All this blog Needs is a Buzz Phrase

Act Now and in 38000 easy payments (that’s less than a cost of a cup of coffee folks) these scrubbing bubbles with activate the activated charcoal along with these scientifically proven moisture pockets residing within the patented vortex wind funnel cleaning wand.

That sure got your attention Huh? Wow that was exciting! I could just picture myself wet-dry cleaning an elephant and even the elephant’s wrinkles would be squeaky clean. Finally! Heck knows even elephants deserve clean wrinkles.

Everywhere I look it seems there are MADMEN creating brilliantly annoying advertising campaign’s just lousy with buzz phrases. (Or is that lousy advertising with annoying buzz phrases??) Only in commercials do we find out that Bounty is the quicker picker upper (I would hate to see it be the slower, I will get that tomorrow, non-picker downer), Gerber’s baby food has Comfort Proteins, Zip lock bags have snap and fresh seal technology, Fresh Step Cat Litter has activated freshness molecules, and further learn that it only takes wearing a lab coat and a buzz phrase and voila! I can convince you that super-duper smart scientists worked around the clock (with no bathroom break mind you) to create this thigamabob that makes your life complete.

I have some burning questions: Is secret really strong enough for a man, but made for a woman? And will a man blow up into a bazillion little pieces if he wears it any way? Is Irish Spring made in Ireland? Are the thoughts of a dead turkey wrapped in Reynolds wrap protected against Alien thought invasion? Are Colgate cleaning molecules treated differently at the local bar as opposed to regular molecules? Are flavor pockets related to Flavor Flav? (yeeeeeeeee boy) and just what exactly is dry weave technology?

I am beginning to suspect the writers who used to create the techno-babble heard in a Star Trek episode now make up buzz phrases heard in commercials. Maybe if I employ the interlocking viral blog packets then its slightly possible fiber optic cyber freshness seal molecules will dry weave a nice cardigan sweater for me.

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So when exactly do I get to pick out my “Old Man Outfit”??

I turned 50 last year, I am looking 51 dead in the eye in six more months. It has me worried. The reason why is based on trips to Walmart, any grocery store, the hardware store, The DMV, Doctors offices, and just pumping gas into my minivan. While I am at any location really there is a growing number of people growing old. A lot of these older people (older than me I am pointing out here) are men. The majority of them have somehow, in someway have decided to wear (with very slight variations) the same outfit. Its as if there is a store that caters to grumpiness, never ending stories of working on their car, garage, boat, cabinets, memories of war, and the last pork chop they ate. 

The outfits seem to consist of: jeans, coveralls, work pants (if you say dockers they will slap you for being a sissy), a dress shirt (normally plaid, printed in some manly fashion without looking to frilly), suspenders (seems to be a MUST HAVE item) a belt (I guess the suspenders are a back up just in case the belt goes out or visa-versa), and a hat. 

The hat seems to open to interpretation just as long it does not have fruit on top of  and is completely void of a bow or ribbon included. Baseball cap seems to be a nice popular choice just as long as you wear it like a real man and stop trying to look like a rap artist, or someone with a mental problem.  What is inscribed/written on the baseball hat seems to be important also. Letting people know your a war veteran and that you were Killing people in foreign lands while they were still nursing will get you some serious nursing home Cred. 

Bowlers, Pork Pie hats(Think Walter White from Breaking Bad), Fedora’s, and even Richard Petty style cowboy hats can be acceptable wear. If your stuck in traffic behind a slow moving vehicle chances are good the driver is a old man in a hat (or he left his hat at home).

What confuses me is 1. when exactly did these legions of old men decide to start wearing the same outfit? And 2. Now that I am getting older am I required to follow suit? When exactly do I start turning the garden hose on the neighbors kids?, Complain about the meatloaf at the local cafeteria?, start smelling like I poured a entire bottle of Old Spice on myself?, Have a handshake that feels like Solid Rock?, tell stories of the car I put back together with nothing more than a piece of wire and a can of WD40?, threaten to put my foot up someones wazoo?, smack people on the back of the head just for being a dumb ass? The questions never end.

An Ode to Wendy O. Williams (and the Plasmatics)

::We interrupt this Blog with a chainsaw::
Believe it or not my first introduction to Wendy O. Williams was during a English class in high school. Mr. (sorry I can’t remember his last name) rolled in a TV, and VCR from the AV department and proceeded to shock, stimulate, and barrage our ears and eyes with the magic wonder and mystery that was Wendy O. Williams. He made it clear he was a big fan of hers and since she is famous for her Mohawk (did she have a mohawk? I was not paying attention to her hair at the time), strategically placed electrical tape/pasties/clothes?, and taking a chainsaw to a car while performing most of the guys in the class (who knows, maybe a couple of girls also) became instant fans also.

Mind you, this is during the early 80’s when MTV actually played music videos and it just got so crazy as to what and who would be shown on MTV it seemed like it was open season on the ears, eyes, and whatever sensibilities there may have been left over from the post disco studio 54 age. MTV garnered the reputation of being almost like a pirate radio station. You watched it during the day with your parents and they would be kind enough to show simple minds or Tiffany and when you watched late at night you just might get to see Punk Bands, Billy Idol, and even Wendy O. Williams. A complete overload of orange, green, purple hair, tattoos, piercings, ripped jeans, and badass anti-establishement rock music.

Because I truly want my blog to be rated G (PG at best) I will not post a youtube video here as an example. Never mind Lady Gaga, or Nicki Minaj, they are just mere novices when compared to the fierce full throttle bat in the face explosion that was Wendy O. Williams. Now where did I leave that chainsaw??

Give us a (awkward) hug

Hug Steve

Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!

Is it me? Or is there a younger, hipper, less emotionally damaged generation who is hell bent on hugging? Now mind you, I am not stating for the record that I am against hugs. They are great!… but only from a select few people I actually would like to receive one from. The approved hug list pretty much revolves family and close friends. Even then there are exceptions to the rules I have put in place as to who exactly I will and wont hug. Complete strangers are not totally of the question (like say: Sofía Vergara can hug me anytime she wants) it just has to go through my very complicated application process.

Don’t even get me started on “group hugs”. UGH no thanks, I would much rather be bitten by a Vampire covered in leaches being half eaten by a zombie killer shark from another planet. Then there is the completely random, UN-announced, so not expected hug. Yes it has happened to me, and can I say? I am not so much of a fan. Fist bump? Heck yeah! (and make it explode on the way out) hand shake? Yes! (I welcome a firm hand shake) but hugging is just something completely personal, in my personal space, and needs approval. (I will send you a application form to fill out)

A friend, and Pastor of mine is a hugger. I learned real quick to be hugged with our without my permission. I love God, and I love you sir, but can I just give you a handshake? Or a high five? At this point I want to invent a hug proof vest. (unless you are Sofía Vergara)

Thank God I’m a confused City Boy (who lives in the country)

Cattle

The Cows Think my minivan is sexy

I was born, raised, and lived most of my life in a major metropolitan area. City boy is a good term and I am not sure at this point whether its something I need to be apologetic about or not. All I know is because I have lived “Up North” most of my life. Have had only a little exposure to farms, cows, hay, pick-up trucks (never owned or operated one in my life), living “Down South”, or in the “country”.

My lovely bride and I recently moved to the Southern portion of our great nation within the last month. I was fully warned (and then some) by my sister of the culture shock I may possibly experience. The pace is slower (unless your driving then you better pick up the speed or get ran over) and so is the speech pattern of most folk (I feel that’s an appropriate term). People like to talk to you randomly, are actually friendly, out going and this freaks out most of us city people who are convinced they are up to something (I personally blame movies like “Children Of The Corn” for this phenomenon).

We have highways, freeways, and outer-belts in the city. They are highly congested with cars, car exhaust, painfully slow little old men in hats (with their left blinker on), slow little old women (with their right blinker on), speed demon morons, four wheel snow driving pin heads, plenty of head aches and Road rage. They have “highways” (only because of the comparison I use the term loosely) in the country. They are certainly not as congested, have a tendency to have more cows, farms, men (and women) in overall’s, and a lot less Star Bucks, CVS’s, Fast food places, gas stations, and Mega-Big box stores every five feet.

My drive to work is more scenic now. I have less cars, people, and urban blight to gaze upon and more of God’s beauty. The stuff that confuses me is when I am driving (what my city saturated mind would consider) down a “country” road and then find a speed bump. Don’t ask me why my obviously snooty britches mind would not expect country folk to want to protect their school age (or otherwise) children (or crazy uncle Ed.. Bless his heart) from being plowed over by (well.. a plow) a John Deer tractor or Pick up truck going a bazillion miles and hour. My sister also blew my mind by telling me they have a transport service that actually can be arranged for the elderly, or disabled. So again I find myself feeling pretty crappy that I obviously am assuming that sunshine just got pumped down here. Pardon me folk’s, I am truly am a cityiot.

The Macho Man Vs The Sensitive Circus Clown

macho_man_randy_savage

One of my favorite bloggers touched on what exactly makes a man.. well manly? I have always rejected the square peg meets round hole stereo types, and notions. Mostly because I am willing to openly admit I don’t meet most of the what I personally feel are stupid notions. Men are tough, men don’t cry, men like being sweaty and dirty, men eat coal and crap diamonds, men are hunters, men hate hugging, men don’t show their feelings, men love fast cars and loose women, men wear beards (with no real offense meant to the real cast) and look like the cast of Duck Dynasty. The completely ridiculous Macho Man Randy Savage list goes on and on. Give me a break!

My older brother I feel certainly fits the bill of what I personally term a “Mans man”. He hunts, he owns and operates guns, he wears a lot of camouflage, rides a motorcycle, is moody, broody, and is more prone to punch you in the face or give you a hearty fist bump rather than give you a hug (just think of the uber-male that you see portrayed in a beer commercial and you get the idea) . Me on the other hand, I am not any of that at all. I (big surprise here) am more prone to be the sensitive hugging joker creative artistic clown who loves pretty flowers, puppy’s, and is easily distracted by laser lights and shiny objects. I love to wear colorful clothes, make my own accessories (necklaces, wrist bands), I am sorta obsessive about my clothes and how they match, have dyed my hair several colors, and yes I am thoroughly heterosexual without question because lets just say there are certain parts of the female anatomy that just send me into outer space.

This is not to say that I don’t have my moments as a typical guy (or husband). Even after being married for 25 years and knowing my wife for 30, I still have to remind myself that she really doesn’t want me to “fix” her problems (per say) but really just wants me to listen. Good luck ladies, guys are built to be builders, fixers, and problem solvers and anytime there is a chance to use tools, or duct tape we loose ourselves like a golden retriever looses itself over a tennis ball.

I guess my point here is to NEVER allow anyone, anywhere, for any reason try to pigeon hole you, control you, and tell you that you don’t fit the description of a Man or Woman. I tend not to trust public opinion because I never cared to do something just because “everyone is doing it”. In-fact, if anything I have always reserved the right to make my own mind at my own pace about my own life with no apologies for doing so. If you don’t like me or the way I do things then that is your problem not mine.