The Weekly

Sometimes, you spend so much money in a week that it hurts you to your teeth. Might be worth it, and in this case it is worth it...but that doesn't mean that your toenails don't jiggle everytime I think about it.

New bed: $800.00
Dog vet visit: $360.00
Paid off truck: $950.00

Peace of mind at not having to worry about this stuff any more? Priceless.

It's a nice bed, big rice bed...no lice bed? I made a rhyme. I could be a rapper. Either way, it really is a nice big rice bed that I think the wife and I will appreciate for a long time to come. Might as well spend the money for something you're going to like and is going to last you for a long, long time, than spend less money, be unhappy with what you got, and end up getting another one later.

The dog, of course, is fine. She sheds like it's her job, but she's made of tough stuff, and isn't dying. We spent the money to get her on heartworm medicine and flea/tick treatment, so that'll be an expense we don't have to deal with later.

Finally, I paid off my truck. Words don't express the joy that comes with this...it's mine. Not the banks. Hooray abounds.

Individual results may vary.

Once more into the relatively unknown.

It never ceases to amaze me just how much transitioning to the beginning of two rounds of night shift from the customary two rounds of day shift blows...and rest assured, it blows like the mighty winds. I've mentioned before that BlogSpot is blocked on the computers here at work...can't have those social networking websites bringing down productivity.

Antiproductive behaviors will find a way, and as such I'm bringing you this post in all-new, all-mediocre e-mail styles. It's pushing 6:00am right now (about ten minutes away from, actually), and I'm faced with the realization that I don't have anything Earth-shattering to share with you, my loyal reader(s?), but I can't see a reason in the world why I can't help you with your own antiproductive behaviors by subjecting you to my fatigue-induced ramblings. If I can help one person waste at least five minutes of their day on pointless drivel on the masses of the internet, I feel as though I've done my part to help society. It's what I do, I'm a helpful sort of fellow.

If you're reading this, your probably already know that I'm in the security industry. The nuclear security industry, to be exact. For the sake of this little bit of anonymity that I have under the pseudonym of John Q. Public, I can't tell those of you who don't know me WHAT nuke plant I work at, or what company I work for...but it's a big one. My job is anywhere between one hour of work and eleven hours of boredom, or four hours of work and eight hours of boredom. I get paid for what I know in this industry. I know SWAT tactics, I know the ins-and-outs of this plant, I know the defensive strategy for the plant I work at, and I know it's weak spots. I don't get paid to DO, I get paid to KNOW what to do in the unlikely event of attack. For what I do, I get paid better than I've ever been paid before (however in all fairness, the plant I work for is the lowest paid plant in the area...our highest pay grade is where most plants START their pay grades), but I've decided it's not what I want.

I want a 9-5 job. Something behind a desk in an air conditioned office would be nice. I've grown accustomed to such fineries as air conditioning, and I'm not entirely certain I'm willing to give them up. I want something where I can feel like I'm contributing to my family (small though it is right now, consisting of a wife, two cats, and a dog...though in a few years we're wanting to upgrade to having a kid) without having to be absent all the time. I don't see my wife enough. Half of the month I don't sleep in the same bed with her. We share a bed, but at different times. The other half of the month, I mostly only see her in bed while I'm closing my eyes to get my few hours of sleep that night. Weekends off are a special treat to me, because I get to see the woman I love.

I'm always scared my boss is going to call me up and slap me with a mandatory day of overtime. I don't take overtime in general, I see little enough of my wife and family (not just the pets, but brothers and parents) as it is, I don't want to miss out on a potential time to see them. Somebody else wants the OT, let them have mine...but sometimes there aren't enough bodies to cover the requirements for our needs, so mandatory overtime gets handed out. I'm almost certain I'm next on the list.

Each time I think about these things I'm reminded of the opportunities I've missed out on due to my lack of education. I've got a semester of tech school under my belt, but it seems as though that's not enough to cut it when the requirements for any type of good job dictate that you have to have at least a Bachelor's Degree.

Not going to school for so long has let me build up debt that I could have done without had I not had the time or means to build it. The longer I've stayed out of college, the more my debt has amassed, and as such makes me doubt that I can afford to go back and learn. My wife is convinced that we can make it work, but I worry about it. If I go back to school as I plan to do in January, my responsibilities don't disappear, and they don't wait. I barely scrape by with the amount of money I make now. If I go back to school I'll have to take another job, and a pay cut.

There's a way out. I know there is, I just have to find it and make it work...and I have until January to do it. If I don't I'll be stuck here. Then who will be the father to my children while I'm at work all night so they have food to eat? Who will snuggle with my wife when I'm working all night long so we don't scrape by?

I don't have to do this for me...I can live with the job, miserable though it is. I have to do this for my family now and the family that will be...because they deserve better than what I can give them right now.

My parents were right, education opens doors. In January, I'm finding a way to get that key.

See my lonely life explode...

You can't tell a hero by his size...

Just as it's said in the title of this post, you really and truly can't tell a hero by his size, but to the true muppet aficionado, you have to acknowledge that existence of the Teeny Little Super Guy. Leaping from the cupboard on his clear soloesque cup that was almost certainly a substantial part of his anatomy into the hearts of Sesame Street viewers everywhere, Teeny Little Super Guy sat dormant in my memory until I came across a video of him on YouTube.



Reminiscing about my old days watching just that "episode" of TLSG, I recall how much I enjoyed it. These days, now that I'm older I see it and appreciate more how much time and effort had to go into one of those shorts. This was pre-CGI on everything, so stop-motion was the way to go.

In other not-news, I have a sunburn on my legs from the knees down. As a friendly reminder, when applying sunscreen while on vacation, don't forget to go below the shorts. It's not a splendid feeling.

He's just a teeny little super guy...oooh yeah.

Meh.

They blocked Blogger and other "social networking" sites at work, so my time is limited with you good people to only the time I have at home now. Being that I'm going out of town this weekend with the express purpose of doing as much nothing as I can possibly cram into two and a half days. The plan is very specifically consistent of reading, eating, sleeping, and floating like a hippo in the lake.

Occasionally, if somebody would be so kind as to throw a cabbage into my mouth, I'd be greatly appreciative.

My mom sent me an e-mail the other day that bear sharing, as it breaks down the exact reasons that I want boys when my wife and I decide to infect the world so with our spawn. Well, mostly my part of the spawn will be infectious...hers will be dainty and lovable. I guess that really means when I infect the world with my part of the spawn. Either way, this is used without permission...though I'm sure it doesn't matter. It's also been edited to protect innocent family members.

This was interesting to me – our children didn’t have a lot of excitement provided for them, but they were pretty happy entertaining themselves. Course, half the time it was exciting, dangerous entertainment, but at least it wasn’t provided by external sources. Boys just sort of naturally seek excitement for themselves.

I remember (One of John's aunts) telling me she didn’t like to tell her daughter not to do something because it would stifle her “natural curiosity”. With a passel of boys on the loose “natural curiosity” is the mortal enemy – and it can’t be stifled, no matter how hard you try!! (Another of John's aunts) and I spent all our days trying to do just that.

Boys are fascinated with jumping off tall things, knives, stray dogs, water in any form or location – the dirtier the better, fire, blood, digging for treasure, digging to dig, sticks as sticks, sticks as weapons, bad words, playing war, anything with wheels, putting wheels on things that shouldn’t have them, building forts, explosions, wrecks and a million other things that threaten their limbs and lives and their parent’s nerves.

Boys are wonderful! – Girls have a list all their own – just as long, but not as deadly.

This was one of mom's e-mails (slightly edited) to all of her sons and daughter-in-laws, which I found to be particularly insightful. I can remember pretty specific occasions for each of those examples Mom gave in her e-mail. Jumping from tree-houses because pride was at stake, filling pockets with whatever knives and/or sharp sticks we could find because you never know when the dinosaurs will attack, dogs are never strays...once you find it, it's yours until somebody comes to claim it, hanging out in the creek catching crawdads that would invariably die after three days, setting fire to whatever we thought might burn (there are still burn marks on the side of Mom and Dad's house under their bedroom windows from where I made a flamethrower from a can of WD-40 and the straw that comes with it).

Blood could be taken care of by rubbing dirt in it. Digging holes was fun, because you never knew what sort of treasures you might find...though we never found anything more than a coke can or two. Sticks though, were never just sticks. My Batman-obsessed cousin once found a stick that he called his "Arang." He wasn't Batman, so he couldn't have a Batarang...but dammit, just having a stick to call an "arang" was enough for him. There's a video of that somewhere that needs to resurface.

Bad words were great. My first experience was when a guy in elementary school told me to hold the letter "f" and then say "udge" after it. It came out "ffffffffffudge." Odds are good he heard it in the movie "A Christmas Story" when the lugnuts go flying...the end-all, be-all of curse words. How distasteful and scandalous can you get?

Playing war was an all-day, all-night event. During the day, our bicycles became fighter jets that would zoom up and down the street until somebody would shoot somebody down from the sky. That always sparked a rather good debate on the ins and outs of aircraft gunfire accuracy. Nighttime would find us in handed down BDU camouflage and flashlights with fresh batteries. God bless our neighbors for not coming out and handing down the wrath, what with as often as flashlights got shined in their windows inadvertently.

We had several forts made of tires, discarded plywood with nails all over it (that of course would point outward from the fort to keep the invading Huns from attacking), downed trees, broken bikes, one one occasion we had half an animal carcass, and sheet metal we found in the woods. We never had an attack through the woods, but we DID have a bridge across the creek.

Soda cans were a favorite for blowing up. The proper method is to make a barrel fire in the driveway, and drop a can or two of grape soda on in there, after starting the fire with a baby food jar of gasoline.

Padless tackle football in the street was a favorite that Mom left out, but it's alright. None of my friends (as I can recall) ever broke a bone before we got our driver's licenses...and unless something's gone down in the last few minutes, we're not dead.

When my wife and I have babies, I want boys. I know what they'll get into, how deep they'll get into it, and whether or not it will kill them, because I did it myself...and with a minimum of personal maiming.

There were imaginary snakes, rivers of deadly lava or poison that would kill you without even trying, spikes, drawn mazes full of deathtraps that we swore was how we'd build our houses when we did so, and boobies in movies over at friends houses.

Yeah. Boys are the way to go.

This post was not tested on animals...just electrons.

Kevin Smith is your better.

Returning from taking my Biscuit out to handle her now solid business out on the pseudo-lawn, I decided not to go back directly to my phone in the bedroom and have to see whether or not I missed a call from my wife, but rather sat down in my chair at my desk and perused the creamy top film that forms overnight on the internet. This layer (much akin to that film that forms on the top of soups and broths when left unattended) is without a doubt the best part of the internet, a meager taste of what you've ignored for the past eight hours before you dive heartily into the various and sundry digital meat and potatoes of "teh intarwebs."

I saw on G4 yesterday that Kevin Smith (of View Askew and Daredevil fame) was offered his regular sacrifice of a punk kid trying to match wits with a comedic legend of proportions so grand they can hardly be contained by the mans' considerable girth. The sound left something to be desired, but fortunately I stumbled across it on Break.com while skimming my internet soup.


Kevin Smith Owns Jerk At Comic Con - Watch more free videos

There's something seemingly poetic about watching somebody in front of thousands of adoring fans make an ass of himself, followed quickly up by the very person who you went to see making an ass of you. Almost a magical moment lacking only unicorns and violet clouds.

Say it, don't spray it.

I don't want to work, I want to bang on the drums all day.

Considering my last post, I feel the need to follow up with my lists of top ten drummers and guitarists of all time.

It's in no way scientific, and based solely on who I like at this particular moment. So...let's do it.

John Q. Public's Top Ten Guitarists of ALL TIME.

10) Duane Allman
9) Stevie Ray Vaughan
8) Randy Rhoads
7) Eddie Van Halen
6) John Fogerty
5) Mark Knopfler
4) Lindsey Buckingham
3) Eric Clapton
2) BB King
1) Jimmy Page

John Q. Public's Top Ten Drummers of ALL TIME.

10) Buddy Rich
9) Max Weinberg
8) Clive Bunker
7) Ron Bushy
6) Alex Van Halen
5) Alan White
4) Phil Collins
3) Keith Moon
2) John Bonham
1) Neil Peart

If you disagree, feel free to post in the comments section...I might even be convinced to change my lists and vote somebody off the island.

Wringing the neck of a guitar

Sometimes, all you can do when you see a particular video is just drop your jaw and wish you were half as good (or in my case, good at all) as the person you're watching. Probably just as under appreciated as a guitarist as Neal Peart is as a drummer, the Lead Guitarist for Fleetwood Mac has solidified his place in my top ten guitarists of all time. I'm not entirely certain of his position on the list, but he's there, especially after this.

His vocals aren't the best I've ever heard, but that's the kind of guitar playing that induces traction in most people that even attempt it. It's the sort of thing that makes for a right fine welcome home after a long (though satisfying) day.

Sometimes, the Japanese amuse me to no end. Watching Ninja Warrior is my little guilty pleasure (that, and Muppets) and puts a nice cap on watching several episodes of Cops. What goes together better than watching retarded people get beat down involuntarily, than watching attention-whore Japanese people (and some Americans) beat themselves down voluntarily?

Special thanks go out to my own personal attention-whore friend Sam for helping me out with a bit of javascript on here. Check out my random image on the left side of the screen each time you come back, or refresh the page. It mesmerizes you with it's greatness. Where else on the internet can you find Snake Eyes, Animal, Starfleet, and Autobots?

"How could this happen?"