So I am attending this training class (and not really by choice), and one of the things we did was write down a great moment in our lives. One moment in time that we most remember, and everything seemed perfect. Mine was more than a moment, although I suppose compared to time everlasting it's just a drop in the cosmic bucket.
In 2005, my job took me from Virginia to Washington state. And rather than getting in the car and driving 3000+ miles as fast as possible, we decided to make this a family trip. And what a trip it was.
Our first stop was in West Virginia, nothing special. But the next night we stopped in Louisville, Kentucky. Before we left Louisville, we went to the Louisville Slugger Museum and Factory. We got to see them making bats for some of the current MLB superstars. There are signs all over that say, "Do not touch the wood," meaning the pieces of wood that will be turned into bats. I couldn't help myself, though, and I touched a few pieces that were destined to be bats for guys on my fantasy baseball team (I'm a geek, I know). Who knows, maybe one of those bats was used to hit a home run.
After that, we stopped in St Louis, Missouri. The highlight was a trip up the Gateway Arch. I didn't know you could go up in the Arch until somebody told us about it, so we kicked around in the Lewis and Clark Museum (awesome), and then rode in this tiny little cart, clunking our way up the Arch to the top. You could look down and see inside Cardinals Stadium, and the land went on forever.
Our next stop was Oklahoma City, which was unimpressive, except that the final Star Wars movie was released the day we arrived there. We stayed at a hotel that happened to be next to a movie theater, so we got tickets and saw the final episode in the greatest of movie sagas (and yes, the first Star Wars, now titled Episode IV, is the best) despite being homeless.
From there it was on to Albuquerque, New Mexico, with a stop in Texas for some real Texas barbeque at a place in Amarillo. It was voted one of the top 10 places for barbeque in the U. S., and it lived up to the billing. New Mexico was beautiful, but we didn't do any exploring.
Our best stop came next: the Grand Canyon. We spent a week there, hiking down into the canyon, exploring the trails along the top, and soaking in one of the most beautiful vistas you can hope to lay eyes on. Most impressive was watching the sunset on one of our final nights. You have to see it for yourself, but it's not something I'll likely ever forget. On the way back to our lodge (we stayed at a place in Flagstaff, about 70 miles away), we pulled over and turned off the lights and got out of the car. The stars were amazing.
After a week in Arizona, we made a stop in Vegas (the Strip is cool, but gambling isn't my thing), a quick overnight in Idaho (it's a long drive from Vegas to Boise), and then arrived in Washington.
It was a bit sad to see our trip come to an end. We had a great adventure, and we still talk about it, but it was a perfect time in life. My son was just into his teens, my daughter was a few years from being a teen (and not the hormonal, gray hair inducing entity that now resides in the house), and we were still together as a family.
I suppose that's why it's one of my favorite times, because it was just the four of us, soaking up what we could. My son has moved on to his own life, and my daughter isn't far behind.
But you know what? There are more memories out there, waiting to be discovered. More trips to take, more cool things to see, more movie premieres to watch, more sunsets to enjoy. And as much as I like the memories I have, I'm ready to make some more.
Playing the game
I am pretty content with my life. I have a beautiful wife who still makes my motor go after more than 20 years together. My son is a handsome young man and is set to graduate from boot camp soon. And my daughter's beauty is only marred by the fact that she is now 14 and her hormones make her moods move one way or another faster than a ping-pong ball at a Chinese table tennis tournament.
But even with that, sometimes I look back and wonder where I'd be if I'd stayed with one girl or another. I'm sure everybody has played the "What if..." game when it comes to former loves. Prior to meeting my wife, I had two girls (women?) that I sometimes play the "What if..." game over.
Lisa Goodsen was a tall brunette with a beautiful smile. When she smiled, it reached up into her eyes, and you could tell just how happy she was by looking in her eyes.
I met Lisa when I was at my second Air Force school in Altus, Oklahoma. The saying goes that there's a girl behind every tree in Altus...only there ain't many trees! But as luck would have it, Lisa was an AF chick, and she was in the class ahead of me.
The night we hooked up was a warm Saturday night in August. All of the enlisted people in school would usually head to the only rock-n-roll bar in town, but for a change we all wound up at a party at one the house of somebody's girlfriend. Lisa and I knew each other vaguely, and we wound up hooking up over a game of Suck Face Spin the Bottle. I know, you'd think we were a bunch of sixth graders instead of adults, but that's what happened. After the kissing came talking, and at the end of the night I took her back to her room.
Lisa was quite sunburned, and a little drunk, and I put her to bed on the one bed and crashed on the other. In the morning I woke up to find her staring at me, and she asked why I hadn't slept in the bed with her. I told her she was sunburned and hot and didn't need me making her any hotter. That simple act of kindness was apparently all she needed to know that I was a good guy. After that, we were inseparable.
We spent the rest of the school together, sleeping in my bed or her's. When she left, I felt like a part of me was gone. And what's funny is we were together for about five weeks. I don't want to make it sound like "We lived a lifetime in those five weeks" or anything. But I connected with Lisa in a way that I had never connected with a girl before.
She was 25, I was 19. Like I said before, she was tall, probably 5'10" or so. I remember not having to bend down any to kiss her. After we had sex for the first time, she scolded me for not taking precautions, but assured me it was okay because she was on the pill, but from now on I needed to use common sense. I think I was the first guy who really treated her nicely, which I credit to my dad who told me years ago to treat a woman the right.
After she graduated, Lisa went to South Carolina, I went to Washington. We would talk on the phone, and I started to make plans to go to South Carolina. I had a girlfriend at home, so I guess I was a bit of a cad, but Lisa was the type of girl that made me want to see where the relationship would go. No immature games, no petty fake anger...she was what all women should be, I think.
Anyway, she sent me a birthday present, and I voiced my thanks for one thing more than another, which hurt her feelings because the thing she gave me that meant a lot to her was a gold plated money clip with an inscription that read "Remember Summer of '87, Holmes." That was what I called her, Holmes.
So she sent me some presents, and was angry at my lack of gratitude over the special one, and I told her that if she didn't like it she could go piss up a rope. Yes, that's what I said...well, wrote, actually. In hindsight, not the smartest thing in the world to write a girl, is it? But I was young, and while my dad taught me some things, he couldn't teach me common sense. I'm a child of the 80's, when guys were either cool or pissed, and my flippant reply was a stupid thing to say to a girl I had feelings for. And that was the last time I ever heard from Lisa.
I sent her another letter or two, apologizing for being so stupid, but I guess what I said to her hurt too much. She'd been married before, to a real jerk, and she didn't like to play games. Her roommate from school was in my squadron, and she told me that Lisa was really hurt. I told her I'd written her, and to please tell her I was sorry. Obviously, it didn't do any good.
And thus ended my affair with Lisa. I heard later that she got married to a guy in her squadron in South Carolina, got out, took a job at a womens correctional facility, and put on a lot of weight.
I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had gone to South Carolina before she sent that present. Or if I'd gotten in my car and driven the 3000 miles to Charleston and begger her forgiveness. The ultimate "What if..." game, I guess.
It's a part of my past, and I learned from it. And I have very fond memories of that time in my life. Dinners at the club, nights spent wrapped in each others arms, talking about nothing in particular.
And Lisa? I'm still sorry.
But even with that, sometimes I look back and wonder where I'd be if I'd stayed with one girl or another. I'm sure everybody has played the "What if..." game when it comes to former loves. Prior to meeting my wife, I had two girls (women?) that I sometimes play the "What if..." game over.
Lisa Goodsen was a tall brunette with a beautiful smile. When she smiled, it reached up into her eyes, and you could tell just how happy she was by looking in her eyes.
I met Lisa when I was at my second Air Force school in Altus, Oklahoma. The saying goes that there's a girl behind every tree in Altus...only there ain't many trees! But as luck would have it, Lisa was an AF chick, and she was in the class ahead of me.
The night we hooked up was a warm Saturday night in August. All of the enlisted people in school would usually head to the only rock-n-roll bar in town, but for a change we all wound up at a party at one the house of somebody's girlfriend. Lisa and I knew each other vaguely, and we wound up hooking up over a game of Suck Face Spin the Bottle. I know, you'd think we were a bunch of sixth graders instead of adults, but that's what happened. After the kissing came talking, and at the end of the night I took her back to her room.
Lisa was quite sunburned, and a little drunk, and I put her to bed on the one bed and crashed on the other. In the morning I woke up to find her staring at me, and she asked why I hadn't slept in the bed with her. I told her she was sunburned and hot and didn't need me making her any hotter. That simple act of kindness was apparently all she needed to know that I was a good guy. After that, we were inseparable.
We spent the rest of the school together, sleeping in my bed or her's. When she left, I felt like a part of me was gone. And what's funny is we were together for about five weeks. I don't want to make it sound like "We lived a lifetime in those five weeks" or anything. But I connected with Lisa in a way that I had never connected with a girl before.
She was 25, I was 19. Like I said before, she was tall, probably 5'10" or so. I remember not having to bend down any to kiss her. After we had sex for the first time, she scolded me for not taking precautions, but assured me it was okay because she was on the pill, but from now on I needed to use common sense. I think I was the first guy who really treated her nicely, which I credit to my dad who told me years ago to treat a woman the right.
After she graduated, Lisa went to South Carolina, I went to Washington. We would talk on the phone, and I started to make plans to go to South Carolina. I had a girlfriend at home, so I guess I was a bit of a cad, but Lisa was the type of girl that made me want to see where the relationship would go. No immature games, no petty fake anger...she was what all women should be, I think.
Anyway, she sent me a birthday present, and I voiced my thanks for one thing more than another, which hurt her feelings because the thing she gave me that meant a lot to her was a gold plated money clip with an inscription that read "Remember Summer of '87, Holmes." That was what I called her, Holmes.
So she sent me some presents, and was angry at my lack of gratitude over the special one, and I told her that if she didn't like it she could go piss up a rope. Yes, that's what I said...well, wrote, actually. In hindsight, not the smartest thing in the world to write a girl, is it? But I was young, and while my dad taught me some things, he couldn't teach me common sense. I'm a child of the 80's, when guys were either cool or pissed, and my flippant reply was a stupid thing to say to a girl I had feelings for. And that was the last time I ever heard from Lisa.
I sent her another letter or two, apologizing for being so stupid, but I guess what I said to her hurt too much. She'd been married before, to a real jerk, and she didn't like to play games. Her roommate from school was in my squadron, and she told me that Lisa was really hurt. I told her I'd written her, and to please tell her I was sorry. Obviously, it didn't do any good.
And thus ended my affair with Lisa. I heard later that she got married to a guy in her squadron in South Carolina, got out, took a job at a womens correctional facility, and put on a lot of weight.
I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had gone to South Carolina before she sent that present. Or if I'd gotten in my car and driven the 3000 miles to Charleston and begger her forgiveness. The ultimate "What if..." game, I guess.
It's a part of my past, and I learned from it. And I have very fond memories of that time in my life. Dinners at the club, nights spent wrapped in each others arms, talking about nothing in particular.
And Lisa? I'm still sorry.
In youth we learn, in age we understand
My senior year of high school, my parents moved the family from Yakima, WA, to Vancouver, WA, which is right across the Columbia River from Portland.
Vancouver is a nice town (or was, I guess, I don't live there any more), and towards the end of the school year I got my very first job at Taco Bell.
I'd never worked before, as a jock my school year was pretty much sports from August to May or June, and summers were busy. So while it will make you laugh, I actually was pretty psyched to get the call from Taco Bell. As fate would have it, the road that call took me down is one that I look back on fondly, at least a small part of it.
After a few weeks at work, I was just one of the peeps. Fridays and Saturday nights I would work to close. We'd be there until well after midnight, which is now not so unusual with everybody open late, but back then it was pretty late. Once the store was cleaned and everything was put away, we'd all head down to Sheri's Restaurant, which is a chain restaurant in the Pacific Northwest. Think Denny's but not so sterile.
The normal group was Eric (I think he was gay, or in denial about being gay), Teresa (totally mod chick who was into A-ha type bands), Joanne (Mexican girl who had big eyes but was cool), Gary (assistant manager) and Suzanne (a little chunky, but she had big tata's). We'd sit at Sheri's, taking up space, drinking coffee and talking about nothing in particular. We were totally oblivious to the fact that we smelled like refried beans, or that the waitress hatd that we only ordered coffee. After a year, they eventually changed the rules to have a minimum order to stay there. Talk about having an influence.
Anyway, the school year ended, and summer in southern Washington is pretty nice. Sunny days, warm nights, and plenty of things to do. On the last day of school I went out with a girl and afterwards went to TB to see what everybody was up to, and I wound up hooking up with Suzanne.
Suzanne was 21 (I was 18), and I pretty much spent that entire summer with a really good buzz. Suzanne and I got physical, of course, it WAS the 80's, and we were together during all of our free time. We hung with the crew at the lake, went to movies, partied at whichever house was parent free. It was the sort of time that somebody makes a movie out of, you know? I was 18, in great shape, had a girlfriend who could buy me alcohol AND gave me some loving, and I had no bills or worries...life was good.
Life changes though. That September Suzanne told me she was pregnant while we were out to dinner on my birthday (actually, I guessed). A few weeks later she'd tell me that she had taken care of it. I had to go back to high school for a year because I transferred from a Catholic school to public school and lost credits, so to get my diploma I needed one more semester (I'm proud to say that I was the first of the grandkids on my dad's side to graduate from high school).
In February of the next year, Suzanne broke it off, I handled it well by going out with a girl I worked with, and stayed with her for a year. In March I went to Air Force boot camp, and then to schools in Texas and Oklahoma. My Air Force career took me around the world, life moved on, and new chapters were written in the book that is my life.
I don't think about that time in my life very much, maybe because I am so content with my life in the present. My wife and I are madly in love after 20+ years together, my kids are healthy, and I think I'm in decent shape for a middle aged guy.
But when I do think about that time, it's with a certain fondness. Life was carefree. My paychecks paid for all the fun stuff I did, and the fact that I had a girlfriend to roll around with all summer made it that much better. I drove too fast, played my rock-n-roll too loud, wore my hair long, and slept too late. I lived on Taco Bell food, and my body didn't rebel like it would now, and a full course meal meant two Burrito Supremes and some nachos. California Coolers could get you drunk without the nasty taste that you get from warm beer, and you could fit as many people as you wanted in a car and get into the drive-in movie for $5.
Guns N' Roses sings a song that contains the lyrics, "Yesterday there were so many things/I was never told/Now that I'm startin' to learn/I feel I'm growin' old."
I wouldn't change how my life has turned out. To be honest, I don't know that a man can be any happier with life. But if I could, I'd go back to that time in life, if only to have another shot at the joy that comes with being unburdened by life. No car payment, no house payment, no bitchy coworkers...just a good buzz, some sunny days, and girl to keep me company.
Sweet.
Vancouver is a nice town (or was, I guess, I don't live there any more), and towards the end of the school year I got my very first job at Taco Bell.
I'd never worked before, as a jock my school year was pretty much sports from August to May or June, and summers were busy. So while it will make you laugh, I actually was pretty psyched to get the call from Taco Bell. As fate would have it, the road that call took me down is one that I look back on fondly, at least a small part of it.
After a few weeks at work, I was just one of the peeps. Fridays and Saturday nights I would work to close. We'd be there until well after midnight, which is now not so unusual with everybody open late, but back then it was pretty late. Once the store was cleaned and everything was put away, we'd all head down to Sheri's Restaurant, which is a chain restaurant in the Pacific Northwest. Think Denny's but not so sterile.
The normal group was Eric (I think he was gay, or in denial about being gay), Teresa (totally mod chick who was into A-ha type bands), Joanne (Mexican girl who had big eyes but was cool), Gary (assistant manager) and Suzanne (a little chunky, but she had big tata's). We'd sit at Sheri's, taking up space, drinking coffee and talking about nothing in particular. We were totally oblivious to the fact that we smelled like refried beans, or that the waitress hatd that we only ordered coffee. After a year, they eventually changed the rules to have a minimum order to stay there. Talk about having an influence.
Anyway, the school year ended, and summer in southern Washington is pretty nice. Sunny days, warm nights, and plenty of things to do. On the last day of school I went out with a girl and afterwards went to TB to see what everybody was up to, and I wound up hooking up with Suzanne.
Suzanne was 21 (I was 18), and I pretty much spent that entire summer with a really good buzz. Suzanne and I got physical, of course, it WAS the 80's, and we were together during all of our free time. We hung with the crew at the lake, went to movies, partied at whichever house was parent free. It was the sort of time that somebody makes a movie out of, you know? I was 18, in great shape, had a girlfriend who could buy me alcohol AND gave me some loving, and I had no bills or worries...life was good.
Life changes though. That September Suzanne told me she was pregnant while we were out to dinner on my birthday (actually, I guessed). A few weeks later she'd tell me that she had taken care of it. I had to go back to high school for a year because I transferred from a Catholic school to public school and lost credits, so to get my diploma I needed one more semester (I'm proud to say that I was the first of the grandkids on my dad's side to graduate from high school).
In February of the next year, Suzanne broke it off, I handled it well by going out with a girl I worked with, and stayed with her for a year. In March I went to Air Force boot camp, and then to schools in Texas and Oklahoma. My Air Force career took me around the world, life moved on, and new chapters were written in the book that is my life.
I don't think about that time in my life very much, maybe because I am so content with my life in the present. My wife and I are madly in love after 20+ years together, my kids are healthy, and I think I'm in decent shape for a middle aged guy.
But when I do think about that time, it's with a certain fondness. Life was carefree. My paychecks paid for all the fun stuff I did, and the fact that I had a girlfriend to roll around with all summer made it that much better. I drove too fast, played my rock-n-roll too loud, wore my hair long, and slept too late. I lived on Taco Bell food, and my body didn't rebel like it would now, and a full course meal meant two Burrito Supremes and some nachos. California Coolers could get you drunk without the nasty taste that you get from warm beer, and you could fit as many people as you wanted in a car and get into the drive-in movie for $5.
Guns N' Roses sings a song that contains the lyrics, "Yesterday there were so many things/I was never told/Now that I'm startin' to learn/I feel I'm growin' old."
I wouldn't change how my life has turned out. To be honest, I don't know that a man can be any happier with life. But if I could, I'd go back to that time in life, if only to have another shot at the joy that comes with being unburdened by life. No car payment, no house payment, no bitchy coworkers...just a good buzz, some sunny days, and girl to keep me company.
Sweet.
Standing the test of time
I was watching 'The Incredibles' last night, and I got to thinking about movies I like. That, of course, led to a "Movies I Could Watch Every Day" list.
First, Star Wars. The original, baby. Forget that 'New Hope' add on, this is the one and only. Critics say that The Empire Strikes Back is better, but I love this movie best. When I was in third grade, my parents put us in the back of our Toyotal Corolla wagon, threw in the paper bag full of popcorn my mom had made (we're talking a grocery bag here, not a lunch bag), and took us to the drive in theater. Back then, you took the speaker box and hooked it on the window. I remember sitting there, eating popcorn, completely enthralled as Luke Skywalker, Obi Wan Kenobi and the rest of the gang dared to stand up to Darth Vader and the might of the Empire. This movie started my love affair with movies.
Second MICWED: Vision Quest. Unless you're a wrestler who grew up in the 80's or you're a fan of Matthew Modine, you probably haven't heard of this one. A teenager turns 18 and is searching for his place in life. As his Indian friend tells him (and we're talking American Indian, no PC here), he's on a vision quest. In the end, he wins the big match, lands the hot older chick, and realizes what life is about. When I'm not feeling motivated, I watch this movie, and my motivation level goes right back up. Funny side story: I almost went in the Army, and went to MEPS in Spokane, WA. I stayed in the same hotel that Matthew Modine's character worked at. My piece of movie history.
Next up: The Terminator. I first saw this on laser disk at my cousin's house. I don't need to explain the plot, but the seminal moment, for me, was when Arnold first arrives and he stands up. The camera pans around him, and he...is...HUGE. This movie is the reason I got into lifting weights. Even today, I see that scene, and I STILL want to be that big and ripped. The special effects are cheesy by today's standards, but the movie still rocks.
Transformers. I'm talking about the newest one, not the cartoon from the 80's where they kill off Optimus Prime. This was one of those movies that I was so excited to see, if the theater in our small town had shown it at midnight, I'd have been first in line. I never owned a Transformer, my parents ignored requests at birthdays and Christmas, but I still loved the cartoon. In the recent movie, when the Autobots show up and transform, I got chills. And when Optimus Prime goes from big rig to hsi robotic self, and speaks for the first time, I was so emotional I wanted to stand up in the theater and scream, "Woooooooohoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" Only the knowledge that I'd completely embarass my daughter kept from doing so.
Five is a nice number, so I'll end my list with this one: Superman, The Movie. I was in fifth grade, and our babysitter was taking us to see some movie that I can't remember the title of. So we get to the theater, and it's sold out, so she asks if we want to go see 'Superman.' From the opening credits, I was hooked. The music, Marlon Brando, a young Clark racing the train, the first appearance of Superman... throw in some Truth, Justice and the American Way, and a big serving of manliness in the form of Christopher Reeve, and you have everything you need for a Movie I Can Watch Every Day. Of course, I didn't think the chick playing Lois Lane was hot.
So, five movies I could watch every day, all for different reasons, but all with some meaning. I'm sure a psychiatrist could give you a reason why I chose those movies, but you know what? It wouldn't matter. Because what I like is what I like.
And when it comes to movies, isn't that all that matters anyway?
First, Star Wars. The original, baby. Forget that 'New Hope' add on, this is the one and only. Critics say that The Empire Strikes Back is better, but I love this movie best. When I was in third grade, my parents put us in the back of our Toyotal Corolla wagon, threw in the paper bag full of popcorn my mom had made (we're talking a grocery bag here, not a lunch bag), and took us to the drive in theater. Back then, you took the speaker box and hooked it on the window. I remember sitting there, eating popcorn, completely enthralled as Luke Skywalker, Obi Wan Kenobi and the rest of the gang dared to stand up to Darth Vader and the might of the Empire. This movie started my love affair with movies.
Second MICWED: Vision Quest. Unless you're a wrestler who grew up in the 80's or you're a fan of Matthew Modine, you probably haven't heard of this one. A teenager turns 18 and is searching for his place in life. As his Indian friend tells him (and we're talking American Indian, no PC here), he's on a vision quest. In the end, he wins the big match, lands the hot older chick, and realizes what life is about. When I'm not feeling motivated, I watch this movie, and my motivation level goes right back up. Funny side story: I almost went in the Army, and went to MEPS in Spokane, WA. I stayed in the same hotel that Matthew Modine's character worked at. My piece of movie history.
Next up: The Terminator. I first saw this on laser disk at my cousin's house. I don't need to explain the plot, but the seminal moment, for me, was when Arnold first arrives and he stands up. The camera pans around him, and he...is...HUGE. This movie is the reason I got into lifting weights. Even today, I see that scene, and I STILL want to be that big and ripped. The special effects are cheesy by today's standards, but the movie still rocks.
Transformers. I'm talking about the newest one, not the cartoon from the 80's where they kill off Optimus Prime. This was one of those movies that I was so excited to see, if the theater in our small town had shown it at midnight, I'd have been first in line. I never owned a Transformer, my parents ignored requests at birthdays and Christmas, but I still loved the cartoon. In the recent movie, when the Autobots show up and transform, I got chills. And when Optimus Prime goes from big rig to hsi robotic self, and speaks for the first time, I was so emotional I wanted to stand up in the theater and scream, "Woooooooohoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" Only the knowledge that I'd completely embarass my daughter kept from doing so.
Five is a nice number, so I'll end my list with this one: Superman, The Movie. I was in fifth grade, and our babysitter was taking us to see some movie that I can't remember the title of. So we get to the theater, and it's sold out, so she asks if we want to go see 'Superman.' From the opening credits, I was hooked. The music, Marlon Brando, a young Clark racing the train, the first appearance of Superman... throw in some Truth, Justice and the American Way, and a big serving of manliness in the form of Christopher Reeve, and you have everything you need for a Movie I Can Watch Every Day. Of course, I didn't think the chick playing Lois Lane was hot.
So, five movies I could watch every day, all for different reasons, but all with some meaning. I'm sure a psychiatrist could give you a reason why I chose those movies, but you know what? It wouldn't matter. Because what I like is what I like.
And when it comes to movies, isn't that all that matters anyway?
Mmm mmm good...or not
You know, Forrest Gump had it wrong.
Okay, it was actually Mrs. Gump who said, "Life is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you're gonna get." But she was wrong.
A box of chocolates comes with a handly little diagram that shows which candy is which. The oval one? Butter cream. The long skinny one? Caramel butter crunch. The one that looks like a chocolate covered cherry? Yeah, it's a chocolate covered cherry. So a box of chocolates isn't really much of a surprise, is it?
No, life, to me, is more like opening a can that is missing it's label. The can, which represents a day, looks no different than any other can. And yet when you open it, you don't know what is inside. Most days, you open the can, and it's the same old thing. But occasionally, you open a can, and it's either creamed corn (BLECH!) or peaches (tasty).
This last week has been one of those weeks where each can brought it's own surprise. The first can was my son's orders to his first unit. At first it looked like a can full of creamed corn, but it turned out to be not so bad. He's going to a land unit in Virginia and was hoping for a boat in Washington, but on second glance, most of his shipmates went to cold places, so it turned out to not be so bad.
The second can was definitely creamed corn. My daughter is a teenager, and if you don't have a teenage daughter, or you've never been a teenage girl, let me tell you: life is never easy. My daughter decided to take a personal day, and the night ended with her grounded, and her bedroom door residing in her brother's room. I made it thru work on about five hours of sleep, and perhaps it was that lack of sleep that made me ponder some of the things she had to say the night before. Let's just say that I'm not going to be nominated for any Dad of the Year awards.
The week ended with us having my mom over for dinner. I love my mom, like any good son, but at the same time, I have TREMENDOUS resentment towards her. Besides the fact that I had to buy a place for her to live (because she couldn't live in my house or I'd have had to kill her), her attitude towards my dad, and the 'I'm the victim' thing she pulls, drives me batshit crazy. At times I want to give her a shake and scream, "It's been 20 years, get over it!" But I don't. Because I'm the good son, the one who has it together, and that whole 'Family comes first' mantra, while cliche, still means something to me.
I suppose life would be a lot less stressful if all of the can were labeled. But if that was the case, not all of them would get opened, and the surprise that waits inside each one would be left to rot. And that would make life pretty boring. Each can holds both good and bad, and opening each can, while sometimes painful, makes us into the people we are. Of course, it's obvious that some people are eating cans that are...um, tainted. But we'll talk about that at a later date.
So I will continue opening cans, waiting to see what is inside that unlabeled container, fully aware that I could be getting creamed corn, or something worse.
But I always hope for a can of peaches.
Okay, it was actually Mrs. Gump who said, "Life is like a box of chocolates: you never know what you're gonna get." But she was wrong.
A box of chocolates comes with a handly little diagram that shows which candy is which. The oval one? Butter cream. The long skinny one? Caramel butter crunch. The one that looks like a chocolate covered cherry? Yeah, it's a chocolate covered cherry. So a box of chocolates isn't really much of a surprise, is it?
No, life, to me, is more like opening a can that is missing it's label. The can, which represents a day, looks no different than any other can. And yet when you open it, you don't know what is inside. Most days, you open the can, and it's the same old thing. But occasionally, you open a can, and it's either creamed corn (BLECH!) or peaches (tasty).
This last week has been one of those weeks where each can brought it's own surprise. The first can was my son's orders to his first unit. At first it looked like a can full of creamed corn, but it turned out to be not so bad. He's going to a land unit in Virginia and was hoping for a boat in Washington, but on second glance, most of his shipmates went to cold places, so it turned out to not be so bad.
The second can was definitely creamed corn. My daughter is a teenager, and if you don't have a teenage daughter, or you've never been a teenage girl, let me tell you: life is never easy. My daughter decided to take a personal day, and the night ended with her grounded, and her bedroom door residing in her brother's room. I made it thru work on about five hours of sleep, and perhaps it was that lack of sleep that made me ponder some of the things she had to say the night before. Let's just say that I'm not going to be nominated for any Dad of the Year awards.
The week ended with us having my mom over for dinner. I love my mom, like any good son, but at the same time, I have TREMENDOUS resentment towards her. Besides the fact that I had to buy a place for her to live (because she couldn't live in my house or I'd have had to kill her), her attitude towards my dad, and the 'I'm the victim' thing she pulls, drives me batshit crazy. At times I want to give her a shake and scream, "It's been 20 years, get over it!" But I don't. Because I'm the good son, the one who has it together, and that whole 'Family comes first' mantra, while cliche, still means something to me.
I suppose life would be a lot less stressful if all of the can were labeled. But if that was the case, not all of them would get opened, and the surprise that waits inside each one would be left to rot. And that would make life pretty boring. Each can holds both good and bad, and opening each can, while sometimes painful, makes us into the people we are. Of course, it's obvious that some people are eating cans that are...um, tainted. But we'll talk about that at a later date.
So I will continue opening cans, waiting to see what is inside that unlabeled container, fully aware that I could be getting creamed corn, or something worse.
But I always hope for a can of peaches.
Do clothes make the man? Or does a man make the clothes
Carrying on a recent clothing theme…
I was at the mall the other day (being a child of the 80’s, I love the mall), and I’m a bit perturbed and jealous.
First, the perturbed. Have you noticed (and if you’re not a man, you probably haven’t) how LITTLE there is for men at the mall? Clothes wise, I mean. It seems like unless you’re a twiggish teen or middle aged duffer, your choices for clothes are pretty limited.
Since I’m not a twiggish teen (I am, after all, the Gym Dog), I’m not going to find my clothes at the same store as my 18 year old son. Anchor Blue, Hollister, American Eagle…cool looking clothes, and if I was 20+ years younger, I’d be shopping there. But I’m not, so I don’t. And let’s face it, is there anything more pathetic than an adult man who has not realized that dressing like a teen is just…well, wrong? (Okay, an adult man who dresses like a teen but also dates teenage girls is creepier, but that’s something we can discuss later.)
And where is it written that when you hit a certain age you have to start dressing like a Jimmy Buffet fan (no offense to Jimmy Buffet fans, of course)? Tommy Bahama? I think now. There’s a time for stuff like that, I suppose, but as a form of clothing to wear on a regular basis, I respectfully decline. I might BE middle aged, but I don’t FEEL middle aged, and I’m not ready to buy into the whole dressed-like-a-retiree-playing-shuffleboard thing. Which leads me to the jealousy comment.
I am jealous of women. I don’t walk around seething about it, of course, but really, if you’re a woman, you have SO many choices. The mall is all about women! Walk into Dillards and you literally have half of the store to wander thru in search of the perfect outfit.
And check out the women’s shoes section! All those colors and styles, each saying something different. As I walked thru Dillards, I couldn’t help but notice how much the shoe section just…glittered. The men’s section, by comparison, is pretty much browns and blacks, with the same styles offered by diffent companies.
And have you been to a DSW shoe store, or Famous Footwear, or any of those other places? Easily 90% womens shoes, and the other 10% is men and kids.
On a side note, there’s not much sexier than a nice pair of legs in a pair of high heels (and I mean WOMENS legs, you perverts).
Yes, yes, women have it harder. I do not envy women all of the waxing, shaving, plucking, dying, stretch marks, and all of the other things that go with being a woman. But when it comes to updating their wardrobes…well, there is where I have to admit that I feel the world of men needs improving.
Have you ever noticed that in old video footage from the middle of the last century, the men are always in suits? When, exactly, did that change? Probably the 60’s, when it was seen as being a conformist for a young person to walk out of the house in a suit. And I’ll admit, the suits weren’t that impressive, mostly greys and blacks, but the simple fact of the matter is men CARED about how they looked when they left the house.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not advocating a return to the 50’s and the era of slim ties and fedoras. The racism and sexism of that time is best left there.
Sadly, there is little you can do when it comes to offering men more choices. Calvin Klein said it best: “Nothing earth-shattering has happened in men's fashion. How much can you do with men's clothes?”
But how about somebody comes up with some stuff that says, “I am a strong, confident man, and I may not be a teenager, but I’m not ready for Bingo Night at the Senior Center.”
Now, if you’ll excuse me, Guitar Hero on the 360 is calling my name.
I was at the mall the other day (being a child of the 80’s, I love the mall), and I’m a bit perturbed and jealous.
First, the perturbed. Have you noticed (and if you’re not a man, you probably haven’t) how LITTLE there is for men at the mall? Clothes wise, I mean. It seems like unless you’re a twiggish teen or middle aged duffer, your choices for clothes are pretty limited.
Since I’m not a twiggish teen (I am, after all, the Gym Dog), I’m not going to find my clothes at the same store as my 18 year old son. Anchor Blue, Hollister, American Eagle…cool looking clothes, and if I was 20+ years younger, I’d be shopping there. But I’m not, so I don’t. And let’s face it, is there anything more pathetic than an adult man who has not realized that dressing like a teen is just…well, wrong? (Okay, an adult man who dresses like a teen but also dates teenage girls is creepier, but that’s something we can discuss later.)
And where is it written that when you hit a certain age you have to start dressing like a Jimmy Buffet fan (no offense to Jimmy Buffet fans, of course)? Tommy Bahama? I think now. There’s a time for stuff like that, I suppose, but as a form of clothing to wear on a regular basis, I respectfully decline. I might BE middle aged, but I don’t FEEL middle aged, and I’m not ready to buy into the whole dressed-like-a-retiree-playing-shuffleboard thing. Which leads me to the jealousy comment.
I am jealous of women. I don’t walk around seething about it, of course, but really, if you’re a woman, you have SO many choices. The mall is all about women! Walk into Dillards and you literally have half of the store to wander thru in search of the perfect outfit.
And check out the women’s shoes section! All those colors and styles, each saying something different. As I walked thru Dillards, I couldn’t help but notice how much the shoe section just…glittered. The men’s section, by comparison, is pretty much browns and blacks, with the same styles offered by diffent companies.
And have you been to a DSW shoe store, or Famous Footwear, or any of those other places? Easily 90% womens shoes, and the other 10% is men and kids.
On a side note, there’s not much sexier than a nice pair of legs in a pair of high heels (and I mean WOMENS legs, you perverts).
Yes, yes, women have it harder. I do not envy women all of the waxing, shaving, plucking, dying, stretch marks, and all of the other things that go with being a woman. But when it comes to updating their wardrobes…well, there is where I have to admit that I feel the world of men needs improving.
Have you ever noticed that in old video footage from the middle of the last century, the men are always in suits? When, exactly, did that change? Probably the 60’s, when it was seen as being a conformist for a young person to walk out of the house in a suit. And I’ll admit, the suits weren’t that impressive, mostly greys and blacks, but the simple fact of the matter is men CARED about how they looked when they left the house.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not advocating a return to the 50’s and the era of slim ties and fedoras. The racism and sexism of that time is best left there.
Sadly, there is little you can do when it comes to offering men more choices. Calvin Klein said it best: “Nothing earth-shattering has happened in men's fashion. How much can you do with men's clothes?”
But how about somebody comes up with some stuff that says, “I am a strong, confident man, and I may not be a teenager, but I’m not ready for Bingo Night at the Senior Center.”
Now, if you’ll excuse me, Guitar Hero on the 360 is calling my name.
They come runnin just as fast as they can...
Friends, Americans, countrymen, lend me your ears.
Okay, paraphrasing from Julius Shakespeare might be a bit overdramatic, but I've been feeling a bit put out lately. Why? Because of a shirt.
Yes, I'm serious. A shirt.
First, let me say that I am not a metro-sexual. Okay, maybe a little, but not completely. I take care of myself, and I use the occasional man product (especially post shave lotion with sunscreen), but I'm not taking a bath with scented oils or getting a manicure and facial at the local spa (although I would like to try this microdermabrasion thing one time).
And when I walk out of the house, I like to look good. No baggy jeans with my crack showing, no grungy shirts, or backwards ball cap (FYI, that's a look for the bar on game day, college frat boys, and teenagers, not adult men to sport on a regular basis. Case closed). Nope, it’s jeans that fit and look good (but they have to be comfortable, too), a nice shirt (a collar is nice, but optional), and shoes (there comes a time when you have to realize that your shoes have exceeded their life expectancy). I live in
I think how you look says a lot about you, so I take some pride in looking good when the door closes behind me. When I walk into a room, I don’t want to stand out for the wrong reasons. I suppose that can be considered a bit snobby, but that's how the Gym Dog rolls. Remember that ZZ Topp song, ‘Sharp Dressed Man’? I’m not THAT sharp looking, but I do my best, you know?
So how, you're wondering, does this relate to a shirt? Well, I'm always on the lookout for a good shirt. Pants are pretty easy to find, as are shoes (I think. Maybe I’m just lucky in that department). But shirts aren't as easy as they seem. Is it the right size? What fits better, Large or Extra Large? Is it cheap material, or will it last for a while? Can I wear it all year round, or is it a warm-weather shirt only? All kinds of things make buying a shirt a bit of an ordeal. So when I find a good shirt, I buy it. And the other day, I found a good shirt.
I was at the local mall, and there it was. It was a dark purple shirt by Hugo Boss. Like I said before, I'm not a snob, but I like a good shirt, and this one was right up my alley. Even with the purple color.
Actually, I've been wanting a purple shirt, and this one was perfect. It was a dark, dark purple. That new liquid cotton material that’s all the rage. And it fit nicely (being broad across the shoulders, it’s hard to find a shirt that doesn’t hang and make me look like I’m wearing a gunny sack. What’s that, I should tuck it in? I’ll save that answer for another day), and I looked good (damned good). I had entered Shirt Nirvana. And then I saw it.
No, not another shirt. The price tag. $95.00. Yes, you read that right. NINETY. FIVE. DOLLARS. For a shirt. One dark purple, size XL, Hugo Boss shirt.
I didn't buy it, but that struck a nerve. Is any shirt worth $100? Especially in today's economy when unemployment is headed for 10% and food banks and churches are running out of food due to the increase in people seeking assistance? Even when it’s got a Hugo Boss label on it? My answer is simple. No.
So I'll continue my shirt quest. Maybe I'll get lucky and find a purple shirt that I like, and I'll definitely be back at the mall in the late summer/early fall to see if that shirt is on sale.
Why?
Stop the insanity!
As you can tell by the blog title, and the picture at the top of the page, I'm a gym sort of guy. I love it. I can go into the gym feeling completely unmotivated, but a few minutes into a workout and I'm a changed guy. And when I'm done working out, I always feel pumped up. I'm no musclehead, but I certainly do enjoy that feeling.
Still, there's a few things at the gym that bother me, and generally make the gym experience less than exhilarating.
People who don't put away their weights? Hate 'em. It's no big deal for me to grab a big weight and slide it off the bar, but I've helped a lot of women put weights away that some idiot left behind. And the culprits range from the young to the old, male to female. IT'S NOT YOUR HOUSE, PICK UP AFTER YOURSELF!
Teenage boys? Banish 'em. The majority of them are posers who are more interested in preening in front of the mirror than working out, and they tie up equipment. And why do they dress like they're going to school vice the gym? And do you blame the parents or the kids?
The list of people with poor gym etiquette is something that most gym regulars have, and I could go on about the people who monopolize one piece of equipment, the sweaters who don't wipe, the grunters, the weight droppers, and more. But while these things are irritating, and easily correctable with a word to the facility rep, there's one thing that is both gross AND puzzling. And that, my friends, is the flesh belt.
I know you've seen the flesh belt. Take one woman, add a pair of shorts or workout pants that are a size (at least) too small and a sports bra or a t-shirt meant for a first grader, and voila! The flesh belt. And the flesh belt knows no boundaries!
I've see the belt on young girls, old women, and every age in between. And when I see somebody with a flesh belt, my first instinct is always to sing the Jell-o song at the top of my lungs. You know, "Watch it wiggle, see it jiggle...." Fortunately, I was brought up right, and that coupled with my desire not to get punched in the nose keeps me from singing that catchy little jingle.
It makes me wonder, though, what went thru the person's head when they got dressed. "Workout pants too tight? Check. Sports bra? Check. Flesh belt? Double check." I mean, do these people have no sense of modesty? Do they honestly look in the mirror and think, "Oh yeah, I look goooooood"? Do their husbands or boyfriends tell them, "Ooh, baby, you are looking HOT!" Somehow, I don't think so (although I've been known to be wrong before).
Thus , my friends, I implore you to put an end to this eye trauma that dots the landscape of every fitness facility in the country. If your abs don't look like a six pack, and more closely resemble an inner tube inflated to 6 PSI, then I beg you...I beseech you...I plead with you to do the right thing and lose the flesh ring. Or at least put on a t-shirt. A long one.
You're welcome.
Still, there's a few things at the gym that bother me, and generally make the gym experience less than exhilarating.
People who don't put away their weights? Hate 'em. It's no big deal for me to grab a big weight and slide it off the bar, but I've helped a lot of women put weights away that some idiot left behind. And the culprits range from the young to the old, male to female. IT'S NOT YOUR HOUSE, PICK UP AFTER YOURSELF!
Teenage boys? Banish 'em. The majority of them are posers who are more interested in preening in front of the mirror than working out, and they tie up equipment. And why do they dress like they're going to school vice the gym? And do you blame the parents or the kids?
The list of people with poor gym etiquette is something that most gym regulars have, and I could go on about the people who monopolize one piece of equipment, the sweaters who don't wipe, the grunters, the weight droppers, and more. But while these things are irritating, and easily correctable with a word to the facility rep, there's one thing that is both gross AND puzzling. And that, my friends, is the flesh belt.
I know you've seen the flesh belt. Take one woman, add a pair of shorts or workout pants that are a size (at least) too small and a sports bra or a t-shirt meant for a first grader, and voila! The flesh belt. And the flesh belt knows no boundaries!
I've see the belt on young girls, old women, and every age in between. And when I see somebody with a flesh belt, my first instinct is always to sing the Jell-o song at the top of my lungs. You know, "Watch it wiggle, see it jiggle...." Fortunately, I was brought up right, and that coupled with my desire not to get punched in the nose keeps me from singing that catchy little jingle.
It makes me wonder, though, what went thru the person's head when they got dressed. "Workout pants too tight? Check. Sports bra? Check. Flesh belt? Double check." I mean, do these people have no sense of modesty? Do they honestly look in the mirror and think, "Oh yeah, I look goooooood"? Do their husbands or boyfriends tell them, "Ooh, baby, you are looking HOT!" Somehow, I don't think so (although I've been known to be wrong before).
Thus , my friends, I implore you to put an end to this eye trauma that dots the landscape of every fitness facility in the country. If your abs don't look like a six pack, and more closely resemble an inner tube inflated to 6 PSI, then I beg you...I beseech you...I plead with you to do the right thing and lose the flesh ring. Or at least put on a t-shirt. A long one.
You're welcome.
Rollin'...in my five point oh...
...with my ragtop down so my hair can blow...
Yeah, I admit it, it's Vanilla Ice...not me, but the lyrics.
I was rolling home from work today (in my spectra blue mica Toyota Prius, and no, it doesn't come in a convertible, so my hair was not blowing), and the guys on the radio were discussing the fact that Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer were doing a tour called The Big Pants Tour. And that got me thinking.
No, not about the rest of the lyrics to 'Ice Ice Baby' (but you have to admit, the opening hook is catchy), but about our guilty musical pleasures. We all have them, and it makes me wonder what other songs other people like that are considered cheesy, out of touch, or are just plain unknown.
Based on my age (that VH1 special "I Love the 80's" is right up my alley, and that's all I'm saying), I'm probably like most people hit their teens in the early/mid-80's. My MP3 player has a few gigabytes of songs that show that You Can Still Rock In America, that there's nothing like Girls, Girls, Girls to make you wish you were in Panama, and you'll always be cool if you can get Back in Black.
So what are some of my guilty pleasures? Well...
1. Blame It On the Rain by Milli Vanilli. Yeah, they were lip-synchers, but the song was great. Cheesy pop, but great. "Blame it on the rain/that was fallin' fallin'/Blame it on the stars/that shined at night/Whatever you do/Don't put the blame on you/Blame it on the rain, yeah yeah."
2. Heart and Soul by T'pau. Back in '87 I was at one of my military schools, and I would head to the gym when my class was done near midnight (I LOVED that 24 hour gym). Anyway, this song would play almost every night, it was a top 40 type of song, and I got hooked. "Give a little bit of heart and soul/give a little bit of love to grow/give a little bit of heart and soul/and don't you make me beg for more."
3. Only in My Dreams by Debbie Gibson. I know, you're thinking, "This guy is gay." I'm really not. When I was an aircrew member in the Air Force we used to stop at Clark Air Base in the Philippines, and in the cafeteria was a jukebox (I still want one for my Man Room). There was a little Filipino chick that worked in the barber shop there and when I'd play that song she'd come out and flirt with me. I know, I know, TOTALLY lame, but I loved those days of flying around the world. Strangely enough, I checked out the video on MTV.com a few weeks ago, and I was cracking up. "As real as it may seem/It was only in my dreams." Hmmm, Tiffany went nude for Playboy, maybe Debbie will give it up soon!
4. One Way Love by Elizabeth Daily. This is from 'Better Off Dead,' one of the best movies of all time. It doesn't really remind me of anything besides the movie, but it's a great song and makes me think about how much I liked learning 'the international language.' And the car in the movie? A 1967 Chevy Camaro. Hell to the YEAH.
5. Lovin' Every Minute of It by Loverboy. I know everybody was Working for the Weekend, but this song just rocked. It's a great workout song. It was also the class song when I graduated high school. "You want me/To come alive/So flick the switch into overdrive/You and me can let it be/Ready (ready) Aim (aim)...FIRE." This is one of those songs that I want to sing along to when I'm working out or doing cardio--and only my desire not to make a total ass out of myself in the gym keeps me from doing so.
I'm sure I could fill pages with songs and lyrics, and why I like them. Some bring back one memory or another. Others give me a little motivation when I'm lifting weights or doing cardio. And some I just like for no particular reason.
So no matter if I'm in the mood to Train in Vain, or I feel like I'm getting Money for Nothing, if I just Hang on Loosely, maybe I'll find Two Tickets to Paradise and wind up as a Sharp Dressed Man instead of Dancing in the Dark.
And remember, anything less than the best is a felony.
Yeah, I admit it, it's Vanilla Ice...not me, but the lyrics.
I was rolling home from work today (in my spectra blue mica Toyota Prius, and no, it doesn't come in a convertible, so my hair was not blowing), and the guys on the radio were discussing the fact that Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer were doing a tour called The Big Pants Tour. And that got me thinking.
No, not about the rest of the lyrics to 'Ice Ice Baby' (but you have to admit, the opening hook is catchy), but about our guilty musical pleasures. We all have them, and it makes me wonder what other songs other people like that are considered cheesy, out of touch, or are just plain unknown.
Based on my age (that VH1 special "I Love the 80's" is right up my alley, and that's all I'm saying), I'm probably like most people hit their teens in the early/mid-80's. My MP3 player has a few gigabytes of songs that show that You Can Still Rock In America, that there's nothing like Girls, Girls, Girls to make you wish you were in Panama, and you'll always be cool if you can get Back in Black.
So what are some of my guilty pleasures? Well...
1. Blame It On the Rain by Milli Vanilli. Yeah, they were lip-synchers, but the song was great. Cheesy pop, but great. "Blame it on the rain/that was fallin' fallin'/Blame it on the stars/that shined at night/Whatever you do/Don't put the blame on you/Blame it on the rain, yeah yeah."
2. Heart and Soul by T'pau. Back in '87 I was at one of my military schools, and I would head to the gym when my class was done near midnight (I LOVED that 24 hour gym). Anyway, this song would play almost every night, it was a top 40 type of song, and I got hooked. "Give a little bit of heart and soul/give a little bit of love to grow/give a little bit of heart and soul/and don't you make me beg for more."
3. Only in My Dreams by Debbie Gibson. I know, you're thinking, "This guy is gay." I'm really not. When I was an aircrew member in the Air Force we used to stop at Clark Air Base in the Philippines, and in the cafeteria was a jukebox (I still want one for my Man Room). There was a little Filipino chick that worked in the barber shop there and when I'd play that song she'd come out and flirt with me. I know, I know, TOTALLY lame, but I loved those days of flying around the world. Strangely enough, I checked out the video on MTV.com a few weeks ago, and I was cracking up. "As real as it may seem/It was only in my dreams." Hmmm, Tiffany went nude for Playboy, maybe Debbie will give it up soon!
4. One Way Love by Elizabeth Daily. This is from 'Better Off Dead,' one of the best movies of all time. It doesn't really remind me of anything besides the movie, but it's a great song and makes me think about how much I liked learning 'the international language.' And the car in the movie? A 1967 Chevy Camaro. Hell to the YEAH.
5. Lovin' Every Minute of It by Loverboy. I know everybody was Working for the Weekend, but this song just rocked. It's a great workout song. It was also the class song when I graduated high school. "You want me/To come alive/So flick the switch into overdrive/You and me can let it be/Ready (ready) Aim (aim)...FIRE." This is one of those songs that I want to sing along to when I'm working out or doing cardio--and only my desire not to make a total ass out of myself in the gym keeps me from doing so.
I'm sure I could fill pages with songs and lyrics, and why I like them. Some bring back one memory or another. Others give me a little motivation when I'm lifting weights or doing cardio. And some I just like for no particular reason.
So no matter if I'm in the mood to Train in Vain, or I feel like I'm getting Money for Nothing, if I just Hang on Loosely, maybe I'll find Two Tickets to Paradise and wind up as a Sharp Dressed Man instead of Dancing in the Dark.
And remember, anything less than the best is a felony.
Nurse Jenny may be hot, but...
I'm sure you've seen this before, and I've always hated it: medical personnel in stores in their scrubs.
I'm married to a nurse (yes, she's hot, and no, she doesn't wear a white dress with a weird hat), and when she gets home after a 12 hour shift, the first thing she does is toss her dirty work clothes into the washing machine, after which she promptly takes a shower. And why is that?
BECAUSE SHE DEALS WITH OTHER PEOPLES BODIES ALL DAY! Excrement, urine, sweat, blood...not the sort of stuff you want to deal with while you're at your local super market, right? I mean, I know that (most) nurses are pretty good about wearing the proper protective gear while dealing their patients, but really, does that mean you should stop by Publix on the way home to do your weekly shopping? In a word, NO.
I was at the movie theater a few weeks ago (sorry, I can't remember what movie I was seeing), and I was getting a bottle of water at the snack bar. The guy in front of me was wearing scrubs, and I don't know if he was just off of work or going to work after the movie (yes, I knew he was a nurse by the stethoscope around his neck and he name-tag that had his name and 'RN' under it). Anyway, Nurse Dude, gets his popcorn and then goes and uses the self serve pump to put butter on it. Now, if I had purchased popcorn, I'd have had to use the same pump. Thus, if ND had decided to stop at the movies after a long night shift, he'd be carrying all of those nasty germs and bacteria he picked up at work, and I, by using the same pump (PUSH HERE) would have gotten all of that stuff on my hands, which I'd then use to put the popcorn in my mouth...see where I'm going with this?
I'm in the military, and there are rules about where I can and can't wear my work uniform. Obviously, there isn't a Nurse Uniform Committee that sets the rules for nurses, but maybe there should be. At the very least, the states should be writing the rules, and the hospital administration should be reinforcing them to their staff, so that medical professionals are not wearing filthy uniforms out to public places.
Right now medical people are complaining about too much government oversight, but you know why the government has to be involved? Because people are either too stupid or too lazy to do the right thing by themselves.
I realize, of course, that people need to stop for staples, but is it that hard to think to yourself, "Hey, I need to stop at the store on the way home, maybe I should pack a change of clothes for after work"? I don't think so.
This also goes for the people who work for vets or animal hospitals. It's gross people. GROSS.
Now let's talk about those Crocs, shall we?
I'm married to a nurse (yes, she's hot, and no, she doesn't wear a white dress with a weird hat), and when she gets home after a 12 hour shift, the first thing she does is toss her dirty work clothes into the washing machine, after which she promptly takes a shower. And why is that?
BECAUSE SHE DEALS WITH OTHER PEOPLES BODIES ALL DAY! Excrement, urine, sweat, blood...not the sort of stuff you want to deal with while you're at your local super market, right? I mean, I know that (most) nurses are pretty good about wearing the proper protective gear while dealing their patients, but really, does that mean you should stop by Publix on the way home to do your weekly shopping? In a word, NO.
I was at the movie theater a few weeks ago (sorry, I can't remember what movie I was seeing), and I was getting a bottle of water at the snack bar. The guy in front of me was wearing scrubs, and I don't know if he was just off of work or going to work after the movie (yes, I knew he was a nurse by the stethoscope around his neck and he name-tag that had his name and 'RN' under it). Anyway, Nurse Dude, gets his popcorn and then goes and uses the self serve pump to put butter on it. Now, if I had purchased popcorn, I'd have had to use the same pump. Thus, if ND had decided to stop at the movies after a long night shift, he'd be carrying all of those nasty germs and bacteria he picked up at work, and I, by using the same pump (PUSH HERE) would have gotten all of that stuff on my hands, which I'd then use to put the popcorn in my mouth...see where I'm going with this?
I'm in the military, and there are rules about where I can and can't wear my work uniform. Obviously, there isn't a Nurse Uniform Committee that sets the rules for nurses, but maybe there should be. At the very least, the states should be writing the rules, and the hospital administration should be reinforcing them to their staff, so that medical professionals are not wearing filthy uniforms out to public places.
Right now medical people are complaining about too much government oversight, but you know why the government has to be involved? Because people are either too stupid or too lazy to do the right thing by themselves.
I realize, of course, that people need to stop for staples, but is it that hard to think to yourself, "Hey, I need to stop at the store on the way home, maybe I should pack a change of clothes for after work"? I don't think so.
This also goes for the people who work for vets or animal hospitals. It's gross people. GROSS.
Now let's talk about those Crocs, shall we?
Welcome to Planet Gym Dog
Greetings and salutations. Forgive me for not giving up my real name, but since I may step on some toes, I figure it's best to keep my own identity private...kind of like Superman and his alter ego, Clark Kent, somebody I've been accused of looking like. Strangely enough, even though I changed how I wear my hair years ago, I still get that. Must be the wholesomeness thing.
I am sure you're asking, what is Planet Gym Dog? Well, PGD is a place that exists only in my mind, but if it DID exist, it would be one great place. I have a saying, cheesy but my own, that goes like this: "It's always sunny on Planet (my name). Of course, some days are sunnier than others." So PGD is just another name for my happy place (points for you if you get the Happy Gilmore reference). On PGD, I am king of the castle, lord of the manor, and master of all that I survey. The rules are flexible, and common sense is actually used by the residents.
Expect this blog to be about whatever is on my mind at the time. Rants, rages, stories, or whatever I feel like writing about. I'm not trying to impress anybody, and I doubt that I'll win any awards, but I hope you find it interesting anyway.
I am sure you're asking, what is Planet Gym Dog? Well, PGD is a place that exists only in my mind, but if it DID exist, it would be one great place. I have a saying, cheesy but my own, that goes like this: "It's always sunny on Planet (my name). Of course, some days are sunnier than others." So PGD is just another name for my happy place (points for you if you get the Happy Gilmore reference). On PGD, I am king of the castle, lord of the manor, and master of all that I survey. The rules are flexible, and common sense is actually used by the residents.
Expect this blog to be about whatever is on my mind at the time. Rants, rages, stories, or whatever I feel like writing about. I'm not trying to impress anybody, and I doubt that I'll win any awards, but I hope you find it interesting anyway.
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