Father's Day is TOO FUCKING CLOSE to Mother's Day

Sorry Dad.

There are million things in the world that I would love to get you.

Fuck, there are a million things in the world that you would love to get for yourself. I know you're thinking about a new car... and a new tv. And that you just spent a small fortune on Mom for Mother's day. Don't get me wrong, I love Mom, too. We all know that she's a great woman, and she's been thru a lot... and that she could kill us all at a moment's notice.

It's not really Mom's fault, though, is it? But seriously, why the fuck is Father's day so close to Mother's day? Can't we split this shit up? Put Mother's day in March, and Father's day in... fucking... August, I don't know. How the fuck am I supposed to afford to give gifts to both of you?

In conclusion, I hope you enjoy the Bluetooth headset. I got it on sale... at Amazon.com.

I also saved 5 bucks in shipping for trying Amazon Prime.

Not an Ounce of Credibility

I would also like to take the time to call out a Mr. Curtis Jackson (you know him as 50 cent). Jackson, at the beginning of his fame, with his song "In Da Club", was poised to make radical changes to the gangsta rap segment of hip hop. While the album "Get Rich or Die Tryin'" wasn't extremely well produced, it was well received, and showed Jackson had promise. The beats were catchy and the lyrics were funny.

When Jackson began his G-Unit segment, he showed promise in delivering a legacy, and perhaps more formed storytelling with his album. Though, the next album would ultimately disappoint. Only 3 or 4 songs have any sort of focus that is outside of "I carry alot of guns", "I'm going to shoot you", "I've got a lot of money" or "I'm going to have sex with you."

His work on singles and collaboration projects really seemed to have suffered (Tony Yayo's much hyped release was a failure on all levels) and his newest single "Amusement Park" sounds exactly like "Candy Shop" from his second album... which sounded exactly like "Magic Stick" from a collaboration with L'il Kim.

The only exception I could make here is the excellent work putting together The Game's career, but even he has gone and thrown most of that away with a mediocre sophomore release to celebrate his disassociation with G-Unit.

Jackson has plans to release this album "Curtis Jackson" and a greatest hits album to fulfill his contract with Aftermath records, then plans to take a couple of years off to build hype.

I salute you, Mr. Jackson, and I hope that if you do come back, you find another shtick. This one isn't working anymore.

Musical Provocation

We don't all listen to the same types of music, that's pretty apparent.

There are literally thousands of genres of music, each seems to have some distinguishing characteristic that separates it from the next. What's even more interesting to me is that executive somewhere decided that you can divide music by "demographic." If I've ever heard a more political way of saying "discrimination," I'd be hard pressed to remember it.

I listen to a lot of different types of music. Some of the genres that I enjoy, I simply enjoy for the sake of enjoying. Some of the genres that I enjoy, I enjoy for watching the evolution of that genre. Some genres... I simply don't enjoy.

On my iPod, you'd find collections of Tears for Fears, the Police, Sting, Norah Jones, Duran Duran, Nine Inch Nails, 311, Boyz II Men, Bobby Valentino, Ne-yo, the Crystal Method, David Bowie, Filter, Jay-Z, Kanye West, and the list goes on...

I didn't spew that amalgamation of artists for you to be impressed, I'm just saying that I don't understand how one classifies musical taste by demographic. If someone were to say to me "you look like you'd be interested in these Ja Rule tickets", I might just smack them.

Now I'm not sure what your belief is, but I'm absolutely convinced that Hip Hop holds the key to the evolution of our musical substance. Justin Timberlake has already given us a preview of this with his R&B/Club/Pop album "FutureSex LoveSounds". Even Sting has given way with a few remixes from his 2003 release "Sacred Love".

I would tell you that I don't distinctly like Hip Hop, per se. I believe that a lot of it is wasteful and simply takes advantage of a crowd that either does not know what they're interested in music for. Perhaps I'm missing out on a secret where a deep bassline and a repetitious chorus were enough.

I follow producers like Timbaland, David Banner and Just Blaze for the ideas that I feel they are bringing to Hip Hop and all other forms. I see the potential to take that music beyond a 3 minute song. Lyrically, I'm very interested in T.I., The Game and especially Kayne West. T.I. and The Game have a proper understanding of flow and rhythm that is absent from a lot of rappers today (Mims just disappoints in this category). Kanye to me, is the one to watch. While his tracks were interesting for a while, but his beats have become formulaic. Lyrically, Kayne has things to teach the world, though, that are so impressive. He understand things about rhyme that we haven't seen since B.I.G.

You may have already noticed a slow and steady adoption of some of the ideals that Hip Hop music represents, and vice versa: Rhianna's "Umbrella" brings back memories of The Cranberries "Zombie". I think it's the most interesting thing to listen for the changes in our music, as it evolves, and the genres begin to steal from each other, where eventually all genres become something else.

Will we ever see these elements in Jazz music? Blues? Classical? Maybe opera? I'll certainly be keeping a watch for those changes, maybe I'll be able to make some of them myself. I find all music so interesting and so contributive.

Except for country. Fuck country.

The Same Size Sideways

Where's my money?

I read a thought-provoking article yesterday on MSN concerning the misconceived notion that most of our children believe they will be making 6 figures when they get out of college. Now I say "thought-provoking" because like most MSN articles; it was recycled (probably written poorly a year ago), poorly conceived, and poorly researched. "Find out why your kids think that they're going to make six figures" *click* "Here are three possible reasons why your kids think they'll make a lot of money..."

But I digress.

MSN isn't too keen on blaming the reader of the article, because it makes you feel guilty. When Americans feel guilty, they tend to ignore the source of those feelings. In an effort to prevent you from feeling bad, and therefore, never again reading another MSN article, they don't come out right and say:

"Parents, it's all your fucking faults. If you could straighten your kids out with reality a little bit, maybe they wouldn't have a fucking need for therapy when they turned 25 and realized that they weren't the next fucking Bill Gates. Maybe if you could point out to them the next time you're at McDonald's stuffing their fat fucking faces, that there are plenty of 30-50 year old's running around inside that thing in the middle of the day. Who the fuck do you think rings up your Wal-Mart purchases. Between 5-10 pm, you might see a few 16 year olds, sure, but seriously. Your kid, most likely, will not be a millionare. And stop encouraging that shit because you depend on them to bring money to the family. That's why your kids are going to be fucking depressed."

Instead, they say "Some parents don't tell their kids the reality of how much they themselves make, or how much their children are apt to make." And they give you two more convenient scape-goats; the media, and celebrities.

Parent: "What an interesting article, I wonder what is setting my children up for disappointment, it couldn't be me, could it?"

*reads*

Parent: "Well, there are other parents who aren't keeping their kids in check, but definitely celebrities and the media are a huge part of that. Wow... I'm glad I'm not responsible. What's that Bobby? You're going to make millions building computers for a living? Yeah, you will. You're so smart. Let's go to McDonald's. I know you're only 5, but I think you're ready for the Big Mac Meal™."

I'm lucky enough to have had a father that set me straight on this.

"You're not going to make the kind of money you think you are with this 'computer shit'."

Not that I listened. He was right, though. And really, if schools didn't force you to figure out what you want to be at 18, I might have become a doctor. They don't make it easy, you know. As soon as you reach 18, the question is posed: "Do you want to spend tens of thousands of dollars trying to figure out what you want to do or get into the work force? No Mulligans."

I'm a jack-of-all-trades.

And your kids need a reality check.

Martial Pretentiousness

There are things in this world that continue without sense of comprehension. Poetry is one of these things.

Some names ring truly synonymous with good poetry; names like Nikki Giovanni, Langston Hughes, W.B. Yeats, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, et al. There are millions of other simply mediocre poets, and more than a few bad ones (I'm looking at you, Jewel, I want my 10 bucks back). But what does it take to be a good poet?

What is good poetry? Is good poetry only recognized because it is universally accepted as such? How can you take yourself seriously when you write poetry? I'll be honest, I've never been able to write poetry and say "This is exactly how I feel" because I always end up with "That's just fucking ridiculous."

Poetry is supposed to be an inner exploration of your feelings, but what if you don't like those feelings? Why would you keep them? How does one turn these things into a song?

When you read a poem, does it matter who it is by? Does knowing it is by increase the enjoyability of the poem? Does that affect your interpretation? Why do I ask so many questions?


It was my way.
I had a million miles to
go. My way.

I was on my way.
I didn't stop for her, but
she caught my eye. I slowed.

I am on the way.
Only the next mile matters. I'll see
You there.

What do you think?

(This post was inspired by a late night decision to visit a Barnes and Noble by my wife to collect a book of poetry by Hardy. I apologize for the serious nature of this post and promise not to do this again today. Please don't sick Jeremy's dad on me.)

A Saturnine Balance

I've got an office job, where I do office things.

And with my obligatory 1 line introduction out of the way, I'll continue.

If you're like me, after so many years of working nights, or really any shift under the sun, including the 24 hour superman shift that we remember oh so fondly, working 9-5 or any close variation of it is something of a novelty. The rule in our society seems to follow an interesting outline: if you work in an office, it's expected that you work 9 to 5. What is wrong with the health care industry. How is it that a clinic is only open Monday - Friday 8-4?

You can get insurance at that job that you work for $8.50 an hour for, but can you afford to go to a doctor? Sure, you can go when you're not working but you still have copays... and prescriptions... and sometimes time off. Now let's imagine for a second that you make $30 an hour and work the 8-5. When the fuck are you supposed to go to the doctor? You have to take a day off. Great, you've got the money to pay, but no one wants to wait while your ass is at the doctor. You have to plan that shit in advance.

"Gunz, can you implement that new software we were talking about."

"Sure, when do you need it by?"

"March 7th, 2008."

"Sorry, can't do, I'm planning to have a slow and steady breakdown of my left knee. I've got appointments scheduled for January 29th, February 11th also. March 7th is when I'm going for my surgery consult."

"Wow, I can't fault you for being prepared for a medical event. What about the 10th?"

"No can do, I'm planning a pleural effusion do to infection from the surgery on the 8th. My white count will have been low. I'll be out on the 10th doing broad spectrum antibiotics until the 12th. I've got the whole week marked off. I'm good for the 17th, though."

"Well, it's a little slower than they want, but you seem to know what you're doing. Fine. 17th it is. Don't let me down."

My running theory is that they just don't want you to go. They make just a fucking ridiculous amount of money without you. There are plenty of rich people who's friends convince them that they are sick, anyway. See, that's what it is: the only people they want in clinics are rich people. Besides... you might actually have something wrong with you.

Prozium for the masses

Here's my thought of the day: Your life is much better than you think it is, but you're obsessed with all the things that are wrong with it to notice that things are actually pretty nice.

That's aimed at no one in particular, but if it makes you feel better, great. If not, continue to complain, and I'll scheme to fuckin' fight club your ass and kidnap you from your shitty job and threaten to kill you. Then I'll release you and the next day of your life will be the best day ever. So will the day after that. And the day after that.

About a week later, the elation of being alive will pass and you'll start to sink back in to the grind. But if you forget to appreciate all the things in your life that are going well, we'll have to start the cycle all over again. Then you'll be wasting my time. And I might just off you instead.

Don't tempt me.

A smug sense of self-satisfaction, sans Prius

Accomplishment has to be a sin.

As you can tell, I have a penchant for one liners that accentuate my feelings. You might assume that it has something to do with poor writing skills, and in a manner of speaking, you'd be absolutely correct. I do believe laziness is a writing faux pas, and I am none the less afflicted.

But I digress (see how lazy I am, I even started a sentence with a "but", and it's a fragment). No, the reason I say what I say about accomplishment is simple. There really aren't many things in the world that feel better than accomplishment. Actually, most of them are directly linked.

Par exemple: I purchased a townhouse on the south side of a nice suburb, exactly 2 blocks away from every-fucking-thing-you-could-ever-need-in-the-event-of-zombie-apocalypse. It's a nice size for two people and even livable for up to 4. There's a large family room, for our new HDTV and surround sound system, a living room which is a work in progress, a sizable kitchen, an office, a large master bedroom... and a humongous bathroom. It's not mansion huge, but it's definitely twice as big as the bathrooms in most single family homes.

I might not have mentioned that I picked it up for 20 under the beginning asking price.

Or that they paid closing.

And sellers and realtor's fees.

And installed new carpeting for us.

There had to be a trade off.

And there was. (I hope this is pissing you off)

The general condition of the house was, "It's seen better days". Everything was dirty. The walls were scuffed and unpainted for years. Paint was chipping in places, and the master bathroom was a designation of nasty that prevented government workers from even entering. Here lies my trophy.

The shower, in the beginning, was colored a sickly yellow... it's still a cream, but better than yellow (I thank my wife for that). The shower head was peppered in rust, and the drain corroded to the point where it actually looked biological. Not to mention the nasty BLACK mold growing underneath the shower knob. The shower knob came easily enough, it was replaced, and the facets were cleaned. The shower head was easily replaced (I've done a few in my day).

The shower drain, however, what should have been the easiest part to remove and replace, has been the bane of my existence for the past 3 weeks. On top of being corroded, the drain was also broken. The plug lay defeated, inches away from its once identifiable home. A stem protruded from the bottom, and a leaflet of steel branched to neither here nor there. The drain itself was the epitome of discouragement, as all its teeth were wrenched by the previous resident's attempt to remove it from their lives (probably in an effort to make the house appear more... amiable).

It should come as no surprise that I actually had to cut this disgusting remnant out of the tub. My weapon, a reciprocating saw. My ammunition. The Ugly. What should have taken the remainder of the hour (10 minutes), took less than 30 seconds with The Ugly. Almost too efficient... sort of.

Along with it's intended mission, The Ugly encountered some "Collateral Damage", among it's victims, a small portion of the tub (easily fixed with some fiberglass patch) and the PVC drain pipe below.

I consulted with my father-in-law for the best plan of attack, and his response (and a rather smart one) was to open the closet, and point to a wooden panel that was screwed down in to the wall. "This should provide drain access," he said, "We've got something just like it at my house." On a whim, not 2 days later, I un-screwed the board from the wall, and removed a fastening nail. Behind it? More wall.

I'll tell you that right now that this was a bit disappointing. My running theory is that they simply forgot to cut the hole, and put the board up anyway. The father-in-law's running theory was that I should remove a garage panel to get underneath it. So what does any good son-in-law do in this situation? Become Pauly-fucking-Shore and pull out my knife and cut a fucking hole in the wall. What do you see behind it?

Fiberglass.

Most men wouldn't bat an eye at fiberglass, but God, or nature, blessed me with this great allergy to fiberglass. Where you might find discomfort, I find stigmata (just keeping up this religious metaphor). This little discovery actually set me back 2 weeks. I simply did not want to deal with it.

Yesterday came. And with it, the realization that if I didn't do this myself, that my father-in-law would have us in my garage dropping ceiling panels, rather than pulling fiberglass. I grab my trusty reciprocating saw, sans The Ugly for fear for cutting pipes, and whip out the quickest hole I could manage, and a few trash bags later, I had my holy grail.

I'll skip the details in the awkward replacement, but I'll give you this advice; if there are labels close to the unions in your pcv piping, sand them off before you start. Trust me on that one, that's the reason your piping is leaking. A mere 4 hours later (sister-in-law's graduation party interlude included), I was jamming the fiberglass back in the wall, and washing down my skin. Content washed over my soul, rife with the knowledge that the next time I talk to said father in law, I'll simply mention that I've solved my problem, with a reciprocating saw.

Top that.