A Warm Fuzzy Ball of Perspective

With "shopping days" dwindling to mere "shopping hours" and complex decisions over which chain restaurant's gift card will best define my gift-giving thoughtfulness, sometimes it really is the simple things that make the holidays shine in your heart.

Take today for example. I don't have too many holiday traditions but one I continue to nurture is my annual trip to my local pet shelter. I always bring canned food for the dogs, bags of cat litter for the cats and treats for all the animals. One of the nice things about this shelter is they let most of the cats roam free in the "Kitty Room" so potential adoptive parents can experience their personalities out in the open as opposed to "behind bars".

As I made my way around the room petting and talking to some of the free-range felines, I happened upon a big black tub-o-kitty named Sheba sleeping on one of the cat bunks. At first she was kind of disinterested but eventually I could tell she liked the attention I was giving her - scratching her neck and all. After some additional kitty conversation with her and some more petting, I was going to move on to see some of the other residents...but Sheba wasn't having any of that. She jumped off her throne and followed me around the room weaving in and out of my legs until I just about fell on my face. We played with one of the toys I brought for awhile and eventually I just sat on the ground with her and without hesitation Sheba crawled up on my lap, curled herself into a ball and purred with contentment. She even brought her paws to my face and gave me a kitty kiss on my forehead. It was a connection I had not made with anyone (human or otherwise) since I first adopted my best friend Pook nearly 15 years ago.

About an hour into my visit after I had paid my respects to all the cats, gave Sheba a goodbye stroke behind her ears and walked out of the Kitty Room feeling good after a really fun visit. As I was about to leave, I asked one of the attendants about Sheba's story. She proceeded to tell me that she had been adopted three times in the last year and each time was returned within a couple months with reasons that included "my owner wanted a different color cat" or "my family didn't want me anymore".

I'm sorry...I'm actually pausing writing for a second here because it's a little overwhelming to hear that and I cannot stop crying when I think about it.

This loving creature who had so much love and affection to give me, a complete and total stranger, was just discarded like a soiled diaper not once...but three times! And not for clawing up the couch, not for hissing at the family dog, not for making the kids allergic...not for anything that was her fault...she was abandoned just because she wasn't wanted or needed anymore.

I wiped the tears away, went back inside, found Sheba and played with her for another hour-and-a-half before they closed for the day.

And while I wish I could give you the storybook ending that I immediately adopted her and brought her home for the holidays, that's just not a feasible option for me at this time. However, I did make the shelter promise me they would keep me up to date on her adoption status and I will make it a point to visit her at least once every couple weeks until she does find a good home.

Sitting here thinking about that cat, the bond we forged in that brief time together, the kinship we share and the hardships from 2009 we can both relate to on a lot of levels, brings out a bevy of emotions in me but it also brings me perspective.

I've had a rough year. I get down on myself a lot for some of the failures I've had and some of the decisions I've made. There are days when I think my situation can't get any worse and then it does. There are days when I feel like I don't have a friend in the world. Then there are times I think deep down I must be a really bad person to deserve all this. No doubt, it has been rough on me.

Then I look at Sheba. Think about her self-esteem after being rejected by three different families. Her situation couldn't possibly get any worse after the first two rejections, could it? Incredibly, yes, it did! Think about what she must be feeling about all that: "Boy, I must be a really awful cat for someone to return me three separate times!" I at least have some control over my situation. She has no control over it! She's just an innocent animal. It's heart-breaking and frankly it's eye-opening to me as well.

Yes, I've had a rough year but my experience with Sheba made me realize I'm pretty lucky too. I have a home. I have a job...it doesn't pay well and it's not ultimately what I want to do for a living but it is a job. I may not have a ton of friends but I'm grateful for the few I have whose love and support I appreciate. I'm not a bad person and this "rough patch" I'm in right now is not all my fault and will eventually get better.

I guess the moral of the story I'm trying to impart here is things are not always as bad as they seem and could be a lot worse.

And if you have the opportunity to make a difference in some one's (or some thing's) life who might be worse off than you, avail yourself of that opportunity. Those small connections you make will brighten your situation and theirs.

I hope it did with my new friend Sheba and I know it did with me.

Merry Christmas and Happy 2010 everybody!

Rollin' Out the Red Carpet

Okay YouTube, you just made "the list".

Since there seems to be some issues with YouTube's ability to digest the audio from the much anticipated "Jason Pawlowski's I-57 Adventure 2", I am now forced to hold the gala red carpet premiere on my blog site. That's okay...I prefer small, intimate gatherings over large crowds anyway.

If I can figure out how to get this flick surfing on the "Tube", I'll let everyone know.

For now...our Feature Presentation:

Life's Perfect Little GPS

For the most part, Thanksgiving for me has always kind of been an afterthought like Groundhog's Day, Sweetest Day or Tax Day.

Never been much for turkey, pumpkin pie or cranberry anything. Usually I'm good with three or four fluffy biscuits, a mountain of mashed potatoes and a reservoir of butter followed by an expedient exit from the table to retire to my rightful ass groove on the couch, falling asleep to bad Detroit Lions football to awaken in a post turkey day-haze at some point between Black Friday and Cyber Monday.

Just like the lost notion that Christmas is supposed to be about celebrating the birth of Christ (or on a less ethereal level: the celebration of peace on Earth and goodwill towards all men and women) and not a month-long, free-for-all, accumulation of material things to be blindly doled out en masse at four or five rigidly segmented "holiday parties" all within a 24-48 hour span, Thanksgiving is exactly what its name suggests: giving thanks...for what we have, for who we have and for what we have accomplished.

Whether you're all for tying on a Stove Top Stuffing enema at the dinner table or not, the true meaning of Thanksgiving is something I personally have never really embraced and frankly have always taken for granted.

Now I will be the first to admit this year has been one giant kick in the crotch after another for me with daily compounding interest. This past year alone I've lost (or in some cases had taken away from me without cause or explanation) jobs, money, health insurance, physical wellness, financial health, friends, hair, weight and at times - my joy, my dignity, my belief in myself and my hope and faith. Believe me, finding something to be thankful for in that cornucopia of "dreck" is going to take a high-powered NASA telescope with infrared lenses.

Despite all that, what the journey of this past year (and really the last couple of years) has taught me boils down to this basic concept: when you find yourself lost on the "road of life", sometimes thankfulness can be the perfect little GPS to get you back on track.

In other words, I think if we all stop and take personal inventory of all the great things in our lives (no matter how small or insignificant they may seem) that we DO HAVE to be thankful for, rather than fixating on what we NO LONGER HAVE, we will be much more realized human beings.

For example, I was (and still am, at times) really down about losing my job as editor, writer, and photographer for a small suburban newspaper a couple of years ago. That has been my dream job since I was a kid and one day, without warning, it was just pulled out from under me. It makes me angry beyond words just thinking about it.

Through that anger, what I often fail to realize and acknowledge, however, is that I actually got to live my dream...for three years! How many people can say that?

I ran a great newspaper - the way I wanted to see it run, writing my kind of stories, covering things I wanted to cover - for three whole years! There's not too many people in the world who get to say they lived their dream (and got paid well to do so) but I am one of them! That makes me feel amazing inside! I am so thankful for that!

Another angle with this story I have considered is what would have happened to me if I never lost that newspaper gig to begin with?

Had I not lost that job I also probably would have never gotten involved with pageants. Now those of you that know me and my situation or are acutely aware of just how crazy the pageant world can be could argue that might have been a good thing for me.

However, if I never went down that pageant path then I would not have been privileged to have known so many wonderful people...not the least of whom are my former state titleholders: Katie, Ashley, Heidi, MerrieBeth and Christine - whom I cherished every moment with and love each of them all like they were my own daughters...as well as the many exceptional young women who competed in local and state pageants or went on to success in other pageant systems or in other walks of life - all of whom I now proudly call friends.

Granted from a fiscal, career health, and even a mental health standpoint (the hair loss is definitely directly attributable to the drama inherent in pageants) I probably would have been better off chained to my press pass, reporter's notebook and my 15-hour workday these past few years, but from my heart I can honestly say I am thankful for the opportunity to get to know all my pageant friends and to share in those incredible experiences my work afforded me.

So putting aside my usual tongue-in-cheek, self-deprecating, semi-pessimistic crown of timidity and modesty for a moment, what am I truly thankful for?

I'll give you the abridged version as my original list I compiled topped 12 pages and even put me to sleep writing it:

* The incredible gifts God gave me to creatively express myself through writing and art, my ability to solve problems quickly and calmly, my ability to make people laugh, and my desire to positively affect and make a difference in other people's lives by doing anything and everything I can for my friends, colleagues and loved ones.

* The generosity of heart, spirit and patience of my mother and the foundation she continues to provide me. She is the very definition of "a cool mom", the leader of my personal cheering section, the light that guides me and drives me, and my best friend ever.

* The time, albeit short, I got to spend on this Earth with my father. When things were right, I had more fun with that man than anyone. For better or worse, I am his son and I am thankful for the good things he bestowed upon me.

* My maternal grandparents and their unwavering love and support of me and my mom throughout my life.

* The many members of both sides of my family who hopefully know, despite my lack of physical presence at most family outings or lack of consistent communication on my part, that I do love and appreciate each of them very much.

* My cat Pook with whom I share by far my longest, most successful personal relationship with: 15 years and counting! Every morning I look forward to carrying you to your breakfast and every night cuddling up to you in bed. You have been and always will be my kitten.

* Random things (had to do some serious editing with this list so just the Top 10): PB&J, seeing Michael Jordan play basketball in person, Star Wars, The Beatles, Subway's late chicken taco sub (circa 1996), watching two of my former Miss Illinois shine on the Miss America stage in person, 24, The Eagles, Blackhawks hockey, and my old Spiderman shoes.

* My lifelong best friends Todd, Dale, Tim, and Vince; my childhood friends Mike, Ray, John, Billy, Jason, Scott, and Dave; my old work friends Joe, Sharon, Melissa, Dawn, Jim, Jeff, Mark, Lauren, Scott, Blythe, Stacy, Russ, Meryl, Ilene, Kathy, Atman, Kristie, Jill, Vic, and yes even George; my many dear pageant friends Heidi, Ashley, Katie, MerrieBeth, Christine, Anji, Jennifer, Chelsea, Christy, Tana, Lisa, Lauren, Jessica, Laura, Gina, Lexie, Meganne, Alycia, Erin, Claire, Rachel, Jamie, Natalie, Rabecca, Emily, Campbell, Ashley N., Sarah, Ruthie, Courtney, Anna, Donna, Julie, Kaili, Liz, Denise, Kelly, Courtney, and Amanda, as well as my pageant families Peggy & Dave, Davy, Trina, Abby, Belinda & Bill, Scott & Yvonne, Jim & Barb, Gwen, Ken & Susan, all the great pageant volunteers I worked with and anyone else who might be reading this that I forgot to mention by name - rest assured you have made an impact on my life (after all, you probably wouldn't be reading this if you didn't) and I am so thankful for you all.

* And lastly to God again, and maybe to a greater degree, my parents, for making me who I am. For most of my life I hit the pillow at night wishing I would wake up as anyone else but me. For the sake of better relationships with people (women mostly) I wished I would awaken with breathtakingly good looks like a Brad Pitt or super human athletic talent like a Tom Brady or for the sake of better success in life a magnetic persona, charisma and intelligence like a Barack Obama.

What I have come to realize is after a lifetime of praying to the plastic surgery fairy for a new face under my pillow or the anti-shyness bunny for an easter egg of "confidence" in my bonnet, that for my own sake, despite whatever personal shortcomings I may have, I really can't ever fathom being happy as anyone else but good old me!

And I am so thankful for that!

My Scary Halloween Costume Ideas

Everyone wears masks and pretends to be something they're not...and then there's Halloween.

Aside from deciding which houses to egg and what candy bars contain the fewest razor blades per serving, the toughest decision one faces this time of year is coming up with the best idea for the perfect Halloween costume.

Some costume ideas can be very inexpensive and simple.

How about going as a Facebook Addict? All that is required is a homemade strait jacket and pajama bottoms, a "bed head" hair-do and some gaunt eye make-up. Then just keep shivering violently and rambling on about, "One more status update man. Come on man, just one more." or "Gotta play one more Farkle tourney man." or "Twitter is the antichrist!"

Or there's the "Going Green" costume...just recycle portions of various costumes of Halloween's past to keep your costume's carbon footprint within tolerance levels. And if you're not of a green mind, no worries. This can also be called "A Salvation Army Halloween".

Then there's the costumes for those of you blessed (or cursed, depending on your perspective) with deeper pockets.

This great costume idea starts with a trip to your local high-end costume store or sci-fi convention. From there you will pick out the finest Star Wars, Star Trek, or Harry Potter costume you can find. Details are important here. Be it Jedi Knight with full cloth robe, long hair extensions, and authentic light saber prop; Klingon Commander with rubber cemented latex forehead ridges, replica Bat'leth, and metal warrior armor from eBay; or full-blown wizard ensemble complete with Hogwarts school uniform, horn-rim glasses and magic wand, spare no expense here folks!

Then all you need to do is start quoting the movie lines ad nauseum and acting out all the key scenes in front of the Halloween party's most attractive hotties and cuties and BINGO (or as the Klingons would say KAPLA!)...you are officially The 40-Year-Old Virgin! (Not that I would know anything about...that...because...I'm only 36! Yeah, that's it!)

Now while I do not at all subscribe to the idea of promoting stereotypes, I do think when thoughtfully and properly presented in the genre of a Halloween costume I believe some of these can be quite effective. (And to those masquerading as the P.C. Police who might be reading this, please know these are, of course, meant in good fun with tongue firmly planted in cheek).

For example, why not dress as White Mr. T? All you need is a tank top, lots of gold chains, and shave those blonde locks into a "fro-hawk". (Then just keep calling people "Fool" in your best whiny white kid voice.) In the same vein, why not go as a Black Mr. Rogers? A quick trip to JCPenney to fetch a sweater, pinpoint oxford shirt, and slacks and you're good to go. (If you want to "smoove" it up you can add some dark sunglasses, a Jay-Z style long chain and cross worn over the sweater, and some Fubu sneakers instead of his trademark slippers.) You can even be a White Michael Jackson...no wait...a Black Michael Jackson...ummm...

You can certainly mix the stereotypes to produce some interesting costuming options. How about going as a Black Mafia Boss or perhaps a White Latin King member or even a Hispanic Old Jewish Couple? (Remember, all in jest people.)

Okay, then how about bucking some Halloween stereotypes? Anyone can go as a ghost or a werewolf or a fairy princess.

If you want to stand out though, why not go as Diabetic Dracula? Standard Dracula costume with a pillow in the pants for some obesity and some props including a vile of insulin or a glucose monitor. When trick-or-treating just be really irritable until you get some candy and say, "I want to suck your blood sugar."

How about Neurotic Frankenstein. Again, standard Frankenstein costume is all that is required. Then instead of grunting incoherently you can keep complaining about the bolts in your neck giving you a rash and worrying about the other women at the party thinking your jacket makes you look fat and pretentious.

Then there's Feminist Witch. Drag the old witch costume out of the basement. Just add a black t-shirt with the quote, "Wolfmen, their rights and nothing more; witches, their rights and nothing less". DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT BRINGING A BROOM WITH YOU! Instead bring a protestor's sign with Gloria Steinem's photo on it and keep chanting in full throat, "History is herstory too!"

Of course, there are many unique and obscure Halloween costume ideas you can experiment with as well.

With some various creative touches you could go as a:

* Foreclosed Home - Just don't bring a Trick or Treat basket with you or the bank will try to seize that as an asset.

* Swine Flu Vaccine - You'll be the life of your Halloween party as everyone will want to get a piece of you (hopefully you won't be offended if people start "snorting" the top of your head with their noses), but then you have to keep "running out"...of the room.

* White House Stimulus Jobs Report - Very simple costume to put together: bull's horns for your head and a quick trip to Home Depot's garden department to cover yourself in a bag of manure.

* Balloon Boy & His Dad - Just dress in a standard orange prison jump suit and handcuffs and instead of saying "Trick or Treat" you'll be pitching reality show ideas. The good thing is if you don't have a child to play Balloon Boy that's okay. You just tell people he's hiding in the attic...I mean missing.

* Health Care Reform Bill - Just tape lots of papers to your body with numerous addendums, riders and corrections on them. Try to find the houses in your area that are not giving out treats to Trick-or-Treaters. When you ring their doorbells, tell them it is required for them to carry some form of candy on Halloween or their family can be fined up to $1,500 by the government. (After all, there is an affordale, government run public candy option available to them.)

And what am I going as this Halloween you may ask? I can't decide between a cross-dressing, headless Jon Goselin or a robotic cowboy Obama Zombie. And no, don't ask me to explain the costumes.

Channeling My Inner Carlin

This is probably not the most heart-warming blog I've ever penned (or keyed) but over the last month or so I have become increasingly fed up with various segments of society, pop culture and politics. In fact, my frustration levels have peaked so high with some of these nimrods that I find myself channeling my "inner George Carlin".

My childhood comedic idol, Carlin always had a penchant for calmly and succinctly summing up his feelings towards any individual or group that rubbed him the wrong way (i.e. "Here are some more individuals who need to be beaten upside the head repeatedly with heavy mining equipment.")

So without any further adieu, as my mentor and master would say, "Here are some more low-grade morons who oughta be locked in portable toilets and set on fire!":

* The little smirky bastard from the AT&T Wireless commercials who keeps throwing out his mother's "old minutes".

* Experts who make a cottage-industry out of "projecting" full-season fantasy football statistics for individual players three months before the football season even starts. Is that even legal?

* Vultures like Nancy Grace and that forever-constipated looking clone of hers (Jane Velez-Mitchell or whatever) on HLN who feed on the daily suffering of others to fill their shows with content while wrapping themselves in their own self-importance as responsible public servants.

* TV networks that cram 50 commercials an hour down every one's throats for new, overly hyped TV shows that will quickly find their way to cancellation within a month's time (i.e. Flash Forward, Community, The Good Wife, The Cleveland Show, Brothers and The Vampire Diaries. Glee will probably do okay - but I am so sick of hearing about it!)

* People who e-mail in all bolded, red-fonted caps with more than one exclamation point at the end of a sentence to display anger or emotion.

* All of the unkempt, smart-ass, celebrity stalker ass clowns on TMZ.

* So-called resume experts who for a price will get your resume "noticed". How? By manipulating the verbiage in the subject line of your e-mail since that's the only part of your resume most employers ever see before sending your e-mail and resume, along with the thousands of others just like your's that they never look at, to "cyber purgatory" (sorry George, needed to borrow that one.)

* The FreeCreditReport.com singers. Nails on a freakin' chalkboard. Solution: Lock them in a cage with the monotone singing girl in the orange jacket and hooker boots from the Comcast commercials and chum the shark tank at Sea World.

* The Big "O" and his band of congressional dopes who are even entertaining the idea of "fining" American citizens like me who do not carry health insurance because I can't afford it. Start creating some jobs en masse (and don't worry about if they're green, blue, or burnt siena...jobs of any "hue" will suffice) and maybe some of us can afford to be healthy again.

* People who use the cliched terms, "With that said..." or "That being said..." in place of the word "So..." to make themselves sound important or educated.

* The vampires at ESPN for broadcasting every game (including sub regionals) of the Little League World Series and regular season high school football and basketball games. Can you at least not suck the fun and innocence out of the lives of these young athletes at this level? Does everything in sports really need branding or publicity?

* Experts who keep assigning an arrival time and date for the H1N1 virus. (i.e. The Swine Flu virus should arrive in Chicago in October.) Does this virus have a world tour set up complete with concert t-shirts and roadies that I'm not aware of? We can't determine with any certainty when an airplane with no empty seats will take off but we can predict the travel habits of an airborne virus?

* People suffering from the delusion that the Olympics coming to Chicago would be a great boon for the city. Everyone is entitled to their opinion pro or con and that's fine. However, if you are pro for the Olympics coming to Chicago, I feel you must then be tagged with an electronic marker, much like cattle, and the moment you complain one bit about excessive traffic delays during the games, stalled economic growth after the games or higher taxes to pay for it all, a 50,000 watt electrical current will immediately be unleashed throughout your body for a duration of no less than 27 minutes.

* Telemarketers who complain about the No-Call List infringing on their right to earn a living. How about my right to not be bothered by idiots during dinner? And seriously, what kind of a living can you earn as a telemarketer? Has anyone ever actually bought or signed up for something offered to you by a telemarketer? Wow, that $5 gas card really sounds like a great deal for the $200 in fees over the course of a year that I'm going to pay you by signing up for your "Credit Protector" plan!

* Politicians who think taxes on "luxury items" like cigarettes, alcohol, candy and pop are going to help offset city budget deficits and in the long term breed a healthier generation of people which will lessen the impact on health care costs. People who are addicted to tobacco, booze and sugar, just like people who are addicted to cocaine or heroin, are not going to care that they have to pay more for a fix. What will happen though is eventually the tax will become modern day prohibition and before you know it jails will be overflowing with repeat offenders cited for "Illegal Possession with Intent to Distribute Mountain Dew and Junior Mints."

* I'll end on a lighter note with one of my favorite George-isms: "Bad hair day? Where did this sh__ come from? What a superficial culture! Put on a hat and go to work you shallow c__t!"

Ah, George...I miss you so much!

Such a Tease

Okay, I apologize for taking the better part of the last month off from updating my blog. I've been busy and I'm still suffering the effects of a lingering, summer-long bout of writer's block.

So rather than beating my head repeatedly against a variety of blunt surfaces, I thought I might try my hand at video blogging. Not that many of you possess the burning desire to see my ugly mug up close and personal; I just figured it would be a nice way to flush out some of the creative thoughts and ideas swirling around my cranial crapper without all the hassles of carpal tunnel syndrome.

With that in mind, I grabbed up my little handheld disposable video camera that I purchased at a CVS store in Las Vegas earlier in the year and decided to document all the minutia of my trip down to Southern Illinois a couple weeks ago.

Of course, had I known I had to wait 4-6 weeks for CVS to send my little camera out for processing, I would have shot more footage with my own personal video camera. But not to worry...I did capture some nuggets with said camera and compiled those into a little "teaser trailer" to preview the full length video.

Grab your popcorn, put your feet up on the chair in front of you and enjoy a sneak preview of "Jason Pawlowski's I-57 Adventure"! This is one preview you won't soon forget...

Writer's Block Party

Until now I never really knew why historically everyone chose July as their month to expend their gradually accruing array of .8 vacation days per month. Sure the kids are out of school, the weather is at its warmest, and TV is either in summer re-runs or bad reality show pre-runs.

The problem is for someone like me who has no children, hates hot weather, and relies on the idiot box for entertainment, friendship and companionship, this time of year is actualy the least ideal time for me to get away from my busy daily grind. (Who am I kidding? My current daily grind would barely harvest a single ground of Sanka let alone a pot of Colombian Dark Roast.)

When I used to do this writing thing for a living, I never really at any point found myself at a loss for words. Even if I had nothing pressing to bitch about I still could find something positive or constructive to add to the collective consciousness.

Right now the world is just sort of happening all around me and I'm sort of numb to the whole thing. Nothing is really sparking my interest on any level...good or bad. Sorry but debating the pros and cons of the so-called health care reform bill winding its way down the Congressional crapper, playing pin the tail on the "real culprit" who ultimately killed Michael Jackson, or kicking dirt on now former Chicago Blackhawks' GM Dale Tallon's corpse over what could be a "bill of goods" sold to the team by their arch nemesis Detroit Red Wings in now questionably-healthy and newly minted millionaire forward Marian Hossa, really leaves me flat.

I do have some stuff "in the can" that I want to share but at this time I'm just not able to organize my thoughts well enough to free them from the bowels of my mind. So I've decided to take a break from blogging and throw myself a "Writer's Block Party" to shake off some of the rust from all the stalled story ideas I am currently saddled with. I may even take it one step further and make this block party a road trip.

I know my travel budget is fairly limited since I haven't had a real paying job since the Taft administration but in order to recharge my cranial 9-volts I think I need to go ahead and take a much needed vacation.

The $6.40 question (about what I can afford to spend on a trip) is where? Where do I want to go in the world that would pique my interest, raise my spirits, and arouse...well pretty much anything in me.

Lets start with where I've been:

Illinois. Much like all of the Star Wars movies as well as the countless number of rejection letters from potential employers I continue to receive on a weekly basis, I've seen it before.

With apologies to Johnny Cash...

I've been to Palatine, Mundelein, Oregon, Oblong
Plano, Murphysboro, Wasco, Roscoe
Berwyn, Burr Ridge, Bourbonnais, Berkley
DuQuoin, DuPage, Dupo, Dundee
Oak Forest, Oak Lawn, Oak Brook, Oak Park
Elmwood Park, Orland Park, Loves Park, Forest Park

I've visited Zion and did not run into Morpheus or any of The Matrix cast. I've been through Springfield (and Shelbyville for that matter) without seeing The Simpsons and flew into Metropolis without a single sighting of Clark Kent.

I've been to the Friendship Festival in Kankakee, the Sweet Corn Festival in Hoopeston, and the Turkey Testicle Festival in Sandwich. Believe me...I've been everywhere, man!

Florida. A return trip to "America's wang" does intrigue me on some levels (mostly to see if the hillbilly hell hole I lived in during my adolescent and teen years still can support carbon based life and if the school system ever got past teaching the letter "G" in its English curriculum). Despite never having seen attractions like Disney World, Universal Studios, or Epcot Center the entire eight years I lived there (though I did get to see the Alligator Farm as well as several drunken college football tailgate parties in assorted collegiate venues' parking lots) I think that's a destination I can cross off my "to do" list, y'all.

Arizona. Made some truly "wonderful" driving memories with a few of my close friends on several cross-country trips from Chicago to Mesa and back; most of which had to do with our group's collective lack of maturity, personal hygiene, or the substandard accommodations we chose to partake in.

Aside from a visit to the Grand Canyon, my vacation memories of the Sunburn State primarily consist of staying at my friend's Aunt's house (whose amenities featured an average of no more than 15 seconds of luke warm water per shower and an air conditioner that shook and cried in pain when I turned it down one night from 82 to 70 degrees), using the tub at the Motel Five as a urinal after the toilet backed up, listening to my one friend have a loud conversation with himself in his sleep about someone named Barry, giggling uncontrollably at the movie theater marquee outside of a Perkins Restaurant which claimed to be showing the movie "Forrest Hump", trying to identify which homeless people under the viaducts reminded us of former professional athletes (I swear I saw Houston Astros legend J.R. Richard pushing a shopping cart), and me falling asleep at the wheel of my friend's minivan for a good minute or so and not really caring about the peril we were in either (even after the wheels started rubbing against the shoulder) as the sun rose over an endless strip of this boring highway to hell we were on.

Nevada. Okay, we're obviously talking about Las Vegas here as there is really no other viable reason to visit Nevada (unless you want to see Reno or Area 51). Despite my extraordinary track record of gambling futility, I usually enjoy my trips to Las Vegas. I have to say though, my last few visits have really been hit or miss. The Las Vegas Strip is really dying. The economy has pretty much taken the middle class out of the casinos leaving only the rich and powerful whales at the Wynn and the Bellagio and the penny-slots-and-$1.99-steak-and-eggs-in-the-ghetto-part-of-the-Strip crowd. Even the cadre of hispanic folks handing out burlesque flyers and hooker rookie cards to the many passers-by have disappeared. The once picturesque skyline is now muddled by half-finished buildings and decrepit older casinos who have yet to be put out to pasture. Add to that the disappointment of my last two Miss Illinois titleholders being cheated out of their rightful place in the Top 10 at the Miss America Pageant and me being molested by some fat dope sitting next to me (who must have mistook my leg for a succulent pork chop with applesauce) on one of the plane rides back, and I've pretty much cashed in my chips on Vegas. What happens there can basically stay there, in my book.

I've been through other states but can't honestly say I've made any lasting memories in those places. I saw the Rocky Mountains and the Painted Desert. I've seen Nebraska and Iowa...yay, corn. Ate a Whopper with some "unexpected" toppings in Colorado (we'll leave it at that), saw a cow try to hump a pick-up truck in Oklahoma, lost my swimming trunks in the wake while tubing in Michigan, watched my grandmother drive off the road into the grassy median and then back on again in Wisconsin, accidentally defiled a book from the 1700's at the University of Notre Dame library in Indiana, got pulled over in Texas for speeding late one night with the ultimate irony of The Eagles' "Life in the Fast Lane" blaring on the radio, and took photos of the highway signs in Dix, Illinois and Beaver, Utah. Ah, memories.

Sure there are other places I would like to visit. San Francisco, Seattle, New York, Vancouver and maybe even Intercourse, PA. Beyond that, I think I get more relaxation and pleasure out of reliving old memories of respites past than I do of thinking about planning future ones.

Airline travel is such a pain right now and I still don't know how my friends and I managed to drive cross country all those times without the aid of a GPS or an iPod...or air conditioning.

No, I think I'll just stay right here, fill up the tub, insert my aquarium's air pump hose into the water to make a Polish jacuzzi, microwave some Pizza Rolls, pour myself a glass of Ginger Ale, and toast to one of the most relaxing trips a writer like myself can take...a trip down memory lane.

Now if I could just get over this writer's block and think of something to write for my blog...hmmm.

Mailing It In

Riddle me this:

Can any major sports city in the country boasting professional teams in at least three of the big four leagues (MLB, NFL, NBA and NHL) be a bigger joke than Chicago is right now? Hell, I'll even see your cities with teams in two of the four leagues and raise you an MLS team kicker (sorry, bad poker metaphor).

Seriously. Lets put this evidence under the microscope!

In less than two weeks time, we've had the Chicago Blackhawks pull a major coup, bucking a century's worth of penny-pinching and Jurassic-era business practices, with the signing of free agent offensive super-stud Marian Hossa to a 12-year, $60+ million dollar deal, only to risk flushing all that positive momentum down the crapper on a silly paperwork snafu and the reliability of the Postal Service with the potential loss of young, budding talent Kris Versteeg to unrestricted free agency. Are you kidding me?

We've got America's darlings, the Chicago Cubs, who after two years of wrangling with suitors and haggling with Tribune Company creditors were on the verge of finalizing a deal to sell the team to the Ricketts family of TD Ameritrade fame. Then in an act reticent of total "Cub-dom" (or should that be "Cub-dumb"), the Chicago Sun Times quotes multiple sources within the team's lame duck ownership group (namely the paper's own competitor, the Chicago Tribune) that no agreement has been reached and the team is still fielding offers from other sources to maximize top dollar.

Top that off with the Chicago Bulls losing free agent Ben Gordon to the Detroit Pistons (perhaps interleague payback for the aforementioned Hossa deal), the Cubs losing pitcher Ryan Dempster to a fractured toe in the wake of jumping over a dugout railing to celebrate a victory last weekend, and the Chicago White Sox losing pitcher Bartolo Colon - not to free agency or an injury - they just can't find him period!

And while the Chicago Bears have remained remarkably hushed this off season, still riding the high of the Jay Cutler trade with Denver this past spring, it still makes me laugh to listen to some of Bears Nation criticize the move. He's overrated. He's cocky. He doesn't sign autographs. Orton is better. We gave up too much. Why not give Caleb Haney a shot?

Guess what? JAY CUTLER IS AN ACTUAL NFL STARTING QUARTERBACK!

Despite the Bears' Super Bowl XX victory in 1986, the Bulls' six title run in the 1990's, and the White Sox World Series title in 2005, the overall national perspective of Chicago is essentially "a tradition of mediocrity" and Chicago fans' mentalities for the most part can be summed up in one word: "meatheads". And while I don't necessarily care what other areas of the world think of us, I can't help but agree with either of those assessments.

This is a sports town who embraces their own and shuns change of any kind...even if it is for the better.

This is a sports town whose baseball legacy can be defined by some greenery adorning brick walls in the outfield, a college of coaching, Harry Caray, Disco Demolition Night, baseball shorts, and prior to 2005, 100 years of nothing to show for any of it.

This is a sports town so steeped in tradition (or, again, is it fearful of change?) that its management brain trust is often afraid to act on anything for fear of upsetting the balance?

This is a sports town whose basketball team sent Benny the Bull and the Luv-a-Bulls out to the airport to greet and woo potential All-Star free agents while other teams sent what those players ultimately wanted: legitimate, loaded contracts.

This is a sports town whose coaching carousel reads like the dossier of a D-list celebrity candle party. For every Phil Jackson and Mike Ditka, there's a Terry Bevington and a Jim Essian just itching to soil themselves; thus making their memorable contributes to the festering Chicago coaching compost heap. This phenomenon (perceived or otherwise) undoubtedly influenced the sudden changes of heart by even second-tier retreads such as Dave McGinnis, Doug Collins and Barry Melrose in officially accepting coaching positions with Chicago teams. (Do you realize how close we were to having Barry Melrose and his mullet coaching the Blackhawks? How long did he last with the 'Ning? A week-and-a-half?)

This is a sports town whose fans revel in the potential of their team's "hot young prospects" (most of whom historically do not live up to expectations - see Brandon McCarthy, Felix Pie, Tuomo Ruutu, Miguel Olivo, Gary Scott...shall I continue?) and then cry bloody murder on the notion that any one of them should be traded for anything remotely beneficial to the team's long-term success from outside the organization.

This is a sports town whose teams, like a lot of other cities, are frugal with their spending cash but not to the penultimate detriment of their teams' well-being and that of their fiercly loyal collective fan base as some Chicago ownership and management groups have chosen to be. From Bobby Hull to Greg Maddux to Jeremy Roenick to Elton Brand to Magglio Ordonez...how cheap are we?

And when teams in this town do in fact make a splash and land a big name player via trade or free agency, it is almost always one on the downside of their career (see Ken Griffey, Jr., Maddux - the second time, Bobby Orr, Charles Oakley) or a player who slips through the cracks of the teams' advanced scouting and medical staff who fail to diagnose a slightly torn labrum, degenerative knee or even a case of acute ass-wipedness (see David Wells...on all three!)

Granted, all of these recent blips on the Chicago sporting radar will iron themselves out before any lasting damage can occur. Versteeg will re-sign with the Hawks soon. Despite his numbers, Gordon's absence from the Bulls' line-up will probably further facilitate Derrick Rose's growth as an offensive player. Dempster's toe will heal in time for the Cubs to miss the playoffs. Their ownership situation will be a mere matter of how many zeroes to the left of the decimal point a suitor can muster. And unless Bartolo Colon was hanging in the same bar with Steve McNair last weekend, I'm sure he'll emerge from his hole in time to make his rehab starts in Triple-A Charlotte.

It's the notion that Chicago really is the lonely kid at the prom or the precious ugly duckling debutante that never "swanned-up". Our blue collar attitude and toughness-wins-out-over-talent system of values are the subject of mockery by pundits and talk radio hosts nationwide. We are laughed with and we are laughed at...and we love it. Because it's our tradition and that's what makes our town, our teams, and our fans so great!

Tradition is wonderful! It is something I will always cherish, not just in sports but in all aspects of my life. You know what else I cherish? Winning...and the respect that comes with it.

How about we start a new tradition?

Finding Buried Treasure in Life's Little Piles

Just a quick postscript to one of the rambling points I made in my previous blog entry regarding cleaning out my closet and old toy box this past weekend and finding some truly unique treasures...specifically my portfolio of old drawings, cartoons and, of course, my pride and joy..."Groo the Wanderer vs. The Transformers" issues #1-4.

This was my E.T.: a boy and his special childhood friend...now reunited 20+ years later! This was my first kiss, my first steady relationship and my first love all in one age ravaged, water stained package.

It's not just finding this long since buried gem from my childhood intact that has me so giddy and giggly, but rather the entire process of pouring over each panel and harkening back to how much I cherished each free moment that year, both during and after school and throughout the summer, to put this thing together. It's grimacing at the site of my poor seventh grade spelling and grammar (which at the time I thought was fairly superior to everyone else's) and my glaring inability to draw straight lines - and yet my outright stubborn refusal to succumb to the pressure of using a ruler and a pencil instead of my own eyes and a pen to craft this epic. No, once I got it off the ground this little baby was going to be uniquely me - beautifully flawed for all the world to see, and frankly all for the enjoyment and edification of just one person...ME!

Not to toot my own horn here but this was groundbreaking stuff for me! I melded two fantasy worlds, entrenched deep within in my thirteen-year-old heart, inexorably together in one four-part mini series that I developed out of nothing except my own imagination and a few strokes of my pen. I inserted Groo co-creators Sergio Aragones' and Mark Evanier's patented hidden messages into each issue. I even gave myself and a dozen of my former classmates smaller cameo roles throughout and even wrote my all-time super hero role model, Wolverine, a guest spot in the story's finale.

Sure I've done better work since then. In the same portfolio I found some of my more recent samples of journalistic cartooning which most would probably agree are far superior to my early work. Still, while the drawings are a tad more polished and the humor a lot more thoughtful and mature (in a mostly immature way), I'm still most proud of G vs. TT.

And even though my cartooning hand has become fairly silent over the last decade due to the early onset of jaded, crusty old fart syndrome, looking at my old work gives me renewed confidence and desire to bust out the drawing pad and pencils (yes, I did eventually listen to myself and retired the four-chamber, multi-colored ballpoint pen).

In fact, I also found the series' even more ambitious and priceless attempted sequel, Groo the Wanderer vs. Everyone (with the subtitle Secret Wars III - building off of another popular Marvel Comics mini-series of the time) including the tip-of-the-cap cover salute to my favorite comic book cover of all time, Giant Size X-Men #1. This one only made it about 10 pages and two weeks into the start of eighth grade before I put it to bed for good. Perhaps I might pick up where I left off. Who knows? Think I can remember a 20-year-old storyline?

I can't tell you how happy I am to have unearthed this lifetime treasure. If nothing else, this reaffirms for me what many people have tried repeatedly to tell me for my entire life (and I usually ignore out of some sense of modesty): I'm pretty damn talented.

Despite its cliched script, hackneyed illustrations and sometimes illegible print (even before suffering all the water damage from hitching a ride in my school backpack on a daily basis), Groo vs. The Transformers really is me at my quintessential best. Not only was this one of the few projects of this scope in my life I have ever taken on and seen through from fruition to completion, this was also probably the last notable thing I ever did just for myself...but that's going to change, I promise!

And I'm not promising you this...I'm promising me.

Cleaning Up Some Random Piles

One of the things I have learned since the economy chewed up and regurgitated my full time career roughly 2 1/2 years ago is that long holiday weekends are really more a nuissance to me now than a cause for celebration.

Not that I went out of my way to paint the town red, or any other hue for that matter, over a Fourth of July weekend even when I was doing the whole 9 to 5 thing. In fact, I probably did even less on those occasions than I do now just to decompress. I guess the primary difference was I actually had something to look forward to when the weekend was complete, even if I wasn't really looking forward to it (like going back to my dead-end job of clock watching). Lets just say this past weekend was not a really productive weekend for me on any level.

Besides confusing Thursday with Friday, Friday with Saturday, Saturday with Sunday, and Sunday with Saturday, I managed to watch all-day marathons of old TV series I have seen ad nauseum (I can still hear Gordon Ramsay yelling, "Oh my gawd, come on! Let's go, yes?" in my own personal Kitchen Nightmares rattling around in my sleep), grilled mountains of various red meats over a couple of days for a giant party of one (consuming a grand total of maybe two hamburgers and a few ears of corn and donating the rest to the wildlife fund I currently have residing in my backyard), participated in some convoluted, impromptu, townie tailgate party at my local grocery store parking lot to take-in a fireworks display, took photos at this Independence Day parade whose pacing rivaled most Chicago stop-and-go rush hour traffic jams, washed and subsequently stained all my light colored clothes in my town's unique laundry water supply (which I think consists of one part water and two parts marinara sauce and rust), and stared aimlessly into my computer screen all weekend trying to think of something meaningful to write - to no avail.

So I went to Plan B: The Larry King/USA Today Ramblefest concept. Those of you who still read newspapers (all four of you) or have seen the old SNL skit (all three of you) know what I'm talking about. To construct his columns, it seemed as though Larry would essentially throw a dart against a bulletin board full of current events and topics, invest a sentence or two of his own opinions (or when all else fails...borrow someone else's), rinse and repeat about fifteen times, and then for good measure interject an occasional deeply thoughtful quip that stands on it's own like, "I really like the way maple syrup pairs with banana pancakes."

I call it the ultimate writer's cop out...and right now I got nothing else for you! Consider the feel of my journalistic integrity officially copped.

* I would pay top dollar for a group photo of the participants of the National Conference of Governors from 2008. Think of that potential All-Star starting line-up (cue Ray Clay and the Alan Parson's Project music): At shooting guard from Alaska...Sarah Palin! At the other guard, former New York governor...Eliot Spitzer! Wait substituting for Spitzer, also from New York...David Paterson! (Wait...do we have this deep of a bench?) The man in the middle...of all his legal issues...from Illinois, Rod Blagojevich! At forward, from New Mexico...he'll pay to play...Bill Richardson! From South CAROLINA...Mark Sanford!

* It has been awhile since I've been in school but has the curriculum changed for English and Journalism majors to no longer include proofreading? Case in point: While previewing the upcoming Johnny Depp/Christian Bale biopic "Public Enemies", I witnessed not one, not two, but three media outlets (two different TV stations and one print publication) refer to the film as "Pubic Enemies". Perhaps they were referring to the old Buzz Kilman's Porn Emporium version of the movie; soon to be premiering alongside the re-releases of Throbbin' Wood or Carlito's Gay.

* A few years ago in a radio interview I heard former major league catcher Darren Daulton remark something to the effect of if you look at a digital clock it always reads 11:11. While I knew this had to be some sort of random, drug-enduced psychobabble he was spewing after his latest rehab stint, I have started to notice this phenomenon as well. The clock always does read 11:11 - not necessarily when it's 9:15 or 12:08 or whenever but when it actually is 11:11 it really does read 11:11! Weird.

* I hereby declare this day to be the end of the music industry. I recently heard a modern rock cover version of Wham's "Careless Whisper" by the band Seether on the radio - this on the coat tails of Disturbed's take on Genesis' "Land of Confusion" and some other non-descript, Jessica Simpson-esque sounding song ripping off the acoustic guitar baseline to America's "Ventura Highway". I realize this practice has been going on for decades and that musicians, producers, singers and songwriters are now officially out of ideas but come on! You kids leave our folksy 70's and campy 80's songs alone!

* Are all movies now made in 3-D?

* If Michael Jackson's debt situation is as dire as the media is reporting, and the demand for tickets to his public memorial in Los Angeles is so overwhelming, doesn't the situation cry out not only for the public sales of tickets but perhaps the addition of a second show? Maybe even an honest-to-goodness, real life "Farewell Tour"? I'm serious.

* Things that can't (or shouldn't) be grilled on the barbecue: lettuce, cheddar cheese, grapes, apple slices and Oreos. Things that can (and often will) be grilled on the barbecue: exposed arm hair and eyebrows.

* In the wake of Manny Ramirez's return to the L.A. Dodgers line-up after a 50-game wrist slapping for testing positive for a banned substance, Rafael Palmeiro said he could relate to Ramirez's plight of being wrongfully accused of doping. This from a guy who etched out a potential Hall-of-Fame career, proclaimed the integrity of his numbers and his innocence in front of Congress, subsequently tested positive for steroids later that year, and then said he unintentionally took steroids given to him by former teammate Miguel Tejada - mistakenly assuming they were nothing more than a B-12 shot. Not exactly the credible endorsement Ramirez was seeking. (This also gives me the opportunity to dust off this old nugget from my childhood. When at a baseball card show in Orange Park, Florida in 1989, Palmeiro when asked by a patron to personalize a signed photograph with "I promise to take it easy on the Yankees next year" asked that same person how to spell "easy". I know - because I was next in line behind this person!)

* Parallel lines perhaps? We had former President Bush throughout his Presidency advocating the need to invade and continue the fight in Iraq and Afghanistan with the ultimate goal of finding weapons of mass destruction in an effort to defeat terrorism for good. No weapons found - terrorists still abound. Shortly after his election, President Obama advocated for the need to pass the economic stimulus package for banks and large multi-national corporations to stabilize the economy, stating that failure to pass the stimulus would result in the unemployment rate climbing to 9.5% by mid-2010. Stimulus package passed - unemployment rate at 9.5%...and it's still 2009! Interesting.

* My cat has also begun "authoring" his own "My Piles of Stuff" blog all over my carpeting...only he leaves out the "B" in "BLOG". These are not the piles I was planning on sharing with the world.

* Things found during my weekend clean-it-up, throw-it-out fest: Coppertone sunblock from 2001, hamburger patties from April 2008, office keys from two of my previous jobs, my forgotten epic, four-part, comic book mini series "Groo vs. The Transformers" (written and drawn by your's truly circa 1986), some truly hideous Hawaiian shirts and a can of Chunky Soup with former All-Pro defensive end Reggie White on the front in a Green Bay Packers' jersey...keep in mind, he finished his career with the Carolina Panthers...and he's dead now. Also, is the fact that I never find anything good (like an original draft of the Bill of Rights or something even more surreal like an unopened six pack of Like cola circa 1982) when I clean out my closets more of an indictment of me personally or the fact that I am just too dumb to ever collect anything worthwhile? (Ten Michael Jordan rookie cards for a quarter a piece? P'shaw! Those will never be as valuable as my dozen 1988 Donruss Gregg Jefferies cards! eBay stock for $10 a share in 1998? Piss on that! Get me more Mark McGwire Roid-abilia and Princess Diana Beanie Babies!)

* By the way, if there is any positive at all to be derived from former Tennessee Titans' and Baltimore Ravens' quarterback Steve McNair's tragic death from multiple gunshot wounds this past weekend, it is that I hope it will finally convince my friend Dale not to waste a first round pick on him in our Fantasy Football draft this year.

* Not that I'm complaining about this but we haven't even seen a seven-day streak of consecutive 85+ degree days yet this summer and already I'm seeing Back to School signs and Christmas ornaments in stores!

* And, oh yeah, I love a good comfortable pair of socks on a Monday.

See Larry, anyone can do it.

Wake Me Up When September Ends

This can't be real, can it?

As I awoke this late morning, the calendar read early July yet the temperature outside was a very Autumn-like 50-some-odd degrees. It was beautiful...my perfect summer day. Odd.

Ripe with an unusual surplus of energy, I went for a brisk walk and along the way a very beautiful young woman out for a jog greeted me with a genuine smile and a friendly hello. Huh?

Then I opened my morning paper and discovered that the Chicago Blackhawks, my hockey organization, just inked free agent offensive juggernaut Marian Hossa to a 12-year, $60+ million dollar contract...what's going on here?

Wait...something happened, didn't it? The Earth spun off it's axis, crashed into Uranus (I know, still can't resist an attempt at sophomoric potty-mouth humor when the opportunity presents itself) and now this is the after-life where everything goes your way.

Or maybe this is The Matrix and my hairless, naked body with hoses and tubes connected to every orifice is sitting in some vat of pink Jell-O with scores of other human batteries feeding some futuristic race of machines bio-electric energy while a computer program desperately tries to convince my brain that life is wonderful all in an effort to mask the machines' sinister purpose.

This just can't be happening...right?

I mean, this is the Chicago Blackhawks we're talking about. The Original Six franchise that helped launch the National Hockey League in the 1920's and has not updated their methods of doing business since. The organization that deemed it a good idea to continue to black out all telecasts of home games even after fans stopped coming through the turnstiles to watch them in person. The team that would sooner spend money on retreading tires on the Zamboni for the tenth time before spending it on their own players...let alone free agent players!

It's not the dollar amount or even the number of years that staggers me. It's the fact that the Blackhawks were the team to pull the trigger on the deal after coming off an already impressive showing last season. What's more they did so much to the detriment of their hated Detroit Red Wings rivals; blatantly stealing away their best offensive asset and planting him squarely on the Hawks' formidable young first line for the better part of the next decade. WOW!

That's why I'm having such difficulty accepting this as fact. In my Blackhawks reality under the old Dollar Bill Wirtz/Bob Pulford regime, the big news of the off-season more than likely would have been the signing of 47-year-old decrepit veteran Chris Chelios and his instant elevation to Team Captain or possibly the hiring of venerable Wayne Van Dorp as Special Assistant to the General Counsel or some other nonsense.

This just absolutely floors me! I'm not much for hyperbole, even after my team throws a lot of coin at a key acquisition, but with all due candor this one signing signifies not only a tremendous shift in power in hockey's Western Conference but a change in mindset in the entire Chicago Blackhawks organization enabling a potential return to glory that all Hawks fans have so richly deserved for the better part of the last half century. You deserve this. I deserve this!

Granted Hossa's commitment to the Indian will not be the end-all, be-all to the Blackhawks' Stanley Cup dreams. The signing will inevitably push established, higher priced veterans like Nikolai Khabibulin (enjoy Edmonton, Khabi) and Marty Havlat out the door and might even make the ultimate goal of securing the long-term services of the young nucleus of Jonathan Toews and Patrick Kane more difficult, particularly within the constraints of the NHL's ever-shrinking salary cap.

Still, whether Hossa helps lead the team to a Cup title or not, two things are for certain:

The Blackhawks are finally a real hockey team doing real business in the 21st century and I cannot wait for the puck to drop on this coming season!

12 years and $60+ million dollars. What's next? The Bears acquiring a legitimate All-Pro starting Quarterback after fifty years of futility at the position?

Oh yeah...I'm sure that'll happen!

Death of an Icon

The tragic passing of Michael Jackson last week has had a surprisingly profound effect on me, as it has no doubt had on the rest of the world these past few days.

I say "surprising" in that while I was a tremendous admirer of his music (Thriller, in my book, is still one of the Top 5 albums ever produced) and his ability to entertain multiple generations of fans, I was not a hugely devoted fan of Michael Jackson. His death, while sad and very much so for his family and his children, does not resonate within me as it would a loved one or as it did with say a Walter Payton or a Kirby Puckett.

Those were childhood heroes of mine and their deaths affected me very personally as I felt a piece of my youth died with them. In the case of Jackson, on the surface anyway, there is nothing ultimately heroic about his life. He pulled himself, and his family, up out of poverty and into the mainstream consciousness of pop culture through song and dance. Yes, he brought joy to millions and spawned a new era of popular music that broke barriers of color and genre. And yes, he had his ups and downs and battled his many personal demons along the way, as does every human being.

Don't get me wrong. I am not in death indicting his impact on the world based on his sordid past or recent alleged transgressions. Whatever you think of the man personally is a discussion for another time and not relevant to this particular conversation.

What is relevant is that Michael Jackson's passing signifies the death of something bigger, the likes of which this world will NEVER see again: the death of the celebrity icon.

In the days that followed Jackson's departure, I had a debate with a friend of mine about who the next iconic celebrity would be whose death would generate a worldwide outpouring of sympathy and emotion and a genuine feeling of loss in pop culture. Who would that be? Think about it.

Take Presidents and heads of state out of the equation. They are celebrities but they are elected celebrities who can be measured with a variety of litmus tests that reveal nothing about their impact on pop culture.

And for that matter, take sports icons out of the mix as well. Their impact (with the singular exception of someone like Muhammad Ali whose legacy affected more than just boxing fans) is mostly limited to their individual arenas of competition.

Who is it? Who now carries that mantle?

We've lost dozens of iconic celebrities over the last decade or so: Princess Diana, Bob Hope, Johnny Carson, Frank Sinatra, Paul Newman, Charlton Heston...and the list goes on but with each death there was always another iconoclast waiting in the wings to be revered in their waning years. Honestly, who is left to come off the bench now?

Oprah Winfrey? Maybe. There's no good way to quantify the impact Oprah has made on the modern TV talk show genre. She definitely set the standard and paved the way for myriad copycats (from Maury Povich to Tempestt Bledsoe) to try and steal her crown. Ultimately though, it is that same glut of pretenders that waters down her impact on pop culture. I feel Oprah's celebrity is more a product of the media machine, branding and the amazing array of talented staffers she surrounds herself with.

What about iconic celebrity actors of our generation?

Tom Hanks? Tom Cruise? Both heavily decorated actors with strong filmographies but will either endure into their 60's and 70's as a treasured and still marketable silver screen icon in the way that Newman or Robert Redford or Jack Nicholson did?

Brad Pitt? Probably the closest thing we have to a modern day "movie star" with his combination of talent, charm and good looks and his resume is far from complete. Still I think his "celebrity" as Mr. Jolie will inevitably overshadow much of his past and present work and cast aspersions on many of his future projects.

Who can even tote Sophia Loren's or Katherine Hepburn's hatbox out of the current cadre of "A-List" actresses? Julia Roberts, Renee Zellwegger and Meg Ryan on their best days put together could not hope to do so.

And don't even get me started on the music industry because frankly there is no such thing right now.

Yes, Sir Paul McCartney is still around to be treasured but even his star has not shined as brightly into his golden years, whether by choice or just through the natural passage of time. There will be a definite sense of loss when McCartney leaves us but that wound originally opened 30 years ago when we lost John Lennon and any hope (misguided or otherwise) of a Beatles reunion.

The demise of the album and the practice of fostering style over substance spelled doom for the music business a long time ago. I'm not saying I don't respect or even enjoy The Jonas Brothers' music (because I do, even though I'm twice their age)...I'm saying that I can't do either because the industry won't allow me to do so.

For every Jonas Brothers there is an N'Sync, a Backstreet Boys, a Hanson, a New Kids on the Block and a Menudo waiting to knock the previous week's newest mega-sensations off their pedestals.

Much like tennis, the power brokers of the music business feed on rushing young talent through the grinder while the meat is still fresh, cramming them down society's throats, fleecing them for what it can, and leaving the remains for the come-back buzzards to pick at, often before many of these performers even turn 20. There is no time for a musician or a band to make a lasting impact because their shelf life has been so drastically reduced thanks to the industry and in part to another blight on pop culture, American Idol. If video killed the radio star, Idol dismembered and buried the corpse.

The concept of celebrity has become so muddled because the idea of what passes for entertainment today has become equally obscure.

When Sinatra and other members of The Rat Pack walked into a Vegas night spot or Raquel Welch strolled down Hollywood Boulevard, you knew you were seeing genuine royalty, "in your face" beautiful people, true star power, and the penultimate definition of celebrity.

Now names like "Sanjaya" or "Omirosa" or "Jon and Kate" are on the tips of every one's lips and mentioned in the same breath as revered stars of stage and screen. Surnames like "Octomom" and "Brangelina" have found their way into the celebrity nomenclature. Even pseudo-celebs like Paris Hilton or Internet-celebs such as Perez Hilton, LonelyGirl15, Star Wars Kid and others of their ilk are primarily famous for being famous. Hell, Patti Blagojevich is considered a celebrity and she's famous for being the spouse of an indicted former Governor. Should Mrs. Dahmer or Mrs. Manson be invited onto next season's I'm a Celebrity - Get Me Out of Here?

Even the coverage of celebrities has become a cottage industry onto itself. TMZ and X17 (and whatever other letters you want to pick out of the Scrabble bag) dedicate their entire operations to the 24-hour-news-cycle mentality of hunting down and documenting every moment (insignificant or otherwise) of the life of every celebrity (again...insignificant or otherwise).

Who needs scripted comedy when Jackass has all the unscripted side-splitting guffaws you could ever want? (And what voids their antics can't fill, YouTube's millions of channels of viral video entertainment can!)

Reality shows have essentially supplanted the modern game show and television drama all in one fell swoop! (So what if Detective Sipowicz may not survive a gun shot wound to the chest...that pompous ass Chet may not survive this latest session of Tribal Counsel!)

And programs like Idol, America's Got Talent or So You Think You Can Dance, which give the viewer control (or at least the illusion of control) over the outcome, have become so entrenched in the world scene that the line between manufactured celebs and actual celebs has been blurred beyond all recognition...and possibly for good.

So when Judgement Day commeth for Madonna or George Clooney or Jennifer Aniston, will the public celebrate their lives in much the same way they are now doing for Michael Jackson? Or will this phenomenon of elevating anyone seen on camera anywhere doing anything remotely entertaining dilute these modern day celebrities' eulogies to the level of a Billy Mays? (No offense intended - rest in peace, Billy.)

There can be no argument that Michael Jackson was an icon beloved (or at least renowned) worldwide. His place in history is secure as his face (whichever one you inevitably decide to use) will forever be on the Mt. Rushmore of the music industry next to Elvis Presley's...and name your other two spots (probably Lennon and McCartney for me).

Last Friday we lost a legend but we also lost a legacy...the legacy of the modern day celebrity icon.

Guess the burden now falls to either Vince the Shamwow Guy or the Dell Dude.

Summer Movie Review - TRANSFORMERS: REVENGE OF THE FALLEN

As with my other previous summer movie reviews I have to continuously remind myself that these movies are exactly that...summer movies. Plots, character exposition, snappy dialogue and advancing established storylines take a back seat to explosive special effects and dynamic action sequences.

Also as with my other previous summer movie reviews, STAR TREK and X-MEN ORIGINS: WOLVERINE, I issued the caveat before my review that I was very personally invested in those two franchises...as is the case with myself and the TRANSFORMERS franchise and it's latest big screen installment, REVENGE OF THE FALLEN.

Those of us old enough to remember not only the original line of Hasbro toys (consisting of sleek, die-cast metal cars, trucks, airplanes and other vehicles that transformed into menacing looking robot action figures) but the cartoon TV series that introduced a generation of young fans to the friendly Autobots and the vile Decepticons, we can be forgiven if we look at the Transformers film franchise with a bit of a jaded eye.

One of the things that made that TV series so endearing, at least in my mind, was the unique personalities inherent in many of the most popular characters. From Starscream's constant attempts to subvert the role of leadership of the Decepticons away from the mighty Megatron (and subsequent revelation of his true cowardice time and again in each failed attempt) to Ironhide's consistently crusty, yet noble attitude (ultimately revealed in the original animated big screen adaptation TRANSFORMERS - THE MOVIE as he meets an heroic demise at the hands of Megatron...still makes me cringe everytime I see it), these were characters who despite their extra-terrestrial origins (and their stereotypical campy 1980's packaging) possessed some of the most uniquely human characteristics and personality traits I have ever seen explored in a TV series...animated or otherwise.

I loved those characters. I had a real affinity for Brawn and Wheeljack and Mirage. I hated Shockwave and Astrotrain, and I am not afraid to admit I cried my eyes out when Optimus Prime died in the original animated movie.

The robots humanity (or lack thereof in certain cases) made the show something I will always treasure in my heart and that is something that is clearly lacking in Michael Bay's takes on The Transformers concept.

Despite utilizing some of the original vocal talents from the cartoon (including an inspired job of casting in bringing the legendary Peter Cullen back to voice Optimus Prime) and updating the looks of key players such as Bumblebee, Optimus, Jazz, Starscream and Megatron, these film versions of the Autobots and Decepticons are truly not more than meets the eye.

Now in the 2007 film, Bay did a competent job in attempting to fill in the backstory behind the Cybertronian wars while not losing forward momentum in extensive flashbacks or unnecessary exposition. He also effectively selected his initial cast of characters on both sides so as not to overload the viewer with too many bots to identify and follow.

In REVENGE OF THE FALLEN, Bay fails miserably on both counts. There are at least two key sequences in the movie (won't spoil it for you) that spend an awkwardly excessive amount of time in flashbacks or exposition that drag the movie to a screeching halt.

We are also introduced to at least two dozen new characters, both Autobot and Decepticon alike. The difficulty is I couldn't tell you the names of more than a handful of them either because they were not identified by name, I couldn't translate their 2009 look to their 1980s look, or they just flashed on the screen too quickly before exploding into spare parts.

Yes, the fight scenes are fantastic and Bay's penchant for combining reality-based special effects (real explosions, car crashes, gunfire, stunts, etc.) with just the right amount of CGI is once again prevalent in this body of work. It's just not nearly enough to captivate me.

As for the humanity I spoke of earlier, there is none evident in this movie and I'm not just referring to the robots either.

One of the scenes I really liked in the first movie was a sequence towards the end of the film in which Bumblebee suffers a catastrophic injury to his legs and Sam Witwicky (played by Shia LeBeouf), amid all the jarring conflict and turmoil surrounding him in the war-torn streets, vows not to leave his fallen friend and protector. That moment provided a very human emotional context to the film that the cartoon was famous for.

ROTF offers nothing of the sort. The robots truly are empty characters. Even noble Optimus and evil Megatron seem more cartoonish by their actions and dialogue on screen than their original animated counterparts. And the one group of characters that should provide a human context to the movie, namely the humans, becomes charicatures of themselves or comedic fodder set against the backdrop of The Transformers story.

Even the on-going love saga between Sam and Mikaela (portrayed by Megan Fox...and yes, despite where my review is heading, she alone IS worth the price of at least matinee admission) seemed to lose it's direction throughout but then miraculously found it's way back on the road each time until spiraling out of control in the inevitable and predictable lovelorn climax.

The movie does not take itself seriously...really ever...and when the opportunity to inject humor into the script does avail itself, it almost seems forced and inappropriate. Jar-Jar Binks haters can put down their "boobas" and refocus their hatred on not just one, but two Binks-esque characters in Mud Flaps and his goofy twin whose name escapes me at the moment (I think it might be Curb Feelers or Fuzzy Dice or something like that). Their antics throughout the film are a total distraction.

I would have rather seen the half-hour or so of wasted screen time on those two cretins, the Jetfire sequence, the story of the Primes, Sam's idiot roommate at college, and the time spent in Transformers heaven (can't take credit for that one...thanks Matty) on more action, or better yet... interaction, with the Autobots and Decepticons.

I realize that you can't blindly recreate the cartoon with real-life settings and actors, and I also understand that a movie further exploring the personalities of these robots would probably make for extremely boring theater.

I just know that for a summer movie, REVENGE OF THE FALLEN passes the eyes and ears test, but as a Transformers fan, this franchise needs a complete overhaul.

You Know You're Getting Old When...

June 2, 2009

There are three constants in the world: every new episode of The Simpsons will blow puppy chow, there will always be one really dreadful singer cut from the first audition episode who actually thinks they really were good enough to be the next American Idol, and we all get old.

And it's not just the physical things like hair loss, weight gain, arteries hardening, and stools softening that mark the passage of time. It's the experiences and memories you absorb over your lifetime...or more importantly, who you share those memories with and why they have no idea what you're talking about.

Case in point, last year at a pageant I told a young college-aged woman I knew that her sheer pink and red lace outfit reminded me of "I Dream of Jeanie" to which I got from her the old Scooby Doo, "RRUHHH?" (And if you do not know who Scooby Doo is then I've further illustrated my point.)

Do you realize that if I had kids right now (well, first I'd want to put my head in an oven but secondly...) that they would be born into a world where the vinyl record has been replaced by an ITune, the record player replaced by an IPod, the TV replaced by You Tube, and the VCR replaced by the Blu Ray? Would they even know how to operate a phone with a dial? No, but I guarantee they could pop out of the womb with the ability to send text messages (and finally show me how to turn my cell phone on vibrate).

Growing up I actually used to have a pen pal in Utah that I would trade letters with once a month. Now I have Facebook friends all over the world within arms length and I don't even think I know half of them! What the hell is tweeting? What happened to newspapers? Even the pager is outmoded now! I remember when Blackberrys used to be something to put in pies...he said, hiking his grandpa pants up to his man boobs.

I'm only 36 and do consider myself a technically adroit person. I listen to modern music! Sure it's from 2001 but that was only...holy crap that was almost ten years ago! Oh man, the movie Forrest Gump is 15 years old now...I just saw that in the theater, didn't I? Return of the Jedi is now 26 years old...and I was old enough at the time to pay my own way into the theater to see that!

Some younger people I talk to have never heard of Atari, the Noid, the Super Bowl Shuffle, Press Your Luck, Axel F, or Donkey Kong! And things that used to be popular in my childhood, like the Transformers or the powder blue Toronto Blue Jays jerseys, are now coming back because "retro" is cool. Things in my life are now retro? Oh, gag me with a spoon!

I guess I can be grateful that I'm not completely over the hill yet. There are still players older than me that I followed when I was younger still playing professional sports like Chris Chelios and John Smoltz...boy, is that it? Well at least bands like the Rolling Stones and the Eagles are still going strong...right? Right?

If you're reading this, and you're young and can help me...please, I'm begging you. I need a crash course in modern life. Tweet me, blog me, text me. You can even call me, that is if you kids still do that.

Please, I don't want to start eating dinner at 4pm and complaining about the government...lousy crooks. Oh no, it's happening...

Summer Movie Review - STAR TREK

May 18, 2009

When last we left you, our hero Jason left his legions of blog-o-philes on a cliffhanger teasing a summer movie review of STAR TREK. Lets pick up the action now:

So...yeah. Here it is.

Now I will say that I cannot be an impartial reviewer of this movie or really anything having to do with Star Trek. For all my 36 years I have been a Star Trek nut! Granted Star Wars is my passion but Star Trek has always been the "steady girlfriend" who is always there for you. Maybe it's because Star Trek never goes away for 15 years at a time, Mr. George "I-Want-to-Spend-Time-With-My-Kids-So-I-Don't-Have-Time-to-Make-New-Star-Wars-Movies-But-I-Do-Have-Time-to-Make-Howard-The-Duck" Lucas. (I'm not bitter or anything.)

No, it's just that until very recently Star Trek really has never left the collective consciousness of my generation. I grew up with the reruns of the original TV series. Then we watched creator Gene Roddenberry successfully move the original franchise to the silver screen (albeit disjointedly with an ever-changing clown college of directors including both William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy...yikes). The popularity of the first four Star Trek films spawned the need for a Star Trek franchise for The Next Generation, so enter Jean-Luc Picard onto the deck of a new USS Enterprise. After time ravaged the original cast in the next two films and with the ST: TNG franchise going where no man had gone before, Rick Berman took the late Roddenberry's brainchild to theaters again for four more films. Other TV spin-offs ensued including Deep Space Nine, Voyager, and Enterprise until the latter went dark a couple of years ago.

The most recent three small screen serials aside, Trekkies (wonderful bunch of people, if you can stand to be seen with them in any public setting for more than five minutes) will debate you tooth and nail on the relative merits of which of the Big Two TV franchises is superior: Kirk's crew or The Next Generation. While I feel there are arguments to be made for and against on both sides (sure you could see the strings holding up the Klingon ships in the 1960's show but come on...it's James T. Kirk!) there can be no doubting the universal love and admiration for Kirk, Spock, Bones, Scotty, Sulu, Chekov and Uhura...not to mention all those poor "red shirts" who time and again met their untimely demise on all those away missions simply by making poor wardrobe choices.

I will admit I am no fan of J.J. Abrams overly stylistic method of storytelling. As much as I liked the original season of Lost, that series needed to crash land a long time ago; so to say I was confident in his ability to add something new to this treasured entity in prequel form would be like a Ferengi donating the profits of a deal to United Way (just trust me, it's funny.)

I WAS WRONG!

This may have been one of the best commercial ventures ever to bear the STAR TREK name! Not only did this movie have more heart-pounding, phaser blasting action than all ten of the previous films combined, it completely delivered on character exposition and advancing the story. In fact it over-delivered...and that was so great!

My concern for Abrams not treating the original storyline with reverence in favor of his typical uber-stylization was quickly put to rest mere minutes into the movie because he masterfully space-walked a very fine line between both and it worked!

Brilliant job of casting. The ensemble cast of mostly unknowns works on so many levels. One character does not overshadow another because of their que-rating which is often the case when a big name actor is brought in. All of these actors pay amazing homage to their predecessors with their performances while not attempting to precisely mimic every little nuance. Although I must say that Karl Urban, who portrays Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy in this movie, does an outstanding DeForest Kelley (the original Bones).

I know this is supposed to be a review but I really don't want to give too much away! The special effects are top notch! The story is grounded in Star Trek lore but does not take itself so seriously that it can't be a fun ride!

If I do have one criticism, it would be that some of the die-hard Trekkies (and I mean the Spock ear wearing, convention regulars who are encyclopedias of Star Trek knowledge and trivia) might feel as though they're being given the middle finger for all of their patronage over the years after the film's conclusion. It's not a blatant slap in the face...it's very subtle. Again, I don't want to spoil too much here but embrace the concept that the ultimate conclusion to this movie now enables Trekkies to enjoy an entirely new set of adventures with the original crew without the constraints of the show's well established but limiting history.

GO!!! NOW!!! See this movie! If you're not a Star Trek fan, go see this movie! If you're not even a sci-fi fan...go see this movie! And if you are a fan, go see it and then go see it again!

Trekkies rejoice - it's now cool to love Star Trek! Just keep the fake ears and Klingon masks at home. Cool has it's limits. :)

Summer Movie Review - X-MEN ORIGINS: WOLVERINE

May 10, 2009

While I may not have the biting witicism of a Roger Ebert or the perfectly quaffed mustache and hair-do matched set of Gene Shalit, I do know what I like when it comes to summer movies.

Granted were not talking about Oscar-caliber, plot-intensive, exposition pieces fit for your typical book discussion group over Earl Gray tea and finger sandwiches. These are SUMMER movies people! It's check your brain at the door and mainline the entertainment factor. Surprisingly though the two flicks I have seen thus far not only deliver on the wow and the pow but they also do a marvelous job of telling and really advancing their storylines.

Lets begin with X-MEN ORIGINS: WOLVERINE. I will be the first to admit I love Hugh Jackman as Wolverine. Even though the previous three installments of the X-Men movies collectively left me a bit wanting, I definitely felt Jackman's portrayal of the animalistic, ascerbic and yet closet-compassionate Logan carried those films. Having grown up with that comic book I always imagined Wolverine's voice, mannerisms and attitude on-screen would have a certain edge to it without being borderline psychopathic. Jackman definitely is the incarnation of the Chris Claremont, John Byrne or Frank Miller character come to life!

I loved seeing the early story of Logan from his childhood days when he first discovers his mutant abilities (that of quick healing powers and a set of bone claws protruding from each of his hands). Secrets revealing his actual age and family history (particularly his relationship with arch-nemesis Sabretooth) are definite treats for the "die-hards". I'm also pleased with the manner in which the director portrays Logan's not-so-distant past by using the opening credits as a vehicle to stylistically reveal a long and jaded history of serving country and cause in combat in a series of wars from Revolutionary times to Vietnam.

Much like Batman Begins, seeing the process of how Logan was transformed into Weapon X (his Canadian Special Ops surname), including the brutal method in which his skeleton was bonded with the indestructable metal adamantium, was extremely cool to see.

It finishes strong with a couple of nice "easter eggs" for the die-hards including an unexpected cameo by an old friend from the original three movies as well as some nice foreshadowing to the content of a potential sequel (rejoice fans of the Frank Miller Wolverine four-book mini-series); that is, if you're patient enough to stay through all the credits.

Like it's featured hero, this movie is not perfect. The combat sequences throughout the film, though exhilirating, for the most part really seemed far too fantastic to believe. Granted were talking about a super hero movie here but I just felt some of the action seemed a bit too cartoonish or even laughable. Movies like The Dark Knight and the original Spiderman have amazing action sequences but are grounded in a certain air of realism as well. I think this movie misses the mark with that.

With the exception of Sabretooth, the other mutant characters in this movie are fairly shallow players in advancing the story significantly. Reme Lebeau (aka Gambit) and the Blob are really the only two notables from the original books. I was hoping for a stroll down memory lane with Logan's old pal Jimmy Hudson as Guardian, the original leader of the Canadian based Alpha Flight that Wolverine had ties to in the comic series. (Or maybe I just wanted to see how that skin-tight Canadian flag body suit would look on the big screen.)

Also, if I can put my "Comic Book Guy" from The Simpsons hat on here, I thought the CGI on Wolverine's claws was weak. (Worst CGI ever!) Could they not find someone to try and find some metal swatches to photo-realistically match the computer generated claws to? I know that's picky but they did it in the other three movies.

Two things I'm not big on in my summer action movies...kids (see also: Indiana Jones' Short-Round and Star Wars - Episode I: The Phantom Menace's Anakin Skywalker) and love stories. While the kid factor was fairly absent from this movie (with the exception of a younger Scott Summers revealing the origin of another X-Men alum, Cyclops) the love story was very prevalent and very misplaced. I understand the need to foreshadow the origin of some of Logan's animal rage but it definitely seemed very manufactured; and in typical Hollywood style they managed to play the old soap opera-esque "shell game" with your mind on that one too (i.e. Tony Almeida's amazing recovery from death in this past season of 24). You'll see what I mean when you go to see it.

I don't assign stars or thumbs or anything in my movie reviews but I definitely do encourage you to see this movie! You'll certainly appreciate it more if you're already a veteran fan of the movies or the comic but even newbies I think can enjoy X-MEN ORIGINS: WOLVERINE for what it is - a blow you out the back of the theater summer action movie.

STAR TREK review next time...that's what we call a tease.

Piling On

April 22, 2009


Welcome to "Attempted Blog" #36 or so - meaning that this is at least the 36th time in my life that I have made an effort to organize the exceedingly dwindling number of cogent thoughts bouncing around my head into blog form. Of course back in the day, during my initial few attempts at this kind of venture, when Zoobas were all the rave, cell phones (then known as mobile phones and were the size of TV remotes) were used just to make phone calls and En Vogue was still...well, en vogue, we called blogs "journals" and blogspots consisted of college ruled notebook paper, this magical instrument called a pen and the ability to covertly deliver this thrice folded sheet of paper to your snickering classmates sitting behind you.

And while I have no doubt that technology's helping hand will probably facilitate a streak of personal blogs lasting longer than two, I think I've also hit a juncture where not only am I comfortable sharing the various little "piles" in my life (hence the name - more on that in a moment) with other people but I also, for the first time in a long time, feel like I have something meaningful to share. Whether it's a rant about some burning geo-political issue threatening to tear the world asunder or just trying to figure out if the cashier at the grocery store is a she-male, it's important to me to get my thoughts out of my head and into my blog.

As a writer with a track record of past success professionally (by "success" I mean I earned a paycheck for my writing and by "track record" I mean I earned more than one) I can attest to the veracity of how the writing process can be very cathartic for the mind and liberating for the spirit. I have also heard from multiple sources that journaling (blogging, whatever) can be very therapeutic for oneself as well (I just wish my therapist would have been one of those sources especially before I racked up a huge tab with him). So I'm going to embrace those concepts once again and give this blog thing another shot.

As for the origins behind the name of the blog, I'm not deeply philosophic about a lot of things especially when it comes to life. I try not to look for complex metaphors for life nor do I seek out that warm, fuzzy tripe that fuels what's left of the flailing bumper sticker business ("Life's a beach, dude"...oh, bite my ass.) I have recently come to the conclusion that if you spend too much time trying to understand life or figure out life or define life then that process ends up defining you.

So for me, the best way I can define life (and then move on with it) is...life is a bunch of piles of stuff.

We all have piles of stuff, don't we? Everyone - young and old, rich and poor, smart and stupid - they all have their piles. Even the most obsessive-compulsive, organized person in the world has a pile somewhere. Whether it's piles of material things...piles of clothes...piles of paperwork...piles of bills...piles of personal experiences...piles of knowledge...piles of obligations...piles of issues...piles of feelings...piles of angst...piles of love...we all have our piles. Everyday we add and subtract from those piles and we're always trying to find things in those piles to help us live our lives better.

Some of the piles we have control over and some we don't. We can certainly whittle down some and get rid of some all together. We can shove the big piles in closets and desk drawers or sweep them under the rug. We can dress the uglier piles up and make them look pretty for others to see. With a little effort, we can even make our piles disappear completely, if for only a few scant moments.

But there will always be piles of stuff in our life and ultimately it is our piles that define who we are and you can't hide from them. Embrace them with a big bear hug! They are what makes you uniquely you!

The great thing is, since everyone in the world has piles, you are not alone in your struggle to manage them. Most of us have friends or family that can help manage our piles and often times contribute to their distinctiveness. And if you're lucky, eventually during the process of managing these piles you will stumble across that one special person who no matter how dissheveled you feel your piles may be will want to combine their piles with your's into one big pile and share that with you forever.

So that's why I'm here. To share my piles with the world...or at least anyone who gives a crap. The great thing about the Internet is if you don't like what you see, there's a back button with your name on it waiting to be pushed. My piles are not perfect. In fact, far from it. I have some piles that would put Gomer, Goober and even Denver to shame (apologies for the bad dated TV references). But what's mine is your's so if you like what you see, come back and sift through some of my other piles of stuff. There's got to be something you like.

My hope for everyone reading this is that my piles of stuff contribute positively to your life's piles and my wish for everyone is that you all find that special person (whether it be wife/husband, girlfriend/boyfriend, dog/cat, or just good friend) to share your pile with.

Now where did I put my ENTER key...oh yeah, here it is. Enjoy!