Tap Into the Power

What makes the muskrat guard his musk? I think that was courage. What I'm talking about is much more effective than courage: It's something I will call "pesterverence." When I was leaving a job interview the other day, "Larry the Owner" told me he could see that I was persistent and that he liked that. Hopefully, enough that he will offer me the job when the interviews have been completed.

It is good for people to remember the importance of this quality. It's what gave The Little Engine the ability to "could." It's the trick to being one of the freaks in the Guinness Book of World Records. And it's made it possible for guys nerdier than me to wrangle girls ten times their better into marraige all throughout time.

It's how my wife motivates me to paint the kitchen or take out the trash. It's the logic behind telemarketing, which we have every reason to believe will be around forever. So get out there and squeak, you shiny brass wheels, and all the grease from that nasty tube protruding from the outerwall of your favorite fast food joint is sure to be your reward.

I love the dialogue from the end of an episode of "The Simpsons":

Bill Clinton: "...Thank you, Lisa, for teaching kids everywhere a valuable lesson: If things don't go your way, just keep complaining until your dreams come true."

Marge: "That's a pretty lousy lesson."

Bill Clinton: "Hey, I'm a pretty lousy president."

I Believe You Can Get Me Through the Night

Now that I'm not working an ungodly shift I have time to sleep and eat regularly. I feel a lot better and I've even started dreaming again. But I've recently realized how annoying dreaming has always been to me. Once it gets to the point that I'm consciously aware of my dream something really annoying happens. For instance, I realized I was dreaming and I was standing on a mountain road beside a lake. Once I became aware of this, a mountain lion began attacking me. I would drive him off but he would return again and again. Sometimes I dream I'm at a river with snakes all around; on the beach, in the trees, swimming in the water. The other night I dreamed I was walking on the street near my house and gangsters started chasing me. I ran and jumped from a steep hillside, over a barbed-wire fence and had to make a rough sliding landing. That's another common theme: falling off cliffs. I dream of really high, steep escalators, or things like driving off a cliff and being trapped in a car, hundreds of feet below the surface of the water. Dream analysts can tell me what they think of this, but I'm not likely to take the responses to heart. Just like I won't believe my teeth-grinding is stress-related: We were in Hawaii for a week with a thousand dollars more than we planned and my wife said I was still grinding away. My five and two year old both grind their teeth in their sleep as well.

What Makes the Redman Red?

1. Were the Cherokee people the sexiest people of all time? Any time I get into a conversation about being Indian, without fail, "person B" will bring up about how they are part-cherokee. Then a rusty gear in their brain tries to turn and they mumble about fractions until smoke comes out of their ears and the conversation finally dissipates. I'm always tempted to ask if it's one of those romantic tales of "soldier pillages village" or if some mountain man bought himself a squaw. But to corroborate all of these cherokee bloodlines, either there was some "noble savage" out there who made Don Juan look like Quasimodo (doesn't seem likely) or the Cherokee people had a sexual draw unrivaled by any group aside from the cast of Baywatch. While I would like to believe that is true, it seems that the whole Trail of Tears incident would have been avoided had they actually possessed irresistable come-hither looks. What I'm saying is, unless there is more to the story than "you think your grandma once told you there was cherokee blood in there somewhere" you should just assume nobody cares. And, if there is a group of caucasian people out there with NO cherokee blood in your lines, then you must be the smallest minority group in the land.

2. People also like to ask me: Do you feel like the government owes you and your people retribution? The answer is: Of course they do. Do I expect it to happen? No. Am I willing to let it all go? Yes, at the exact moment when it seems like anything has changed since 400 years ago.

I had a college history teacher who tried to sum up the genocidal use of smallpox that wiped out 90% of this continents indigenous people as a fair trade for the syphilis contracted by those first pilgrims. You may think it would be easy to decline a wagon-load of toxic blankets in a bitter-cold winter but just you try to kill an Indian without first making sexual contact. Brother, it ain't easy. A surprising number of people (including my brother's college professor) seem to think stealing land is justified because "the indians weren't using it" ie. they didn't survey, fence or create arbitrary boundaries the way white people did. They committed the horrendous crime of "they didn't do what we would do." They dared to be different. But if you have a set of golf clubs sitting in your basement collecting dust, does that give me the right take them and seek out my fortune? No. I would go to jail if I did that. I've also heard people try to argue that the Indians had a really bad quality of life (I guess to the extent that they were better off being wiped out? What are you getting at, people who argue this?).

Essentially, government agencies scoured the land for property they could not put to good use (often considered uninhabitable) and fenced the Indians in. At gunpoint in the beginning. Always the promise of a decent place to live, always the delivery of the opposite in most cases. Then the huge blunder of not checking that given land for things like gold and uranium. Now they have to take it back. What's that called again? But that continues on to this very day. People always like to think of it as ancient history. It's not. It was at the heart of the event that sent Leonard Peltier to prison and it is still going on.


I can think of at least one prominent religion that tells a story of how Indians descended from a shady character and God made their skin dark as a punishment for their unfortunate heritage. You can justify that to yourself however you like, but it still boils down to straight-up racism. Anyone who believes that skin-color correlates to sin and unholiness should also be bold enough to see themselves for what they are. An institute that expects people to cast off their culture to obtain God's gift of "pureness" is a culture destroying machine. If you can think of some political party from history that tried to wipe out an entire culture based purely on racial differences, then using that party in comparison to what I just described may be an apt analogy.

Indians are virtually invisible to television and movies. "Networks received criticism because there are not enough shows featuring blacks and hispanics." It's common news. How many shows can you think of with a primary Indian character? That "Spirit" guy from G.I. Joe cartoons? I would like to think he wasn't some kind of stereotype but, if my memory serves, I have never seen any Indian walk around with a 15 pound bald eagle perched on their shoulder. No, the Indians on TV are always the mystic type, ready with the peyote, who know the secrets of the dreamcatchers, and who can get "Walker, Texas Ranger" his mojo back. Or they are mean "Injun Joe" -types. And this articles namesake, "Disney's Peter Pan": Back when racism was still fun, the golden age when Disney could release Song of the South in its full version, including the short "Coal Black and de sebben dwarfs." They seem to embrace it with the musical number "What makes the redman red?" and point-blank lines like "the indian is cunning but not intelligent." Priceless. We have a copy. One year, a german engineer could be giving people the mustard gas and the next the same guy could be designing Tomorrow Land at the happiest place on earth.

The most press Indians seem to get is jokes about casinos. How many times will a joke about losing money to a casino be funny? Not to mention, most Indian casinos are masterminded and brought into being by people like Donald Trump and other established non-Indian casino owners.

I am not saying Indians are perfect and I mean to take them to task on a great many issues. For one, success with casinos has started a trend of tribes axing their own people from the tribal roles for the sake of cutting checks to less people. That is a big issue to me and I'll say much more about it later. I say all of these things for the same reason I blogged about France. If a solution is to be found, the actual problem needs to be discussed.

Jumping Beans

The kids like to put pillows in their shirts and use each other as punching bags. They usually don't wait for me to find a pillow for myself.

Captain, My Captain

Today I outlined the gameplan to the kids so I could get to a job interview. At the conclusion I asked, "Do you understand?" To which Ethan quickly responded, "Yes, SIR."

If I had trained him to do that it would have been impressive. Since I've never used that word IN MY LIFE it was like getting a Father-of-the-Year award. Proof positive that my priorities are straight: Kids first, then education, jobs and the other tripe of life.

Without kids, I would be stuck, much like Sir-Mixalot, assigning the title to myself. Which I'm sure is hardly as gratifying. But instead, I earned it, like Sir Mixalot earned all those gold records. I'm sure there is tremendous pressure being born with a name like "Mixalot" to become either an MC or a baker of fine pastries. Either profession is fitting for a guy who likes big butts.

So I've got the respect. Now... if I could just let my family eat that.

Dreams Are For Those Asleep In Bed

I really want to write something for everyone tonight but I need to sleep. And you all have my official consent to start celebrating the yuletide.

Tragic: Granny Poonanny

I wasn't going to do this character but I couldn't resist after Gordon's colorful christening. I meant to add a chihuahua head protruding from the purse but the picture already took longer than I liked.

Due to a calcium deficiency and brittle bones, Granny has a very low hit-point value. However, she does have a discombobulating effect on all men and possibly some women.

Catch phrase: This Kitty's still got eight lives (*claws at the air with manicured nails*)

Age defying, my swollen prostate!

Please also see Slimysculpin's contribution to the game.

Oh, For Yesteryears

These are postcards printed in Germany in 1909. Apparently they saw an opening in the market and got dollar signs in their eyes. It would appear the darkest Thanksgivings occurred sometime between the first one and now. But I'm glad that Indians have been invited back to the table, even if it means they have to rent a costume from a halloween shop or get on some ceremonial garb.

Lifting Your Esteem

We were watching one of those "weekly review" shows (highlights from various other shows) the other day. I've never seen the "Tyra Banks Show" but they were showing a clip. I'm not sure what types of issues Tyra usually deals with but on this show she was intent on abolishing rumors that her breasts were not real. To do so, she brought in an OBGYN to do a "feel test" and a mammogram, which I guess would reveal any synthetic material.

First thing first, she reached under her t-shirt and unclasped her bra. At this point my wife's fist shot up in the air and she loosed a triumphant, "Yes!!!" After a bout of laughter I asked, "Of all the things we see on television, why did that get you worked up enough to shout?"

Eleanor said, "Didn't you see how far her boobs fell? Mine are big but they don't sink like that."
Me: "So you're happy you have better boobs than Tyra Banks?"
Eleanor: "Yes."

It was a bad day for Tyra Banks. And compared to Eleanor, the model's personality is twice as droopy.

Tragic: Pitbull Man

Pitbull Man:

His hit-points are "moderate" but he is also protected by a "Shield of Obliviousness." Oblivious to the whereabouts of his dog. Oblivious that the Dark Lord grants him more power with each soul delivered to Hades by the jaws of his demon dog. Good grief, why can't he just have a normal dog like everyone else?

Tragic: The Blathering

I've recently decided to create my own "reality-based" Pokemon/Magic: The Gathering -type card game. I'm spending about 10 minutes per picture in the "paint" program so don't expect renaissance material here.

This first character, I will dub "Yeah-Boy!"

His maximum hit-points directly correlate to his father's credit limit; pretty high.

His catch-phrase is: "Where da party at?"
He is comfortable wearing pink because fashion gurus have convinced him it's "IN."
He will always back down from a fight and yet is invincible as he is bound to evolve into "Corporate Yes-Man," raking in six figures at a "friend-of-the-family" business.

J.Crew's Alternate Universe

This is J.Crew's Deerskin "Trapper" with coyote trim. At $525 a piece and winter weather expected to traipes in sometime in the near future, they are bound to sell out fast. J. Crew may have their finger on the pulse of woman's fashion, however, for the men, their wares are not up to snuff.

First, I will start by letting the cat out of the bag to the J. Crew executives: Your designers are only PRETENDING to be gay. The proof is in the bad color schemes, the "toggle" fasteners on the coats, the whole "use an ugly tie as a belt idea." Beyond that, you can't pitch to your market the idea of "I don't care how I look as long as I'm comfortable" and then expect guys to pay over $20 for a t-shirt. J. Crew's pre-ripped jeans sell for $130. I could get them for half that at the mall assuming I had any problem ruining my jeans by myself. I find $2 shirts at Old Navy all the time.

On the positive side: I do enjoy drawing on the models in the J. Crew catalog with a ball point pen. Also, my mother bought me a sweater from a J. Crew outlet store just north of Denver. My wife and I went to a hamburger place and some lady made a B-line across the diner. Without regard for my wife hanging on my arm, she grabs the other and says "Oh, my gosh! Is that the J. Crew roll-neck sweater? It is SO refreshing to see a guy who knows how to dress!" I won't say it wasn't totally creepy, but that WAS the first and only time that has ever happened to me. Get it together, J. Crew.

Granny: Hot or Not?

Is it happening more and more that you are standing in line at the grocery store or at a burrito place and you just get a general sense of the people around you, only to find that someone you thought to be a girl of 20 or so whips around and her face has more wrinkles than the Sahara Desert?

I'm not putting them down. I applaud these ladies for reclaiming their lives in the later years and striving to be how they see themselves. I will give them the benefit of the doubt that they are not having a midlife crisis (unless they follow it up with botox, a boob job, skin peels and all that).

Maybe it's something local to my area, but it is starting to seem that the grandmas are starting to take care of themselves better than the youngsters do. Then they put on the "juicy couture" clothes, lipstick in a shade of pink you would think only a teen would wear and that's where the boggling of my mind begins. I think I will appreciate this issue more in about 25 years.

Short Story Update

Okay, so the first short story I wrote may have been a couple lines short of a satisfying ending. I didn't say these are ready for publication. I'm looking for feedback, people. I put up another story at that same page. Please give it a chance:

http://flieswithoutwings1.pbwiki.com/FrontPage

Passing of an Era: II

Look at me in that last picture. That boy has cut his hair for the sake of job hunting. He's hung up the "Faith No More" T-shirt and the Big Green coat. I rarely complain about my teenage years. But that was a dream I lived years ago and so must go other antiquated pieces from my youth.

As I'm writing this, I wonder at what I'm doing. I've already raved about the minivan and now I'm about to dis' my beloved first car. When I was 15, I took my friends and parents to Vernal and we bought this car in original condition for $500. We cranked over the engine and out blew a burst of white feathers. I took it home and it sat in my garage for years. I forced my friends to help me sand it. I put in new carpet, seat covers, headliner and CD player. When I was 18 I bought decent wheels and tires and had a skilled painter spray on layer after layer till the body was in show quality.

It's been to California and Washington and back again. Never a shortage of adventures, usually beginning with a mechanical ailment; "we overheated outside Elko, Nevada due to a faulty radiator cap..." "the fuel pump physically broke on a rural highway outside Gold Beach, Oregon...".

No women have ever physically thrown themselves at me to get closer to my car. Some girls in college described it as "cute" and I was millimeters from denying them a ride to the store. Mostly car dudes or old men chase you down to "talk shop."

I would never regret buying the car. It is from the golden age of pissed-off and beautiful american automobiles. But now I am a family guy with three kids and an elegant wife. My first car gets next to no use and watching it sit in the driveway is like watching your kid slowly die of cancer. The windshield is scratched from the wiper. My sister-in-law lost the key to the trunk. Some guys at a Jiffy Lube in Elko skewed the hood. The paint is now shot and the rust is coming back. Some guy pulled onto a busy street without looking and broke the cars nose. Someone keyed the fender; but I'm sure he craves the violent death that is certainly coming his way. Maybe it doesn't look that bad in the top picture but when you have things to hide, the darkness is your friend.

I have tried to keep the car up but it requires a lot of attention. I paid $1000 for a transmission rebuild. Now, a month later, if you go out and turn the key, absolutely nothing happens. I put in a new starter and a new battery but haven't remedied the problem. I really don't have time or a place for it anymore. I will probably end up putting it on eBay in the next week or two for just the amount I paid to repair the transmission. There is a sad side to it, but life doesn't wait or slow down for anyone. You just have to keep moving. In the grand scheme of things, it's just a car.

Passing of an Era: I

The picture: On the left is my younger brother, Joel. Next to him is my older sister, May (sorry, if you don't like the picture May :). That girl in the front is my sister's ex-sister-in-law. On the right is me at the tender age of 17.

I searched through a lot of pictures and, sorry, this is the best I could find to pay homage to a wonderful jacket. First I called it the "20 pound coat." One plastic hanger is not enough; best use two hangers or the one will snap and the coat will be on the floor. Nowadays I call it Big Green or The Big Green Coat.

I know that I am in a transitional place in my life, as far as careers, kids, houses, all that. Moreso, I have already decided that after this year I will retire Big Green.

My wife hates the coat. Hates. It's a military issue coat, from the tag: Jacket, Flying, Man's. I'm sure the coat is older than I am. My stepfather acquired the coat, used, when I was about 16. Already retired from military duty. But as such it was meant to perform. You can abuse it and it will be ready to go again tomorrow for years on end. Someone could shiv you in an alley, you would need one stitch, the coat would take five. Wouldn't it be cool during the design of all clothes, if the taylor stopped every couple of minutes to ask "Now where can we fit MORE bullets?" How about four tiny pockets on the sleeve? Watch out, enemies of democracy! Wool pockets up high, giant chambers down low. Dual chambers that would rival any woman's purse for storage.

When I wear Big Green I understand why girls chase and marry men with money. It is impossible to be cold in the embrace, even while building a snowcave. In school, the coat is a fortress. You can drift into slumber and Big Green will hold you as rigid as the most alert notetaker. If someone breaks your heart and your stepping off a bus, considering collapsing in the street, you can do it. It won't hurt or be uncomfortable, even if you're on rocks or in a puddle. At my torturous place of employment I used the coat as a physical shield. Tried to block out my horrible reality.

Today the coat is stained and torn. The wrists were shredded by the sharp metal edges of my snowboard during years of back country riding. The edges are ragged like cut-off jeans.

So this is Big Green's last winter and life will never be the same again.

Weekend

My thumbs have blisters on them from raking up the leaves in our yard without gloves. We did the whole thing where the kids came out and jumped in the pile and then, 6 days before the next garbage day, I loaded up our garbage cans with Mother Nature's litter from her annual autumn ticker-tape parade. I scared our neighbors "free-range" bunny, Cuddles, to death with the rake. The neighbor kids say he is an "indoor rabbit" but he always escapes. He lives in our backyard. He loiters around our bunny hutch. Don't feel bad for our rabbits. When they escape they just hang around the outside of their cage anyway.

We woke up this morning and ate some Clementines and watched "Home Alone" on TV. Eleanor cooked a roast using some seasoning Gordon gave me at work. Speaking of work, I applied for a job yesterday filling fire-extinguishers. The place was full of good ol' boys, but overall, they were harmless and I think I would enjoy working there. The way I draw the odds, in a storehouse full of fun-loving people and fire-extinguishers with the chemicals used to charge them you are bound to have one really, really exciting day per year OR a mildly exciting day at work every other day. When I went to the office to apply, I was greeted by a secretary who was not particularly cute or particularly "hot" but she seemed to think she was and she wore a shirt which revealed a lot of the terrain between her neck and her belly button. She told me she was going to continue vacuming while I wrote out my life story on the application. When her boss came in I missed whatever gesture he made but she replied with "Mine are better... and they're REAL." Then a scuffle ensued. The secretary complained about her boots being scuffed. The boss paged someone by the name "Army Man." Army Man showed up right away. He was a thin guy, younger than me and he joined in the mirth-making. Then there was a lot of talk about repairing dry-wall. Hey. I do drywall.

I actually took all of this as a good sign. At my last job we were getting pulled aside everyother day, interrogated with questions like "Have you ever heard the term 'golfing' used in a derogatory way? How about 'opening the umbrella'? 'stirring the pot'? 'embracing the mongoose'?" It seems much healthier to be in an environment where adults can be immature without the world coming to an end. The boss said they had not had many impressive applicants and that I would probably be back for interviews next week. He even made fun of me for quitting my job before I had another lined up. It was great.

Lookalikes II

That last entry was long, so I spared you my spiel on how we ended the 20th century saturated in Jane Austin films and the question of whether or not a new "Pride and Prejudice was necessary.

I also thought I would take a personal spin on the topic. My wife has been going nuts about how we hung out with a movie star a few weeks ago and she wants me to tell everyone. She thinks people will find it very interesting. I have my doubts but I can work it into this story. We'll see what you think.

Throughout my life I have been plagued by people who like to play "which celebrity do you resemble?" People always tell me I look like Lou Diamond Phillips. I attribute this to the lack of famous native americans, aside from "extras" in "The Last of the Mohicans" or "Dances with Wolves." But it seems to come up over and over. My cousin Dena. Our children's pediatrician. My sister-in-law, who brought it up during our visit with Joan Allen (you may know her as that CIA director in The Bourne Supremacy or as the "mom" in Pleasantville). It was most disturbing because Joan Allen did agree; me and Lou Diamond Phillips, two peas in a pod. If you would like to make your own decision then scroll down or check my blog "archives" for "I Walk the Thinnest Line."

Joan Allen is playing a mormon in an upcoming movie. It sounds kind of like "Thelma and Louise" only with prudes instead of Gena Davis, Susan Sarandon and Brad Pitt. So she was hanging out with my in-laws to see how mormons live. Either she is skilled at the art of acting or she genuinely is well-mannered, attentive and polite. I guess she deserves accolades either way. We jokingly asked her to sign our Bourne Supremacy DVD case right over Matt Damon's face, which she did. And it did strike me as odd that she acted deeply interested in my story before I could even set it up when I described a film I participated in about vampires in the old west. The movie was going to blow the lid off the entire genre but never came to fruition due to differences between the writer and director. I didn't have any lines aside from the moaning during my two death scenes.

I would post a picture of us with Joan Allen but that would just be an admission that I thought we were cool or something.

Celebrity Lookalikes

There is some comedian that says "have you ever noticed that when someone says their friend looks like a celebrity, the friend looks like that celebrity except uglier?" This bit isn't about regular everyday jackasses trying to look like celebrities. It's about celebrities that seem to replace other celebrities.

For instance, Christian Slater is the Jack Nicholson for my generation. It seems to be the consensus as Christian Slater commonly makes jokes to that effect. You may be so bold as to say that Ben Folds is the new Elton John, that lame Oasis band seems to think they're The Beetles despite never producing a good album, Gwen Stefani is on target to be the next Madonna whereas Courtney Love seems to offer a consistent rendition of "Madonna on crack" (Don't go there, Material Girlfriend). Maybe Jim Carrey is the new Jerry Lewis, Al Franken is the closest we have to a new Will Rogers, and John Travolta is our new John Travolta just pudgier and with more wrinkles.

The television, as usual, assumes we are morons and creates shows like "Ed" (?, the bowling alley lawyer show?) with a star who looks remarkably like Jon Stewart of The Daily Show and "Bones" stars a heroine who looks suspiciously like Amy Poehler who delivers news on "Saturday Night Live," who replaced Jimmy Fallon who followed a little too close borrowing Adam Sandler's flava'. The "obvious subliminalism" of look-alike casting coupled with annoying show titles like "Joan of Arcadia" or "The Ghost Whisperer" is insulting in that networks will not void from their rectums anything that they are not convinced the general audience (you and me) already has some familiarity with.

As a further aside, Hollywood has been complaining about a drop off in year over year profits based on box-office ticket sales. My advice: Stop burying us in crappy Big Screen remakes of movies or shows that were not good to begin with! All of this simply leads me to believe that Orwell was correct with his idea that all of our "best" fiction will soon be written by machines maintained by some mediocre chic from the "Junior Anti-Sex League" in the "pornography department." Everyone seems to think "Harry Potter" is the greatest thing since "The Butthole Surfers" but all I see is ripped themes and icons. Subtract the influences of Roald Dahl's charm and Dickens-like scenarios and borrow elements from the movie "Labyrinth" except without the music of David Bowie or Jennifer Connelly's majestic presence and what is left: Some overhyped, overly-lucky nerd with a tacky lightning bolt on his forehead.

With that said, this all stems from me blurting out: "Oh, that girl again! She's just trying to be the new Winona Ryder. But she's not!"

Sure, Winona Ryder may be a pill-popping, shoplifter but that doesn't vaporize her accomplishments. Admittedly, I watched "Beetle Juice" a few too many times as a kid. Winona has earned her spot in my psyche. The seat is full. Get your own seat. Do you hear me, KEIRA KNIGHTLEY? Until I can see you and not mistake you for Ms. Ryder you're out in the cold.

It also doesn't help that Knightley's breakout role was opposite Johnny Depp in that "Pirate" Movie. Anyone who has religiously read People magazine for the past 20 years knows that Frenchie from Jump Street is Winona's beau. It's Johnny and Winona Forever! Like Edward Scissorhands. You may be saying, "NO, KIERA WAS WITH LEGOLAS!" Everyone knows that guy is losing his edge and that Depp was the big star of that movie and the one Knightley would most like to be hunkered down with. Legolas was about as manly as an androgynous elf could be in The Rings. Then that guy was less manly but okay in The Pirates and then a big wuss in the cool brazen man-meat film "Troy" and now he recently just gave in completely to do that gushy tennis movie? See how I won't even bother to research names here? That guy has some work to do to get back in good stead.

So, Knightley.... haircuts and big peepers and standing by "her" man don't gain you Winona's awards. Get out there and be somebody.

Wiz Kidz

Ethan was upset because the kids at school kept telling him there was no such thing as a Sea Dragon. They look pretty real to me you snot-nosed punks! And they all seem to think my kid has problems learning.