creeks running through the woods in the dead center of our town forms our own wilderness frontier.

We set to the task of grabbing fallen branches and sticks to create the walls of our fort at the base of a hill. While Jay begins construction on these walls, I move to my own litle task of creating a dam in the creek that runs through this section of the woods. An older creekbed that is usually dry, except for when the rain comes, has a variety of large rocks and broken concrete. These will be the materials for damming the creek up and creating a small ponding next to our campsite. Back and forth I lug rock after rock and concrete chunks as well. Once I feel I have a sufficient amount of rocks and concrete, I begin to set them into the small and shallow running stream. Soon the water level begins to rise and expand outward away from the bank, as I choke off the streams natural flow. As with any 10 year old, seeing the fruits of my labors, even in the early stages, makes me feel like a god in my own small world. By late afternoon we expect to have a sheltered fort, a bridge over the creek, a pooling of water to soak our feet in, or to use to put out the campfires we set from time to time when our parents don't realize we've stolen a box of matches or a lighter. We even have a designated circle of rocks for our campfire along with some wood, twigs and dead leaves to fuel the fire.

While pushing through some high brush in search for more wood, we spook a doe. She runs off, along the creek, and with a graceful leap she jups down into a culvert pit, ad into the dark tunnel that goes underneath a neighboring road that runs along the top of the east end of the ravine. We followed her to see just where she went. But when we got to the tunnel, we were spooked. Rumors of the tunnel being the spot for Satan Worshippers abound through our heads. This was the one place we had never dared to venture into. Graffiti was scrawled all around the tunnels entrance on the concrete exterior. Older kids had scared us with stories of animal sacrifices, complete with evidence of blood soaked walls that lay within the interior of the tunnel. We look down to one corner and see some scattered small bones, which only further reinforced the validity of these rumors. Then suddenly out of nowhere the doe came running back out the tunnel toward us, veering away as she moved past us, a wild look in her eyes. what had caused her to be so scared and willing to run back in our direction? We had neither heard nor seen anything that might represent danger. The adventure in our little stretch of frontier wilderness was only beginning...

I tag: Renaissance Guy and Scott Erb
Although anyone who reads this is free to paste this chapter to their page along with THEIR next chapter.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Thanksgiving Message From The Colonel

From the Desk Of Colonel Beauregard Sterling Lovell:


So today we all gather together and give thanks for all that is good in our lives. Well, most of us. The majority of those living in the Mookified Compound have set out, meanwhile I'm stuck here guarding the compound with the General. That stupid idiot put out self pity messages complaining about only getting to eat a turkey pot pie for the holiday. Meanwhile, I get dry cat food...just like every other damn day of the year. The General may well find himself the victim of my combatives training later on today after he heats that pot pie up, then I can enjoy some delicious turkey meat. I'll let him try the cat food and tehn he can realize just how thankful he can be.

Personally, I'd be more thankful if I was President Obama. He pardoned that turkey, Courage, so that he can live out his days in Disney World. If I were El Presidente, that turkey would be dead, and I'd be burping feathers right about now. Who has time for cooking the bird when you can take him down right away and enjoy a nice meal without the wait?

But overall I'm thankful for my home. Its nice and warm here. And unlike my previous assignment guarding a garage with all my brothers and sisters where its cold, I can lounge about all I want. And, after making the general escort me to my mess hall, I can eat. With a belly full of food, I can return to napping, or shred everything in this apartment. It's great, because the General gets all mad, and yet, can't do a damn thing about it. I'm grateful that his rank doesn't come with any real power over me. Hell, that punk used to be a major. Once I made Colonel, he promoted himself to General just to not be outranked by me. How sad is that. Yeah, way to go Mr Top of the Food Chain!

So today, as you all give thanks for your food and football games, and begrudging your family your time, I shall be staking out the deck, looking for some fresh flying food, and maybe a nice squirrel or two. Little bastards run rampant around here, but I'm gonna get them one of these days.

So, you be sure and thank me for serving my duties here and suffering through dry cat food, while you're all safe and secure this holiday. As a cat and a colonel both, I DESERVE your damn appreciation for all I do for you. My mere existence should please you to no end. But if any one of you sonsabitches tries to pet me...I'll kill you.

Enjoy your day.

Sincerely,
Colonel B.S. Lovell
Mookified Feline Division, Commanding

Monday, November 23, 2009

Facebook-Suicide Link

Increased rates in mental illness and the rise of social networking sites appear to go hand in hand. First there was MySpace. Get a bunch of friends, one person says something that offends their 'friend'. Then the blogs, comments, and messages between these parties and their friends goes berserk. It's a virtual snipefest, just like the good old days when I was in school, and little cliques would form, so people could sneer and snarl at each other while attempting to spread rumors and make themselves look like they have the high moral ground with all their friends. But everything was face to face sooner or later. Not some anonymous postings on random internet forums.

Yes, Myspace is just like high school. Populated with 14 year old girls, or at least people with the same mentality as 14 year old girls. Full disclosure notice...I am not ashamed to admit I have a myspace site still. I am still a kid at heart and have no problem with meaningless conversations or blog reading over stuff that is even sillier than this crap I write.

But then came the college level of social networking. Facebook (motto: We have more people than the planet Earth) emerges. Some of us grew up, and can show an ounce of maturity when interacting online. Relationships are more easily tracked and people grow close. Then, some dumb rumor gets floating around, or some snide comment is made and people de-friend each other again. Only, instead of chalking it up to simple high school moronism, it is much harsher on the psyches of these social networking geniuses. They can hide behind their computer screen and pretend to be okay, but honestly, they are emotionally wounded. Just now, unlike back in the school days, you aren't forced to show your emotions. Why? Because you're sitting in your living room, or office or wherever behind a friggin computer screen. you can type anything you want, shielded from the atrocities that your words can cause. But the person on the other end knows the hurt all too well.

Being an ego-controlled heartless bastard, I am immune to these things. I couldn't care less what the people at some other IP address think about what I have to say. Not to say that I don't appreciate the kind comments and intriguing positions of commenters here on this blog, or anywhere else for that matter. But if someone truly has a problem with what I have said, well, that's their problem. They can either deal with, get thicker skin and deal with it that way, or they can just go away and leave me to my own little world over here. Either way, I don't care.

But not everyone is like me. You see, I have this coworker. We'll call him Irish, to protect his real identity which is Trevor McCarthy. Oops, blew that one. Anyways, he gets bored at work and likes to call me to have random discussions about whatever comes up that evening. But last week he had to train a guy for 2 days and then took two days off. He didn't get to talk to me much more than say 5 or 10 minutes. Then, after he finished his days off, it was my turn to take a couple days off. Which meant more time for him to not be able to talk to me. I can see how this would take a toll on his mentality and emotions. For he is a strange individual, and yet extremely in touch with his feminine side, in that he needs to talk on the phone all the time. Anyone who knows me, knows I hate the phone. However, my ego, having sympathy for those who can't help their pathetically inferior lifeforms, entertains his whims so I talk with him. As long as it doesn't interfere with my work, so be it.

Trevor had acquired himself a Facebook profile and had 'friended' me. Everyday a new comment from him would show up. Then a friend of his enjoyed the commentary and decided I was fun and cool or something ridiculous like that. I am not fun, nor cool. I'm merely so mysteriously fascinating, that they couldn't help but be drawn to me and figure out just how such a brilliant mind like mine works. (Hey, it isn't bragging if it's the truth!) So Irish's friend decides to be my Facebook friend as well. Then, less than 48 hours later, I noticed signs that pointed to a life changing emergency.

My email inbox notified me of a comment from Irish. I deleted the notification and would read it when I logged into the Facebook. So I get to Facebook, and look for the comment, but it is nowhere to be found. In fact, Irish is no longer on the Facebook at all. Gone from my friends list, my friends' friend lists, and after doing a search, he was completely erased from the world of Facebook. So I wondered to myself..okay I was talking to myself, all 23 of me...what had happened. Had my brilliance just been so intimidating that he had decided he had to limit his exposure to me merely to our late night phone conversations? Maybe, maybe not. But then I noticed, that my new friend....his friend that thought I was fun...was also no longer on my friend list. Well, this boggles my mind.

I call Irish's phone, to see what had gone wrong. It immediately went to voicemail. I leave a message to call me. He had worked the night before, so maybe he was sleeping. But then later that night when he should've been going to work, I still had not received a call back. Something was clearly wrong. You just do NOT ignore the Mook. The Mook can ignore you, but it doesn't work the other way.

Anyways, I checked published works on social media as found in the James Institute of Medicine's Journal of Faux Medical Conditions, and found a Facebook-Suicide link. You can read more about it right here. It seems, that people with Facebook profiles who become suicidal do things in steps. It starts with erasing their facebook profile. After all, if one does not feel worthy of existing in this world, why would they allow themselves to continue an existence in the virtual world and close knit community of Facebook. The next step, for cellphone users is to shut off their phone. For they have no reason to await any messages from anyone. That, and in their sadistic minds, it gives detectives something else to investigate. All good detectives have to check the phone records in case one of the callers is somehow connected to the suicide...or the murder made to look like a suicide. And also, it may help to determine the timeline of when the person left their mortal world.

So, not having a Facebook page at all, my ego naturally jumped to the conclusion that Irish must've killed himself. As for the other friend, in a petty way of dealing with Irish's sudden death, decided that if she couldn't be his friend, than she couldn't be my friend either. That's just the way things work. Now I know what you're thinking. This guy is off his rocker. That's just not anywhere in the neighborhood of rational thinking. And to that I say, "I never said my ego was rational, it's just all powerful. Just because you don't understand it and find it odd, doesn't mean that my mind isn't functioning properly. I just see the pre-formed conclusions and work my logic back later to make it fit.

Turns out that Irish had not committed suicide. Someone somehow hacked his account, and there was a big mess, and he terminated it, and got himself a new page. Now you're thinking, "But Mook, if your thought process and ego is all powerful, how could it be as wrong as it was?"

Well, it wasn't wrong. You're lucky it doesn't smite you for questioning its grand authority. Clearly Irish did commit suicide of a virtual nature when he killed his Facebook page. He shut off his cellphone. The next step was obvious, but my ego in its infinite wisdom intervened, and made him go take a nap instead of killing himself. It works in mysterious ways, and I can't fully explain it to you. As for the other friend, no longer being my friend, she had assumed the worst between Irish and I and de-friended me as a sign of solidarity with him. Pure defense mechanism stuff, which is all easily explainable in the worlds of psychology and sociology. But he is back and she is back, and my Facebook friends list has been re-populated to its old numbers. Which is a good thing. Had I been a normal person like you, it might have caused me to go get depressed, delete my Facebook page, go shut someone else's cellphone off (I don't own one), and then gone and killed myself....of course, only if my ego didn't interfere and spare my life. I couldn't afford to test the theory out twice in 2 days.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Titles I've Earned or Being Nominated For This Year

1. Rent-a-Cop of the Year 2009 (Nominated)
As the first Rent-a-Cop to have this honor bestowed upon me 2 years in a row, I'm pretty sure I have this one locked in. There are a couple challengers, but as a top notch Rent-a-Cop, I'm not at all threatened by their nominations. After all, they'd have to do something pretty spectacular to unseat a worthy incumbent of this award. Of course it helps to have humility in my job, and I must say I am the most humble person I know.

2. Duck-Duck-Goose Championship of 2009 (WINNER!)
Need I say more? Of course, it was pointed out that as the only participant in the championship round, I easily won because I was able to goose myself, and not able to duck myself in the process. Hard Fought victories are always criticized by those who couldn't achieve such levels of greatness

3. Red Rover Championship of 2009 (Runner Up)
Well, I might have been the champion outright, but due to the fact that I was the victim of a vicious clotheslining on my last run, I had to settle for second place...call me Mr Congeniality. I suppose it also helps to maybe divide the classes of competition by height. The other team was all so tall that every last one of them had their arms as low as they could go....I still couldn't get my head above their arms.

4. 13th Annual Dr James of the Year Award (Nominated)
I have one this very prestigious award within the "internet doctor" community once before, after having my groundbreaking research paper on Cooties published (see short synopsis here) not only within the James Institute of Medicine's Journal of Faux Medical Conditions, but also within the realm of great blogs, such as this one, as well as a few others which were mysteriously erased by the AMA's hit squad of disinformation. I thought my chances were really good on winning this one. Then I read the names and files on the nominees. I still have a chance, however, Dr James II, a clear contender, may end up being the overall winner. In addition to his great medical efforts to create an adoption campaign and process which should conclude in the first half of next year, he also has another distinguishable mark on his record. His efforts in inter-species communication finally saw a breakthrough with this instance. It seems that in an effort to flirt with his wife while driving down the road, he became confused and called her fat. For the full and informative study on this medical miracle go here. The medical miracle here is of course, that he didn't suffer a sudden and violent death. This alone is almost certain to cement him into the winner's circle.
One lucky thing about not being the winner is the fact that the eventual winner has to pay the tab on the banquet ceremony as well as at the pre- and post-ceremony bar gatherings. I shouldn't have to worry about much. My only medical accomplishments this year are my ability to be lazy and sit on my butt, and still lose 17 lbs of bodyweight. Thats right..no fad diets, or exercise programs...I did it all by being lazy.

5. Sexiest Man of the Year- Lovell Household (Nominated)
Being the only adult male in my household, I sure as hell hope I win this one. If not, there are going to be some serious questions to be asked and allegations to be made.

6. Lovell Household Greenthumb Award (Winner)
As the only person in this house to keep a plant alive for over 3 weeks, I was easily declared the winner in this competition.

Assigning Blame For My Son's Sayings

Saying #1: Junk
Culprit: Buggy
Blame: Me
Rate of Saying: Everytime he and his brother fight, or he comes in contact with anyone for contact play purposes.

Unfortunately, it happened once when he headbutted his brother below the belt. My initial reaction was simultaneously trying to hold the laughter back (lets face it, hits to the groin are always funny unless it happens to you) and feeling sympathy. but when I opened my mouth the only thing that emerged was the admonishing statement of telling Buggy "Don't hit your brother in the junk."
And ever since then, the concept of hitting one in the junk, replays in his head over and over again. If he crawls onto my leg to latch onto me, any movement and I hear him state so eloquently, "Oh, Dad, you just hit me in the junk!"
He's overly dramatic, and I believe is actually looking for excuses to just say the word "junk" in reference to his groin. This is of course the boy who would stand outside on the sidewalk, and in an awkward attempt to amuse his father, and punch himself down there and then laugh....repeated several times, because apparently his activity overrides my authority to tell him to stop doing that.

Saying #2: Nipples
Culprit: Buggy
Blame: I HAVE NO IDEA!!! (seriously)

The other evening, prior to supper, Buggy and Josh are wrestling. Josh was getting hot, so he goes to take off his sweatshirt. Buggy, in mirrored emulation starts to take off his single t-shirt, and loudly and boldly proclaims, "OHHHH, So you want to show off our little nipples, huh?!"
He has mentioned his nipples in the past, and continues to occasionally mention them still- again, despite efforts of both myself and his mother to tell him to quit talking like that. And again, his "fun with vocabulary" is still overriding any parental authority.

Saying #3: Payback
Culprit: Buggy (yes again, its always him)
Blame: again, I have no idea where it came from, although this one saying I'm okay with him using.

Everytime Josh gets the better of Buggy when wrestling, or takes the kind of random cheap shot out of nowhere, like siblings do from time to time, Bug is insistent on paying it back. I've heard the statements come forth in various forms:

1. "Oh that's IT, Josh. You're going to get the payback now!"
2. (When Josh is still in wrestling mode and Buggy can't get the upperhand) "You're
NOT playing fair Josh...you need to come here and turn around so you can get your payback!"
3. "Dad, Josh wont let me give him his payback!!!"
4. (as he and Josh are in the middle of grappling, and it looks more like a bear hugging anywhere on the body contest) "You're gonna get it, you're getting payback! I'm gonna give you the payback you deserve!"
5. "But Dad, after I was going to choke him out, he flipped me and stepped on my arm. He needs Payback!"

Saying: For no reason...
Culprit: Buggy
Blame: I think this preface for any excuse is biologically rooted into the DNA of every kid. Kind of like the answer of "I don't know" whenever asked why they did something.

This particular saying is usually accompanied with my cat, The Esteemed Colonel Beauregard Sterling Lovell, having peeled back ears, wild eyes, and a twitching tail. He gets a little worked up sometimes. And usually right about the time I here the words "for no reason" I also see the Colonel lunging at Buggy and try to dig claws into his torso and eat him.

The cat goes through severe mood swings....sleeping and full on Pscyho Killer Kitty. If Buggy is running through the house, and the cat is in one of his moods, he may well get chased by the cat as he streaks on by. Of course Buggy is encouraged by this, and baits the cat into doing this two or three more times. If the Colonel becomes bored, he does what cats do best: Make it quite clear they aren't going to even bother feigning interest. But then what does Buggy do in return for the snub? He goes up and starts patting the Colonel on the head, or back, or pet his belly. This is a very dangerous maneuver during the Colonel's wild moments of the day. But, since I do it, you know, to TRAIN the attack kitty, apparently buggy thinks he's as much or more of a man than me, so he can do it too. But then the Colonel leaps at Buggy and tries to eat him. Then those words, "Colonel is trying to attack me FOR NO REASON", and thats when it happens. Unfortunately, I never have a video camera ready to go, because it is quite the humorous sight to see.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Mythological Jobs Created and Saved in Mythological Places

Some of the mythological places these jobs have been saved and/or created are hidden in some alternate universe that overlays our very own United States. The other mythological places are brought into existence in the real world through a budget line, yet by admission of some in charge of these jobs, the saved jobs were never in danger even without the stimulus. The jobs created were also found to be duplicate jobs in the form of pay raises to current employees. Others yet, are just plain ludicrous no matter what angle you wish to find them. The following two sub-posts here are courtesy of Dan McLaughlin at RedState.com.


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Your Tax Dollars At Liesure
Posted by Dan McLaughlin (Profile)

Monday, November 16th at 12:55PM EST

19 Comments
The Washington Examiner spots the pattern from multiple news reports:

More than ten percent of the jobs the Obama administration has claimed were “created or saved” by the $787 billion stimulus package are doubtful or imaginary, according to reports compiled from eleven major newspapers and the Associated Press.

Based only on our analysis of stimulus media coverage in the last two weeks, The Examiner has created this interactive map to document exaggerated stimulus claims. The map, which will be updated as new revelations appear, currently reflects an exaggeration by the Obama administration of about 75,000 jobs, out of the 640,000 jobs supposedly “created or saved.”

Read the whole thing, and don’t miss clicking on the link for the map. Ah, well, it’s only $787 billion, I’m sure there’s more where that came from.
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PART TWO

Unicorns, Leprechauns and Jobs Created By the Stimulus
Posted by Dan McLaughlin (Profile)

Monday, November 16th at 4:17PM EST

Somewhere in these 57 states, there exist Congressional Districts between sight and sound, in which Barack Obama is “creating jobs” that do not exist for constituents of Congresspersons who do not exist either,reports Jonathan Karl of ABC News:

Here’s a stimulus success story: In Arizona’s 9th Congressional District, 30 jobs have been saved or created with just $761,420 in federal stimulus spending. At least that’s what the website set up by the Obama Administration to track the $787 billion stimulus says.

There’s one problem, though: There is no 9th Congressional District in Arizona; the state has only eight Congressional Districts.

There’s no 86th Congressional District in Arizona either, but the government’s recovery.gov Web site says $34 million in stimulus money has been spent there.

In fact, Recovery.gov lists hundreds of millions spent and hundreds of jobs created in Congressional districts that don’t exist.

Read the whole thing (did you know the Northern Mariana Islands had 99 Congressional Districts? Neither did I.)

I can’t wait for these guys to run the Census, can you?

Saturday, November 14, 2009

A Birthday and A Beating

All started out well. My Pseudo-brother Jeremiah's son Jaden had his 1st birthday. His wife Holly had the party at her parents' house, as there was more room there than at their place. And good thing, as the turnout was the biggest I had ever seen for a 1 year old's birthday in my life. Good food, good cake and ice cream, good people. Not much more you could ask for in a birthday party.

The presents came, and Jaden was interested at first only in one of the cards, but eventually became enamored with one toy, while other children helped open his presents. Daddy Miah was videotaping the event, while Mommy Holly took care of overseeing the present opening. Holly did a good job, as most mothers do at these sorts of things. Miah on the other hand...very different story. On more than one occasion he almost slipped up and gave away the fact he was watching more of the Iowa-OSU game that started just as the present opening began. I also caught him videotaping me...and I'm pretty sure he was checking out my crotch. Thought I saw a little wink and a nod right after that. He is a weird one.

After the gift opening, the party divided into factions. Most people upstairs, a few of us downstairs watching the game. Then came Buggy downstairs, who decided to pick a fight with uncle Miah. It didn't work out so well for Buggy, but eventually Miah was relieved by my other son Josh. They went back and forth for quite awhile, providing some entertainment in addition to the game on TV. Holly's son, Gary and another girl got in on the action. Aunt Janine's son Austin, a 15 year old boy got in on it. Buggy tagged him in to help out against Josh. Austin proved too much for Josh, but this didn't stop Buggy from splashing in on his brother a few times for god measure. It ended up a bit of a free-for-all for a short period of time. And then before I knew it, I was pulled into the match.

Now, if all information was filtered through the actual truth and common sense channels, this would be the story:

Austin is a kid I haven't seen in quite a long time. In fact during the first say 3 years of his life, I had seen more of him than I had since he started school. The boy is 15, and today was maybe the second time of his school life I had met up with the young lad. Well, we tangled, after he decided to jump up on my back. I found it rather amusing at first. He sort of rested his hands on my shoulders, checked me with a little pressure as if to see if I would tell him no, before jumping up and wrapping me into a half-hearted headlock. Once I laughed him off and walked around with him hanging onto me, he tightened it up a bit. So, I obliged him with some effort of my own. It went back and forth for a while, eventually resulting in me tapping out. Right near the end, we went into a roll, I involuntarily tried to simultaneously eat and nasally inhale some portion of his body, heard some kind of popping noise from my face, and ended up in a well executed supine side headlock. That's when I tapped out.

I could make some excuses that my wife was ready to leave, and would leave me there if I didn't come upstairs to leave very soon. I could say that I wasn't going to actually choke Austin into unconsciousness. Both are very true statements, but in the effort to not make excuses, I was plain out-stubborned. Neither of us, given an indefinite time limit, may have gone until one of passed out, and /or broke a bone. Well, passed out. I have a feeling that even with broken arms, legs and ribs, we still would've attempted to wait the other one out. But, I have to give it to the kid. He was tough, flexible, and as stubborn as anyone I know. So, I tapped out. I now sport some good bruising action. The top front of my nose is one big bruise, I have a bruising striped along the front of my right nostril, and another one on the left side of the bridge of my nose. It doesn't hurt so much, but it looks pretty bad, and is somewhat annoying. The upside is, I think him smashing my nose worked the nostrils into a wider position allowing me to actually breathe easier.

HOWEVER, we all know all information is filtered and geared toward an agenda. Going through the Mook News Network is no different. Here is that version of the truth:

OLD MAN MUGGED BY YOUNG STREET HOODLUM!!!
Dateline Altoona Iowa 14November2009

What started off as a calm birthday celebration and a football game for an old man took a turn for the worse. Minding his own business, The Mook suddenly was attacked from behind by some young punk. The old man never stood a chance. Pummelled and pounded repeatedly, The Mook fought the good fight. However, his attacker, being half his age and full of youthful energy that had long since been sapped from the old prize fighter.

The Mook was checked out by doctors at the James Medical Institute, and diagnosed with a deviated septum, severe rhino-contusions, a separated exterior nostril wall, and a broken ego. The Mook was quoted through an overheard conversation that he would've taken the young whippersnapper had it been face to face, instead of this surprise attack from behind loaded with cheap shots. Reportedly stolen was his blind-guy's walking stick thingy, his AARP and Medicare cards, and some random medications.

Current Rent-a-Cop investigations have come up with two possible theories for the attack. It has been narrowed down to a random act of gang violence, or a specific attack for the purpose of stealing identity and drugs. One certain Rent-a-Cop, who chose to remain anonymous had this to say about the day's vicious attack, "Darn kids these days...always out to strike fear into innocent citizens, and all to satisfy their drug habits, make money that other people work hard for. And they're all just crazy, although this one, it seems the insanity runs in the family.

The Mook has decided to put it out there publicly that he wants his rematch at a future time, after his face heals. Despite better judgement, he feels he can hang with this kid. And any other kid half his age for that matter!

Monday, November 9, 2009

Random Observations of Localized Events

First off, Ninja Kitties. Might be an even bigger threat to us than headless chickens. Not sure, but President Obama has personally assured me that he will have a team of researchers look into this. Now I know what you're thinking. President Obama and I don't exactly mesh politically, so why would he have personal conversations with me? Well, there is one really good explanation for that. I am a really really important person. My self-importance was so overflowing that it seeped out into the real world. President Obama realizes this, and has determined, through the use of well placed mobile teleprompters that my input is actually valuable on a global level to the point of conducting useless threat assessments of unverifiable and illusory entities. Anyways, back to ninja kitties...

While on the job, I pulled around to the back of the parking lot at St Luke's, to scan my babysitter strip, which can verify that I actually went to this place instead of just saying I did. I pull up about 5 to 6 feet away from the light pole that the strip is on. As I open the door, a flat-faced, fat but mean looking kitty backs away from the pole itself by about 5 to 6 feet. It stares at me, just licking its chops repeatedly. I approach the pole to scan the strip and I look down and see a lifeless squirrel laying in a depression behind the pole. Neither the evil ninja kitty or the squirrel were there on my previous stop almost 2 hours prior. The ninja kitty gave me my room, but showed no signs of fear. He just stared me down, still licking away at his chops in some sort of OCD-like manner.

Now, being in full Rent-a-Cop battle rattle, I had no fear of this kitty, ninja or not. I turned away and walked the 5 or 6 feet back to my car. I closed the door, and I looked back towards the cat. But Ninja Kitty was GONE!! I walk back to the pole and the squirrel...ALSO GONE. This was by no means a small squirrel, He had been plenty healthy in the girth department, and quite long. I wouldn't call the squirrel fat, but he was definitely husky, maybe big boned. Removing him from sight with no sound or sign of removal is quite a task. Either Ninja Kitty is one helluva ninja, OR....there was an entire squad of ninja kitties waiting in the tree branches above and in the treeline at the edge of the lot. All I know, is I saw a squirrel, and then I didn't see a squirrel. Spooky stuff, those ninja kitties!

THE TALK READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED HERE for mature material and sexual undertones

So my wife has been busy all year bullying me. She wants me to give "the talk" to my 10 year old son. There are a few problems with this. A- My mom of all people attempted to give me the talk. I ignored it in favor of the current sitcom on TV at the moment. Gave her a few "yeah yeah"s and "I know"s. B- I don't have clue one how to give 'the talk', and C- its my son:

God love the boy, but he is definitely still in the "girls have cooties" stage, and he pretty much doesn't notice girls unless they are playing in the game of tag with him. And he definitely doesn't notice girls as anything other than "not boys". but either way, they are going to have the "health class" sometime this school year where they tell boys about the changes and stuff. The girls get their own. I personally back in my day, would have preferred to pay the admission to that show. It has to be clearly more interesting than speaking about my stuff in medical terms. Besides, I had already seen my own stuff. Not much interest in staring at it.

So, my wife takes the youngest to the grocery store and suggests that TODAY WILL BE THE DAY YOU TALK TO THE BOY!...I had very adeptly pushed this talk off since she learned the class was coming and didn't want the school to be the one to introduce him to the subject.

So the talk was pretty bland. "Look, you are gonna get hair in your armpits at some point," I tell him. I am informed he knows that already. Fantastic, one idea down. Tackle the easy stuff first, then move on to the more delicate stuff. "And your stuff," I continue, "You're gonna get hair down there too" His response is "EEEWWWWW". I comforted him in the knowledge that none of us are pleased with that development, but that in fairness, women get hair down there too. Again with the "EWWWW" followed by a bit of cackling. As with most things, it seems the idea of bad stuff happening to other people is funny. Even if it sucks when its you as the victim, you'll still laugh at other people's expenses. Just the way our hideous minds work. I informed him, that as a blond it may not be so bad for him as it is for say, me, a darker haired individual Then I informed him that his stuff would also get a bit bigger. Again with the cackling. Clearly this is still beyond his maturity in comprehension. Hell its well beyond MY maturity in delivering the information. we weren't going into the sex talk yet...thank god...I may have had a stroke and died if I had to go there with a 10 year old. But, I still had to go way further than I wanted to. I had to explain that he will be going through hormone changes...he will begin to get funny feelings about girls where he actually starts to like them. I was greeted with a confused look, another "EWW" and a bit of nervous cackling to boot. Well, I think to myself...at least he isn't asking technical in depth questions that will task my abilities here. I would honestly rather be caught in the middle of a gunfight than deal with this. Hell I'd rather explain the technical details of what's going on with a newly lobotomized-by-gunfire brain laying in the street next to us in the middle of said firefight. I proceeded to explain the developing nature that kids his age only know as "the pre-morning pee" phenomenon, and how it would happen randomly from time to time, and not just for peeing. I explained that this is normal, and not to worry about it. He laughs some more.

If I were being graded on my ability to give this lecture, I assure you, not only would I get an "F", but I would be permanently banned from applying for any instructional position again. WOOF! was I glad to get that over with. Anyone want to volunteer to take the BIG talk with the kid for me?

So, on a related note, Buggy, our youngest clearly gets crushes on the pretty women. I'm pretty sure his teacher falls in that category. So, somehow or another, the nature of the conversation gets focused onto the oldest one, you know, "giggle at hair on YOUR private parts, but disgusted by it on his own" boy. Somehow his mom asks him if he likes any girls in his class, or any other class or whatever. He continues to look down and deny things. Oh, we grilled him for the better part of 15minutes as he attempted to deflect the conversation away from him with the ever clever "What question?" when asked to answer a question. It has been determined as I mentioned above, that he barely recognizes a girl as anything other than "not a boy". It turns out, none of he and his other guy friends even talk about the local chicks in the school yard. these kids these days....they are either smarter than we were, or not as mature in the ways of adult life at that age as we were in my generation.

Hell, I had a girlfriend when I was in the 2nd grade. She didn't know it, but yeah, she was my girlfriend. I walked her home from school once in awhile since she was going my way. I of course had to deny liking her when the older boys come around. Don't want to let her think she's got me locked down. I was 8 and a happening dude, gotta keep my options open, ya know. When her family moved away, I was heartbroken. Probably the most devastated guy I knew. Even made me cry in front of my mom. That only made things worse. Heartbroken and humiliated. As a man, crying in front of women, mom or not, was just unacceptable. I'm sure I had to change into superhero underwear to console my manhood after that moment. Either way I survived. And of course, all us guys were talking smack about who we liked, and what we'd do with those girls. Yeah, we really were studs. Strip down to our unds, turn on the 70s porn music and watch a kid who had no idea what to even do if he got there, try to put the sexy moves on some chick.

When I was 6 I had the biggest crush on this lady named Marlee. She was a friend of my aunt and mom. Ran into her at some party or get together or something at my aunt's house while we were out in California. I found Marlee, and then I was just talking my head off, finding ways to impress this older woman. She didn't know it, but she was my girlfriend at that point. She had replaced the babysitter who lived at the end of the block, I had left back in Iowa for a couple weeks. Yeah, I was quite the little Casanova. So good at my game, that I could occupy her time all afternoon and keep her from the rest of the adults...she was enamored with me, I know it, but in the end, I had to tell her t let me go. I had to go back to Iowa and elementary school and stuff. It was definitely better for her that we end it there, and let her find a man 'more deserving' than me. Yeah, I know, who is more deserving than me, but I know how to let a chick down gently. You have to, their gentle hearted creatures, and you never know what kind of psychological things might go on in their head if you mess them up too bad!

Then there was Junior high. I was informing my son, who didn't like any girls in his grade, (after asking him if he liked the 6th graders instead) informing him that its okay to go after the older chicks. Mentioned how I had a junior high English teacher, Ms. Forbes. She was beautiful, and I almost mentioned a highly touted and admired portion of her female anatomy, before I cut myself off realizing I was still talking to my 10 yr old son. My wife was just about ready to cold cock me to keep me from continuing on down the path of THAT story. But yeah, ALL the guys thought she was the hottest teacher we'd ever met. And of course, more stories about how we'd do things to her, and she'd be all flattered by us. Yeah, we were clearly trying to bat way out of our league. Not that it mattered. She was an old fashioned teacher. You know, one that doesn't go around sleeping with her students, like all these young ones do today that keep showing up in the news and on courtroom dockets across the country. Damn shame too. I would've wooed her with perfect grammar, and then well...you know, be a stud and all that stuff....just as soon as I found my superhero underwear.

But yeah, back to the conversation at the table with the boy. I tried all kinds of ways to trip him up in his own words. Now I have broken this boy before, and made him admit to his lying ways. He hates being grilled. I even told him about how we 'tortured' Noriega in Panama before him surrendering to U.S. forces, and how I could adapt that here until he gave up the girl's name that he likes. But he held strong. One of two things is going on here. He is either learning how to use the force properly and withstand my interrogations (not likely) or he really has a bona fide non-interest in the women folk at this point. And as far as I'm concerned, as his dad, I'm okay with that. Let the boy wait longer than I did, and I'll be happy.