Education...

The best part about Sunday dinner is getting feedback about my blog.  Unfortunately there are always people trying to change the subject, which requires me to spin the convo back to the subject of: ME!  It's like marketing hour for me, and it gets exhausting.  People are always misquoting me and what not, so I have to correct them (I'm real anal about quotations).  Then there are always some people that think they're so frickin' amazing, they're basically overcome with jealousy, so they act like they're tooooo cool to participate in the blog talk.

The reason that feedback is so important to me, is because I need to know that my fans are getting every penny's worth.  That's right, I'm in it for you.  It would be nice if people would comment, on the blog, so that I didn't have to go to Sunday dinner with several people I can't stand; yet they can't get enough of me.  What I'm getting at folks, is that if you're just rushing through these posts you're not getting a full education.  You need to participate.  If you don't, it's basically like going to college for nothing but job training.  Where's the education in that?

I'm extremely grateful for the curmudgeon English teacher that I had my freshman year in college.  He spoke of our decaying society with such disdain.  I was thrilled that someone could be so disappointed with modern pop-culture, that he would start using bigger words with more sting and spoke as if his pulpit were 100 ft in the air.  The "mall world" is what he called it.  The man refused to memorize his social security number, because it was not his identity.  I'm generally a fan of verbal abuse, but when it came from this guy I left the class so disoriented that I didn't even know my name.  Talk about getting your money's worth in education.  I wish that I wasn't so lazy, just so that I could have a list if things that get under my skin a mile long, just like that guy.  To be obsessed to the point where you'd probably love to make a student cry, that's dedication.
Image via Wikipedia
He talked about how the mall world schools didn't teach us anything anymore so we had to take precious time to learn parts of speech.  We were lucky that such a knowledgeable individual would even speak to us unworthy creatures.  I would be shaking with embarrassment as he rounded the room dissecting a sentence.  When it was our turn we had to declare which part of speech was being represented by each word.  He spanked us all over the place, and it was one of the greatest learning experience I received.  It had nothing, yet everything, to do with my major.  Priceless humiliation.

I stand next to my teacher, when I believe that public education is crap!  (Don't start building your case about how my spelling or sentence structure is still just barely above a 5th grade level.  And if you do you better make me cry.  You really think I have time to edit while still meeting the demands of so many fans?)  So anyways I want to congratulate my number one fan (I don't mention names often, but she deserves it and besides she realizes the waste of time it would be to try to sue me for defamation.  Although the claim would have to be on other grounds, because defamation insinuates de-faming, but this is more of an entry to fame).  Without further adieu, thank you Aunt Melissa!  Why is she number one?  Let's just say she stays up til 3 am waiting for a post and if I happened to be too lazy that night, she can't sleep.  Besides that she's been a great promoter.  If there is any promotion worth praise, it's the kind that has no price tag.  She even texted me to inform me that my layout was not functional on her browser, even though it looked fine on my Mac.  Just so you know my last post had nothing to do with her (it had everything to do with her).  What really impressed me today, was to learn that she makes her oldest daughter read my posts before she can do anything else, including homework.  So we could also award her mother of the year.  All I know is that she's on her way to earning one of my static pages that I never have time to update.

Why would anyone force this on their children, you ask?  Because they see the true value in education.  Do you think your kids brains are just soaking up all that crap, that their teachers spray all over them?  No.  No. And NO.  You can't hold a candle to this education you're receiving before your eyes.  Maybe I don't have a diploma to offer, but I can give you some recycled toilet paper worth the diploma of any "prestigious" schools.  That's about the current worth of my diploma anyways.

Soak it up...

P.S. Sleep well auntie...

Go ahead waste your time-

• The Future For Education (whatithinktank.wordpress.com)
• Reasons Why a High School Education is Important (brighthub.com)
• Avoid a Phony College Degree and Diploma Mill (brighthub.com)

Cougartown...

Once again, people are seeking my advice about the great mysteries of life.  The subject at hand is dating.  Now, lucky for me, I married the girl of my dreams 7 years ago, and have managed to change the subject every time she starts to question her decision.  So my opinion on this subject comes from a very practical point of view.  When your single and horny, your mind is in survival mode.  This is often referred to as fight or flight.  Unfortunately, unless your prospect shows obvious characteristics of a serial killer, that collects human flesh, you'll generally fight (wrestling type, that usually takes place in a bedroom or rental car).  You see, all these crazy hormones when bottled up for soooo long, start bouncing around and prevent neurons from reaching your frontal brain lobes.  This is the part of the brain that controls impulsivity, attention, organization, etc.  Basically you're retarded...

Image via Wikipedia

So, love hungry cougars listen up!  Since you're currently experiencing a frontal lobe shutdown, I will balance you out with some practical knowledge.  

Lesson #1-  This is a hard fact to face ladies, but if you're searching for a dude over thirty and single, you might as well hunt the psych ward.  All the prime catches, such as myself , have been snatched up (of course I won't compare all others to me, because that would set the bar too high).  I had to take a whole week off of work just to sort through some pretty impressive dowries, after another week of negotiations I was able to get the women I wanted.  This is generally why cougars are forced to go for young meat, because they can afford it and they deserve someone who has yet to be declared crazy.  I suppose if the young are willing to satisfy the wildest dreams of the middle age, they too deserve a little somethin'.  I get it, it's a win-win.

Lesson #2- Social media is big!  If I were in the dating game, I would be a huge fan of this dating medium mainly because I'm lazy.  You can knockout the first 5-10 dates, while sitting on the couch with your laptop.  On the other hand, do you really want to get with someone as lazy as you?  How will the house every get cleaned?  People are reconnecting on facebook with people that they never had the chance to get with in high school.  Those are dangerous bottled up hormones at work, from an era in your life when control over such was next to impossible. This has become a horrible problem for many marriages too, which is why I don't friend former female classmates.  The problem with this hook-up method for those who are free to date, is that it's all completely driven by nostalgia.  We all know that the problem with nostalgia is that we only remember the good things.  Don't kid yourself, especially if you were raised in some po-dunk town in say... Montana.  You were fishing in a tiny sea in high school, it's time to think global.

Lesson#3-  Online dating is not much different from facebook, but it deserves our attention.  Beware!  Anyone can claim anything, or slightly fudge the facts online.  They could post a profile picture from their best looking days.  Think of me, I tell people how cool I am in nearly every post, yet if people really knew me, they would be blown away by the amount of awesomeness all bottled up in just one package.  The other thing about the internet is you might be hooking up with some 10 year old punk kid who's just messing with you.

So I've basically said what's wrong with different forms of modern dating and have offered almost no solutions.  So what do I propose...?

I don't know!  I'm not a dating expert.  My daily goals involve trying not to piss off my wife by 9am.  If I succeed, I shoot for noon.  Then 3, then 6, and so on.  I've rarely made it passed 3 and that's why I love her... cuz she's still here.

Chin up horn balls, don't settle for less just because it's convenient...

Here's a little education for y'all.  I strive to delivery a learning experience.

• What Are the Lobes of the Brain? (brainz.org)
• Will Brain Surgery Cure My Schizophrenia? (everydayhealth.com)
• Frontal Lobes (calla5.wordpress.com)

Stud finder...

Despite the countless cries for fifteen minutes of fame, from my entourage at Sunday dinner, I need to discuss a matter of importance.  This post, as no surprise, came to me while in the shower.  (I figure if I point that out at least once a week, it will encourage all the stay-at-home moms and all the single ladies, to put down their romance novels, that no doubt have pictures of my body on the cover with the face of some goon superimposed over mine, long enough to read my blog.  Minor note- I've been through several legal battles with fitness magazines, but how these ninja-like romance photographers get shots of me in nothing but animal hide is beyond my imagination.  I'm not sure if these ladies are actually reading the content of my blog, or just imagining the creative process.  Either way it sells.  As a nice bi-product, this fills my wife with the only jealousy that I could profit from.  She becomes eager to lash out at any women glancing in my direction, even when I'm driving the freaking mini-van in the dark and there's some girls three cars over at a stop light.)
Image via Wikipedia
Anyways, that was a pretty good tangent, even for me.  About a week ago I noticed that my sister-in-law was trying this whole "gauges" phenomenon in her ears.  You know, they try to make a hoola hoop out of their ear lobes.  This type of fashion statement fascinates me on so many accounts, that I could have an entire blog dedicated to the subject.  First of all, "gauge" wearers and founders of the name, that is the crappiest most unoriginal name.  If that's not a healthy serving of irony on a platter for you, I don't know what is.  I get the whole-I want to be original so people can notice me.  I just want to point out time and time again, that your originality is false.  One idiot was probably stoned out of his mind on a couch, watching National Geographic, and saw an indigenous tribe, that had a giant portion of their ear lobes hanging and swinging in the wind.  Stoner was inspired, stoner went to the local piercing joint, stoner asked for thick earnings measured by a unit known as a gauge, stoner goes to party, stoner becomes famous, hundreds of idiots follow.  Just know this- "gauge" is a unit of measurement.  Its abbreviation looks like this- AWG and it means this- American Wire Gauge.  It is used to measure the diameter of wires, rather than saying point twenty-three inches.  The largest measurement is 00 awg,  equalling .46 in.  Now I know there are some people with holes in their heads larger than a half inch.  My point is come up with a more creative name.

I get that the whole point of these "gauges" is to tell the world how much Mommy and Daddy didn't love you.  If you wrote a memoir, you probably would bring us all to tears.  You'd tell us about how you were the first kid to learn of Santa's falsehood, when he gave you a white iPod the same year that black came out, and you asked for black!  After days of mourning over the matter and refusing to allow certain songs to be downgraded and inhabit, said white iPod, you start an investigation.  You learn that your parents have been stuffing your stockings and you refuse to believe that they're "Santa's helpers".  No one at school believes you about your discovery.  They call you crazy, when they're the ones who believe in fairytales.  You decide that your parents are trying to ruin your life, by making you look crazy and allowing you to be seen in public with a white iPod.  Years of counseling and antidepressants would eventually lead to a full recovery, but your childhood is filled with similar situations.  So naturally you join the tight jean and "gauges" club.  Meanwhile your memoir is #4 on Amazon's list.  It's about time things go your way.

The best thing for me is when I ask one of these emo-gaugers, "doesn't that hurt your ear?"  He responds- "life is pain, bra."  (Had I read his memoir, I would understand the profound grief.  People just don't understand him.)  So, with the perplexed look on my face, he's sure that he's sent me into the greatest epiphany of my life.  When really I'm wondering if this guy is handicapped or something.  So I start talking slower and using more body language.  He feels belittled, starts crying and runs home.

All in all, I love the idea of gauges, but I'm a man of logic.  So, the real trial that I've been facing, is what could be put in these "gauges" that would provide functionality and purpose.  After about 15 minutes I realized that no purpose can be found, so instead I decided to come up with something more creative for my sister in law to put in her ear.  I finally settled on a sawed-off broom stick between two tennis balls (see my illustration below).  I'm certain that this would restore creativity for at least a week.  So Gabs, make sure to mark the day that you chose to start this trend, so no one else can claim it as their own.  I can guarantee that the next big thing is pink tennis balls.

You want it...

Image via WikipediaI was walking around this morning a little overconfident, if you could imagine what that would be like.  You probably know by now that I'm nearly flawless in every aspect.  Of course that's my bias, but I still think it's pretty objective.  Still, I wasn't sure why I felt greater than mankind.  About the same time I was pondering, my stomach started growling.  I remembered I had to bring some of my breakfast with me.  Then it dawned on me that there was a certain bulge in the jewel region, that brought about this new confidence.  I reached into the big pocket of my hoodie and there they were, two of those little easy-to-peel oranges.  Ah... no wonder I felt so confident.  

This discovery would've been deflating, given the oranges' false representation, had I not had many sad experiences with cold water.  I've definitely learned the ability of the balls to hide, when it's cold out. Besides, it was no longer the false bulge.  What was so extraordinary to me, is that confidence clearly has no limits.  This must be some kind of scientific discovery, because I thought it my confidence had reached the highest summit.  I felt like a silly African kid that reached the top of K2 and found a plaque of some type (all imagination, there's no way I would freeze my balls off to climb that high) the plaque tells about Mount Everest.  Every time people were telling me K2 was the highest, they had been fooling me.  So being the silly white boy I am, I sit and ponder what this new level of confidence could be and what it takes to get there. 

I'm surrounded by self-righteous nuts, that constantly try to point out that this confidence I have is false.  They've even gone as far as calling me names like "cocky".  Sure someone trashes a "less fortunate" person, and we throw a PC pep rally in their honor.  If you all love wheelchairs so much, how come you always walk the other way when you see one coming?  I get it we have to cheer for the underdog, but when you think about it, people like me are underdogs too.  Just because I blow competition out of the water, does not mean I don't have any needs.  I do have needs.  I need fans.  I need lots of fans, not so that I can listen to their rhetoric as they stroke my ego.  I need fans so that I can ignore them and pretend that I don't recognize their existence.  Get it?  It's not the cries of worship, it's the idea that there are cries of worship.  Once you have the idea you can use it however you choose.  Don't get all lecturer on me, couples do this all the time.  "This is my husband, he is a programmer, he's the smartest one there is, which is why his boss made him second in command."

People always use other's accomplishments to make themselves look good.  That's a step in the right direction.  However, I want to look good, not because you tell me I do, but because I don't care that you think I'm awesome.  And that's confidence.

Don't hat me because I'm beautiful...

For the stuperstitious dot dot dot

Haters and Good luck charmers:

Put this in your pipe and smoke it all up-

Total Pageviews
1,111

Some might say it is by a stretch of luck, that I have had 1,111 pageviews thus far. Others might tell you that I've been running frantically from one public library to the next, googling my blog to get it some traffic. To the later, I don't feel I need to explain my art, but you clearly don't know how lazy I am if you think I go to great lengths to promote myself. However, I'm not gonna lie, I almost went streaking through town with my domain name tattooed to my chest. Right now I want to tell the stuperstious, if you want to chalk this up to luck, you can suck my left pinkie. Take one good look and snap a photo, all this doesn't come by through luck. Don't try to talk to me about fate either. You think this level of fame comes by on a whim? You better snap outta that frickin' dream yo! (That last sentence was borrowed from WuTang Clan with minor readjustments to reflect that I am a white boy). Talk about makin' it big, it took a clan of 9 to bring it Wu Tang style. Individually they just didn't have what the few of us who specifically like underground hip hop and Ninja skills, were looking for. Well, I'm sure that I too tailor to a pretty specific crowd. A crowd that understands all things are possible, but not really worth the time it takes to accomplish them.
Cover of Wu-Tang Clan

That's what we proclaim here. We are probably amazing deep down inside, but we're certainly not going to strain ourselves to find out. Have you ever walked into a cloud of anxiety built by an overachiever? Let me tell you, it is not worth it. Stay normal people, mediocre is so much more than the credit we give it.


One one eleven! Get some...

Out of control...

Image by Getty Images via @daylifeIf history has anything to teach us, and I'm still very skeptical that we can learn from the past, it is that all children should be raised on farms.  There's just too much nothing for them to do all day long, when they live in the burbs.  Take my kids for example.  They get up at some ungodly hour, then they proceed to torture each other for the next 2-3 hours.  This is all just wonderful, until I get pulled from my dreams to play mediator in a conflict that I have not witnessed.  Then, I have to shout out a bunch of empty threats and flip a coin to see which kid is in the wrong, cuz we all know there's not a chance that I'm getting out of bed.  So eventually the none sense moves to my room and I catch an elbow in the face or a foot to the jewels.

Fast forward to the after school hours.  More torture, more screaming, and I still don't want to play mediator.  These kids have nothing to do.  Sure I could sit them in front of the TV for hours, but then I have to deal with the guilt as I picture their brains slowly melting into a mushy soup.  You tell kids TV will melt their brains enough times, you even start to believe it.

If you happen to know someone who was raised on farm, they're generally calm and they know how to fix things.  You see a kid raised in front of the TV, then you have a whole new set of issues.  They walk around with their eyeballs popping out, always paranoid, always depressed, and they're so full of unused energy they start banging their heads against the wall or carving silhouettes of lovers never had in their arms.  Then they start wearing jeans so tight, they must be painted on.  Always with the tight jeans and the sad stories.  The only tragedy is that this kids' parents never pulled the car over miles from home, pretending to have car trouble, then tell the child it is up to him to run home and get help.  I thought of that scenario on my own, your welcome to use it anytime your child feels like a martyr and needs an act of bravery to change their outlook.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't raised on a farm.  I was however raised by a farmer's daughter, in a time that you didn't have to worry about pedophiles, because you were allowed to stereotype that one creepy dude all alone at the park.  Sick es oh bee, seriously you can't go creep on someone that is at least borderline legal?  Go hang out near a high school you sick freak, then maybe some punk kids will have the decency to throw water balloons at you as they celebrate the exodus bell.  With six kids at her disposal and only a four bedroom house,  Mom still came up with some pretty creative chores, that we all know were unnecessary.  One morning I had to get up at 4 am to milk my brother, or maybe I chose to do that in a form of sweet revenge, the details are fuzzy.  After chores, we got on our bikes and disappeared for the remainder of the day.

And that's how it should be in order to keep the balance of sanity between generations.  Kids be kids, adults be adults, I'll see you at dinner time, and you better have your homework done.

All I'm saying is these kids are driving me crazy...

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Tree-hug this...

Don't you hate it when you're walking down the hall and there is a single oncoming citizen.  You reach the 15 foot proximity, and your auto-sensor presses the anxiety chemical-release button, realizing that you are going to have to choose to go right or left.  This would also be a good time to stop and wait, or pretend to tie your shoe.  Instead, like a idiot (but much less of an idiot than your opponent) you keep walking.  Hesitation, nervousness, lack of confidence, and self-doubt.  You and your opponent continue approaching each other, and then your eyes lock.  You're thinking, "crap do I really have to do this."  The problem is two vectors are heading directly towards each other.  Either one or both of you needs to break the path and go around.  What you both do is break in the same direction, then realizing the mistake you both bounce back.  You do this back and forth game for a while, in a charade that looks like retarded tango, then finally someone breaks the pattern and you can proceed.

I got caught in one of these stupid dances yesterday while snowboarding.  We mirror each other for a while then, sick of the bouncing, I sit down to let me opponent pass.  So what would be the thing to do?  He should go around me, since I yielded like a gentleman.  Instead this punk just stands there, obviously wanting a confrontation.  I wait another minute or two, but he's still there.  Tired of waiting, I proceed.  And you know what that es oh bee did?  He knocked me clean over, then he proceeded.  Right now I should let you know, this oncoming traffic was a tree.  Clearly I don't stand a good chance against a living organism that has several roots holding it to the ground.  So he knocked me clean over.  If you happen to have friended my mother-in-law on facebook, you would have see what it looks like after you get knocked down by a tree.   Well this is what it felt like-

Personally I've had it with this crap.  Not until all these freaking tree-huggers came around, did these trees have so much power.  We let them totally dominate.  So now I'm going to take the power back.  This whole incident happened really quick, but I was able to seal the memory of that tree's face in my mind.  Being the sketch artist I am, I've copied him here-

I wouldn't put it passed the tree-huggers to be harboring this nasty tree somewhere.  I just want all you hippies to know, Imma get mine.  Until you turn him in, I will wastefully print (on a fresh non-recycled sheet of paper) this Wanted sign, every thirty seconds.  This will continue until I get me revenge.

My head will not be punished by some stubborn tree who's trying to make a name for himself.

Don't be the one nature loving human, who tries to put this whole accident on me.  Remember, I gave him the right of way and he chose to stand there (like an idiot), waiting to punish a harmless heart-of-gold snowboarder.

This is also for Bono...

And they came calling...

The space between posts has been growing.  I see the anxiety that this might create for my fans, and I apologize.  You see, I know what it's like to get totally sucked into a program that leaves you hanging and craving for it nightly.  You wake up in the middle of the night sweating, and wondering what will happen to your heroes.  It's a nail biting acid trip, and sooner or later the topic is no longer valid at the water cooler.  Look folks, I've seen it a dozen times.  So let me reassure you now that you will always have some quiet ramblings to tuck under your pillow at night.

With that said, we're going to have to consider this post a quickie.  Quickies are my specialty, just see my wife complaint blog (she hasn't published one yet, but I can guarantee that would be on the list).  Let just say I'm that type, who like to get from A to B, fast.  Speaking of the wife, she's been giving me a lot of honey-do's and ultimatums lately.  Aside from that I received a lecture today from my daughter's teacher, about her behavior.  I'm sorry, but the only credit that I'm willing to accept, is the fact that my genes might be slightly defective.  That is why she can't sit still in her chair.  Maybe the real problem is that class should be held in a gymnasium, so that kids can run in circles.  Or maybe if teachers were animated cartoon characters.  Anyways I gotta split.  There is a major task tomorrow requiring my full attention and responsibility (it's snowboarding).

Not going to edit this tonight...  No sir...

I need you to feel this...

It's been nearly two weeks now, that I've been living the dream.  Half of the dream anyways.  I've got the freedom, but that whole "independent wealth" part of the equation is still missing.  I've thought of every cure for this imaginable, from bank robbery to ponzi schemes.  I also tried to think if there is someone that might have listed me as a benefactor on their life insurance plan.  It always has the same hopeless ending every night, me staring at a computer that is connected to a web full of opportunities, none of which are for me.

It seems to be affecting my wife too.  She's probably rotating the same ideas across the screen that plays in here head.  In fact, just yesterday I remember her standing in the kitchen, as if preparing to dice some type of vegetable.  This was odd on two accounts.  First, my wife does not cook and I didn't think she even knew where the LARGE butcher's knife was.  Second, all she had was a knife in her hand, no cutting board, no produce items.  Her eyes were glazed over and she appeared to be facing a serious ethical dilemma, playing back possible outcomes in her mind.  No shame or tears, just concern.  I decided it was in my best interest not to mention all the LED TVs that were on sale for Super Bowl weekend.  I'm talking $40 bucks a month for like 3 years, no payments til they find out my real social security number.  This type of talk tends to upset the wifey.

Then again, I could have imagined the whole thing about the wife.  Paranoia seems to be a constant companion, when I have too much time to just sit around and think.  And always with the voices.  Blah. Blah.  Blah.

So then, for some for some random purpose, I had some moments of nostalgia or something.  Memories of work flooded my mind til I was overcome by a craving, that all power hungry people experience.  Yes my friends, I'm speaking of the need to abase a subordinate.  It's been too long since I've been able to shout on the phone- "I don't care what it costs, just get it done!" or "Maybe if you did it right the first time, we wouldn't be in this mess.  Now get it done!" or "Seriously, you have a Journeyman's license, and I have to show you how to do your job?" or "I'm tired of..." or "You incompetent piece of..."
The key is to always damage a person's spirit, humiliate publicly (if or when at all possible), insult their intelligence, and make them understand that breathing would be impossible for them, with out your approval.

I realize this is the old "traditional" form of management.  What can I say?  I just don't get as much pleasure from the "I know what you're going through...I'm so proud of you...I wish I had ten employees just like you", type of management.

A man has a need to dominate, it's how we are wired.  This is why we put saddles on giant animals and make them carry us around.  We use them for food after pretending to be their "friend" for years.  Unfortunately, my wife and daughters never got this memo in their "female guide to life" book.  I get it, women have billions of needs.  I'm only asking for one thing here.  If only I had a boy to torment.  We don't even have a dog anymore, and that's quite possibly the most enjoyable animal to dominate.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is: Members of the service industry, I apologize for my tourettes like behavior that you might to fall victim to.  I really need to dominate someone, and your tiny bit of sass, could be all I need to light this fire.  Good luck with your future and hopefully less pissed off customers.

All I'm saying is things could be better...

Unemployment- No place for the ADD...

Vocabulary for the day (click the links for wikipedia's version, but you better come right back):

ADHD- Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder.  Official medical term for ADD.  Includes 3 types: Inattentive, Hyperactive, or both.

ADD- Attention Deficit Disorder.  Original term, that is after, brain disfunction whatever...  ADD is the term  that gives you street cred.

Problem- An obstacle that hinders achievement, but has a clear an definitive solution.

Dilemma-  An obstacle with no clear answer right or wrong.  Something is sacrificed for something else.  No win-win scenario.  Some answers are righterer and some are wrongerest, but it's really just a total decision game including several factors, variables, and some facts.

The issue:

The difference between people with ADD and normal people is they have fewer problems, but far more dilemmas.  This in itself is both a dilemma and a problem.

Case in point- Problem: DVD player is not working, doesn't eject.

Normal person- Solution: Call repairman or buy new DVD player.
Image via Wikipedia
ADD person- Dilemma:  Should I fix this, call a repairman or get a new one or get a Bluray (this dialogue continues through the life of the dilemma).  Completely disassemble DVD player, while grilling steaks and counting down time to go to appointment.  What could I do to soup this up?  Maybe I should just integrate my other DVD player with all the TVs.  Burning smell.  Late.  Runs out the door.  Return later.  Pieces lost.  Still tweaking.  Browse BluRays online.  Enter new dilemma.

The ADD, despite being a serial let down, is always hopeful for the win-win.

So the worst part is that rather than solving the problem and moving on, the ADD jumps from one dilemma to the next.  There's never a solution.  The dilemmas pile up, then an inevitable explosion of expletives.  Even with the latest and greatest pharmaceutical grade Ritalin or Adderall, these dilemmas still occur.  The only difference is they come in slow motion, so you have more time to think.

So what's my dilemma?  I have no income and 24 hours of the day to fill.  If you want to see the list of possible outcomes, that is constantly scrolling through my head, you will need to plug in an external hard drive to download it.  So as you could imagine, it's difficult to accomplish any one thing, while trying to accomplish everything.  That's why the long and short term goal of every individual, with ADD, is world domination (or something else really BIG!).

Just because I can't sit still doesn't mean I'm not listening.  If I am sitting still, chances are...

I'm not listening...

Related articles

• What's the Difference Between Adult ADD and ADHD? (brighthub.com)
• The Past, Present, and Future of ADHD (everydayhealth.com)
• List of the Common Symptoms of ADHD (brighthub.com)

Fellow Earthlings...

Dr Humble Friends,

The word is spreading.  People are coming to get some ramble all up in their brains.  And I aim to give the people what they want.  Some times when I'm walking down the street, people stop me and ask If I'm really the Creator.  At first I play coy, mainly because I don't know at what point my fans began referring to me as the Creator (Not that it bothers me at all), I also like to let them know that I'm used to the attention.  I sign a couple autographs and quote a few inspired lines.  Then, with tears of joy in their eyes, they depart.  Am I a miracle worker or just another super-hero?  Personally, I don't like to get all caught up in titles and what not.  I'm just trying to fulfill my calling here on this planet.  After which, I'm sure I'll be asked to rule some other planet.

So I want to thank those of you who believe in me and know that we're on to something big here.  And to those of you who think your too cool to read my blog: first of all, it's impossible to be too cool for this and second, screw you and the crappy little tricycle that you rode in on!  We don't need any wannabe, jealous punks (this part is mainly aimed at my father-in-law, he thinks he's sooooo cool.  Wrong Buddy!).

But seriously folks, we've got to upsell this baby.  There are tight jean wearing teen-agers, old wrinkly people, y gente de todo modo.  So spread the word, that there's an education to be found at quiet-ramblings.com.  If you look at the bottom of your screen you'll see we're about to break 900 visits.  But we don't think on small levels here (also a jab at my father-in-law).  Let's bust through 1,000 before this weekend.  If you love it let me hear you make some noise!  I said, if you love it make some noise!  Now post this bad boy on your Facebook page and tell all your homies where it's at.  You're all too kind.

Till the next ramble, play on playa's...

Also good...

INCIDENTAL COMICS: Kansas: Land of Zen: " This comic was drawn in anticipation of a long drive I made this week from Kansas City to ..."

something for the awkward...

I'm not one to spotlight others on my stage, but this guy is good.

INCIDENTAL COMICS: A Cure for Social Anxiety

Trivial is proportionate to time...

Image via WikipediaYuck.  There is a clever mischief stirring about the homefront.   Children conspiring, a bittersweet act, is not what's worrying me.  Maybe I've just lost my mind, maybe it's the 100W (rated) light bulb that I used to replace the 60 over the kitchen table.  So I wondered all around the house all day fidgeting and tweaking.

Then finally, I realized a couple things:
1.  It's time to pimp my garage.
2.  These compact flourecent light bulbs take a while to warm up and put on a good shine just like there older strip light siblings.  Therefore using them in the garage is somewhat impractical, since you only turn it on for a brief moment when you go out there and 85% of the time you're back in before it reaches full brightness.  Yet at the same time not using them could be quite detrimental, since the garage is the number 1 place where the light gets left on with out noticing.

At this point there's a little anxiety and panic setting in as I face my first GREAT dilemma of the day.  So I sat on the couch pondering deeply, while nervously tapping my foot.  What to do... What to do... Do I put in an incandescent light bulb and risk leaving it on at night, burning about 3 times as much energy, or add additional compact flurescent?  After about an hour of running numbers (while simultaneously telling myself "this can't be right, I didn't carry enough significant digits after the decimal..." recalculating...) and yelling and the kids to stop running in circles and looking up to try to see their hair(see they're just as crazy as me), I came up with the conclusion.  I would add another CFL bulb.

Now over the years I've come to be a little bit of, what some people might call, a pack rat.  I swore it would never happen to me, but it's contagious.  When your on a construction site and your cheap boss says, "you better find a way to reuse those, they run a buck-fifty a piece, and I'll be damned 'f I'm buyin' a nother."  After a while he's got you believing that a buck-fifty is a lot of money.  You're paradigm has shifted.  There's something about using the word "Buck" or "One" dollar that makes it sound so much more valuable than "a" dollar.  And since I don't have a job right now, that adds to the blow...

So anyways I'm looking through my box of electrical goods.  I have enough material to interconnect every audio system in the home, but no bulb socket.

Back to the couch....
Kid's running and screaming (it's too cold outside)...

After hours of drafting clever plans to fabricate my own bulb socket I scrap them all and decide to solder directly to the bulb.  I have to cook dinner now...

Hot dogs on the stovetop.  Meanwhile oldest daughter helps me solder, since my hands won't quit shaking.  I believe it's due to the fact that I've had to cut back on cinammon bears, by buying the 16 oz rather than the 5 lb. bags.

So here I am pondering all the things I was going to get done today, and this is what I have to show-

Want me to pimp your garage too?  Just share this with all your facebook homies and you'll receive a coupon for 15% off of your pimped out garage.  What?  That's not tempting enough?  I'll double it if you twitter as well.





And this is why my wife keeps a close eye on me.  So it goes...