Memorial Day Memories

One of my least favorite holidays has to be Memorial Day. It might be a tie with President's day (because I dislike the fact that they took Washington and Lincoln's birthday and mooshed them together simply because they were both born close to the same day. Why couldn't punk ass Lincoln have been born in July?) Anyhow, when I was a kid, on Memorial Day our activities consisted of:

1.) Picking up all old alive people in car
2.) Going to 2 graveyards featuring dead relatives
3.) Not being able to find dead relatives
4.) "Accidentally" stepping on headstones
5.) Laughing at dead people with funny names (Lowell Butts, Ebenezer Titcock)
6.) Trying to get in the locked crypt that had Father Louis Hennipen in it
7.) Sitting around flicking sticks
8.) Contemplate stealing flowers from other gravestones, just for the sake of being mean

Since I have reached the age of reason, I have cut these activities from my schedule. In case you haven't noticed, graveyards are creepy. Even in the day. It's weird to think that you're walking around someplace with all these dead bodies underneath you, and although this is unlikely, the place that you're most likely to get grabbed by a hand that pops up from the ground is a graveyard. No thanks! If I know you, and you die, I am never going to come and stand above your corpse. I don't believe you would like that.

Old School Rap

Now that I have satellite radio, I spend nearly all my time listening to the old school rap channel while I am driving around. The one thing I've noticed about old school rap that differs from today's garbage is this. Today's rap songs are about girls with big buttoxes, and trying to have sex with those aforementioned girls. That's it.

Look at that ass/
On the floor Hey/
Crack look like/
A big ol' doorway/

Run to the bathroom/
Ass is shakin'/
Stop eatin' all that/
Extra bacon/

Come to my house/
I pull out my ding dong/
Hit it back and forth/
Like a game of ping pong/

Put yo clothes on/
Leave now certain/
Pants so big/
They look like curtains/

And on and on and on for 4 minutes. Half these guys are probably virgins or down low gay people. Old school rap, on the other hand, you could rap about ANYTHING. You got a hangnail, rap about it. You got gonorrhea, rap about it. You went to jail for taking a dump at the Parade of Homes, rap about it. You graduated from community college, rap about it. You're dating a girl whose dad hates whites/blacks/mexicans/fat boys/midgets/etc, rap about it. You can't beat King Koopa on Level 8 of Super Mario Bros, rap about it. You attended an insurance seminar, rap about it.

You could rap about anything, and what's more, apparently back then it was perfectly acceptable to walk down the street while clapping your hands and stomping your feet. If you did that nowadays, you'd probably be put in a padded enclosure, so as to ensure that you aren't a danger to yourself, or anyone else. You know what I would do if I saw someone walking and stomping and clapping down the street? I would go to the other side of the street. Because that's the guy that would be mumbling about a great famine while his weiner hangs out of his pants.

Grocery Store Derelicts

Here's something that drives me crazy. Every time I go to a grocery store I seem to get stuck behind an employee of the store who is also buying items... at the store. You know the type too. Not the teenager whose parents made them get a job because they didn't understand that sitting in the basement smoking pot and listening to T-Pain wasn't a real occupation. Not the managers straddling the line between Corporate America and, well, sitting in their basement smoking pot and listening to T-Pain. (Side note: Just because you wear khakis and a polo, and you get to tell people when to take lunch, does not mean you have a good job. Don't act like you're Sam Walton because you are the law when it comes to the price of bananas.)

I'm talking about the women, ages 40 to 55, whose life revolves around the store they work at. The kind of person who uses their madatory back support that velcros in the front as an accessory to their work attire. (Hmm, I think floral print garage sale T-Shirt and high water stonewashed jeans from '88 with elastic waistband will go PERFECTLY with black back support!)

Anyhow, I always wind up behind these people in the "express lane" with about two things (think Vaseline and a cucumber) and I always think to myself, "How can they possibly have 10 items or less?" Their entire cart is filled with shit. And then it turns out that they do only have 4 or 5 things. The rest of the shit in the cart is just their own belongings. A coat, a thermos, a bag filled with miscellaneous knick-knacks, another bag filled with yarn, a fanny pack, a coin purse, other store items that they'd bought on an earlier break but hadn't brought home yet, a small bag of toiletries, etc. It's like somebody came upon a congregation of bag ladies and constructed a grocery store around them. I worked at a grocery store once, and I am proud to say I didn't drag my world around with me wherever I went. So then they start shuffling through the detritus, trying to find the things that they actually have to pay for. It's always vegetables too. Especially Eggplants and Squash. So after shuffling around for a long time, and pulling out their vegetables, and paying $1.96 for them (all from the change purse), then begins the long and intricate form filling out process that comes with buying $1.96 worth of vegetables at the store you work at. Sign here, here, here, here, initial here, thumb scan here, voice authorization here. Ugh. Then 20 minutes into this process, this person will turn to me and say, "Maybe you want to go to a different line, honey. This could take a while." So I stare at her for a while, like the Terminator trying to formulate an appropriate response, and finally deduce that, yes, I should probably take my 2 items elsewhere. So I go into a different line with more people but less bag ladies, and about 30 seconds later I look over and she is happily gone, back up into the bowels of the store someplace, unaware that I am plotting her untimely demise. Someday, revenge will be mine, lady who lives at the store, but for now I must go because some 15 year old just backed 47 carts into my bumper.

Why is it always me?

I don't understand why all these bizarre things happen to me, but they always have. I guess I unintentially invite them upon me, but not on purpose. If they were to make a movie about my life, it would be called "Stupid Stuff Happens to This Dude." It would have no beginning or end, just an hour and a half of awkward nonsense, and the audience would walk out scratching their taints in confusion. Or their heads.

The latest bizarre thing, in a seemingly unending cycle, happened the other day while I was walking out of the gym. I had just finished off a pretty good workout, I was tired and satisfied. Then, this happened. A man and his 4 year old son were walking towards the gym when a car came screeching through the parking lot and almost killed them both. The dad slapped his hand on the car and kept walking. The car pulled up next to him, rolled down his window, and an old man in full VFW array stuck his head out and said "GET OUT OF THE ROAD, ASSHOLE." The guy looked incredulously at him, and said, "This is a parking lot." The old man said, "UP YOURS ASSHOLE, I HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY." To which the guy responded, "I'm gonna call the cops." This enraged the old man, so he parked his car, right there in the middle of the road, and went out to fight. He was walking with his dukes up towards this guy who would have crushed his withered old body like nothing, all the while shouting obscenities, especially the word "Asshole." He pronounced it weird too. It sounded like "AH-SO", like something a ninja might say to you before he chopped your face off.

So then the guy waved him off and walked into the gym. The old man turns around and heads back to his gigantic buick, which is now parked and idling in the middle of the road, and what's the first thing he sees? That's right, me, staring at him with my mouth agape like I just saw Bigfoot and DB Cooper making out. So he says, "What are YOU looking at, you AH-SO?" and starts coming at me, dukes cocked, rocked and ready to roll. This situation presented me with a few possible options, none of which seemed remotely cool.

A.) Run from old man, look like giant weiner in process
B.) Kill old man, possible jail time or at least a fine
C.) Say "Grampa, is that you, we've been so worried?" and hug him
D.) Let him beat on me for a while. He might get tired and die.

I chose "A" and I am now the world's biggest AH-SO. As I look back on that moment, I can't help but think, "I sure wish I would have killed that old man and taken his VFW hat." Oh well, some other time perhaps.

Where is my phone??

So here's something I seem to love to do every few weeks. That something is lose my cell phone. It always turns up, it just always gets lost again. One time I left it on top of my car. It broke, but I still found it 5 blocks away smooshed into a zillion pieces. I was fairly amazed that it managed to ride on the hood that far. I manage to lose it in the couch at least 7 times a year.

Here's my incredibly smart "stop losing your cell phone" invention. This is so great, please don't run out and patent it before I do. The idea is a long, elastic "cord" that attaches to the wall of your house. Once you attach the "cord" your cell phone is stuck to your wall forever and you'll never lose it again. The drawback is that you'll have to stick your ear right against the wall to hear the person talking on the phone, but not having to worry about the perils of losing your phone is well worth that little inconvenience.

Update: Phone found. There is a little place in my car, in between the middle armrest, and the seat. In my family we call it "The Place Where Fingers Don't Go." Sounds spooky huh. My car has a few places like that, and I guess so do a lot of cars (Side note: My mom had a little slot in her car right by the ashtray, and if she left her CD's there, the car would suck them into this void. She blamed my sister for years, until one day the ashtray door came off and there were like 8 indentical Meat Loaf CD's behind there.) Anyhow, I could see my phone down there, but it's the place where fingers don't go. Quite the conundrum. I finally poked it out with a Slim Jim I had nearby. Slim Jim's rule!! I feel like "Macho Man" Savage right now.

The Kentucky Derby Rule Changes

With the Kentucky Derby coming up tomorrow, I felt it incumbent upon me to post this confession about myself. No, I didn't make love to a horse one time. My confession is this. Try as I might, I cannot get excited about horse racing. I've tried too. One time I sat at my house and studied stuff about horses (four legs, tail, brown, poop on street etc..). Then when the Kentucky Derby started, I put on my silliest hat, poured myself a Mint Julep, and held on to a pennant that said "Horse" on it. I was in full derby mode, with full derby regalia.... and it didn't work.
I can't get excited about stuff going around in a circle, no matter what I try. This is the same problem I have with NASCAR. Too circular.

So here's what I would do to make the Kentucky Derby more exciting... for me.

1.) The horses should be encouraged to bite and kick each other while racing. This could make the race somewhat similar to Bumfights, except with horses and sprinting in a circle

2.) The Jockeys should be able to whip, and/or throw dirt clumps at each other. The phrase "jockeying for position" would finally have some teeth.

3.) At the halfway point, the jockey would have to jump off the horse and be replaced by a new jockey while the horse keeps running at full speed. Sort of like jockey batons.

4.) If a horse poops on the track while running, 10 seconds is automatically taken off his time. This would serve no real purpose, but I've never seen pooping and sprinting together.

5.) The horse who finishes last has to be eaten by his jockey, bones and all.

Now, to answer to the horse racing purists who would say that these rule changes would dramatically affect the integrity of the sport.

Horse racing purist: These rule changes are dramatically affecting the integrity of the sport!!
Brian: You are correct. Now shut up and eat your horse bones.

Best Advice.....EVER

I have an inordinate number of friends who's wives have fetuses in them right now, in some cases more than one. I even get Cervix Health Status Reports from time to time which is sort of strange. It got me thinking about the best piece of advice I ever received. EVER!! Bar none, this was the most crucial thing I've ever learned in my entire life.

The lesson is this: When your wife is having a baby, at the point when the baby actually comes out of the person, FOLLOW THE BABY!! Keep your eyes completely focused on the baby. Look at nothing but the baby. Don't make the mistake of looking at where the baby came from for even a split second, because you will be permanently scarred, kind of like looking at an eclipse without a sheet of paper with a tiny hole poked in it. I had a friend who I hadn't imparted this wisdom to and he said he saw something that looked like a purple satchel plop out. Oh lordy, I have no idea what that would be. The human body can be pretty gross.

So there it is. The most important thing ever. You're welcome.