Words Women Use & What They Mean To Me

It's hot. I'm uninspired to write. It's the end of the month and the last post for July 2006. So I'm going to blog the lazy way. Nearly 1 year ago I did this post titled I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar. Today I bring you a somewhat similar rendidtion of the translation from "woman speak" to "man speak".

"Fine"
When said by a woman...This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.
When said by me...Fine is the word I use when I don't feel like arguing with a woman and I give her the victory by saying "fine" - fine I'll give you the last word because I don't want to hear it anymore.

"5 Minutes"
When said by a woman...If she is getting dressed, this is half an hour. 5 minutes is only 5 minutes if you have just been given 5 more minutes to watch the game before doing some chore for her.
When said by me...5 minutes also applies to the mall. If she says she will be only be 5 minutes, just do the calculations, that means 5 hours. Pack a cooler and grab a bench seat my friend. You'll thank me later.

"Nothing"
When said by a woman...This is the calm before the storm. This means "something" and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with "Nothing" usually end in "Fine".
When said by me...Hmm, that's funny because I wasn't listening to her when she said Nothing and I'm not listening to her when she says Fine. I try my best to avoid or zone out during arguments. Works great for my sanity...I can's say the same is true for hers.

"Go Ahead"
When said by a woman...This is a dare, not permission. Don't do it.
When said by me...I'm shuttering just reading that. "Go ahead" has been used on me many, many times! I know very well that not only should I NOT go ahead with whatever it was I wanted to do, that instead I should go buy flowers to get back on her good side.

"Loud Sigh"
When said by a woman...This is not actually a word, but is a nonverbal statement often misunderstood by men. A "loud sigh" means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you over "Nothing".
When said by me...Loud sign to me means she's being dramatic. She'll get over it. Keep walking. (And in non-confrontational situations, a loud sigh means you satisfied her.)

"That's Ok"
When said by a woman...This is one of the most dangerous statements that a woman can make to a man. "That's ok" means that she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.
When said by me..."That's ok" is the equivalent of "sure, I don't' care, go ahead". It's a woman trap! It's NOT ok. She DOES care. And DON'T do whatever it was you asked permission to do...and yes you asked permission, wuss. (insert whip cracking sound here)

"Thanks"
When said by a woman...A woman is thanking you. Do not question it or faint. Just say you're welcome.
When said by me...Simple. Finally a woman is making sense by saying what she means and meaning what she says. Prasie the lord! And a woman who is appreciative, I hold onto.

"Whatever"
When said by a woman...It's a woman's way of saying FUCK YOU!
When said by me...Yeah, "whatever" that translates pretty much the same when I say it. Actually it's more like "I don't care" - whatever. (Similar to the way I feel about blogging today. I don't care, whatever. Post over and done with.)

"H" Is For Happy

I didn't realize how unhappy I was until I was happy.
(I think vice versa, the same is true...)
I didn't realize how happy I was until I was unhappy.

Talented Dicks

Artist Tim Patch, who calls himself "Pricasso", uses his penis as a brush to execute surprisingly good portraits in acrylic paint. His work was recently on display at the 10th anniversary Sydney Sexpo which opened with what has to be a world first...an on-the-spot portrait by a "penile artist" of a "genital origamist". His subject, Justin Morley who goes by the professional name Alan Length, uses his penis as a puppet! He contorts his dick to create everything from hamburgers and windsurfers to the Loch Ness Monster and the Eiffel Tower. They were the starring acts for a record crowd of more than 55,000. Sydney Sexpo stands offer an extensive range of sex toys, specialist lingerie, aphrodisiacs, breast & penis enlargement and of course bad puns.

Pricasso mostly paints nude female portraits and world leaders...you know, because the two go hand-in-hand. All artwork is painted entirely with his penis and even signed with his penis. He films himself creating each piece and includes the DVD of it with every painting sold. That way when someone asks who painted your President George Bush portrait hanging on the wall, your reply can be "some dick"...and it will be true! You can even pop-in the DVD to prove it.

On Pricasso's website, he has some rather interesting FAQs. He answers the burning questions such as "are there medical side affects", "does it hurt", "how do you keep from getting an erection" and my favorite..."how can I get an original Tim Patch penile art picture?" His reply..."I can either travel to your house or you can send me a photo which I enlarge making it visible in the video of the performance of the painting." Rrright. Who would want some strange guy to come to their house, whip it out and paint their portrait with it? Creepy don't you think?

• "Penile Artist" Tim Patch PenileArt.com
• "Genital Origamist" Alan Length PuppetryOfThePenis.com

Feel safe if you click on either of those links at work. From what I saw, there is no actually nudity - surprisingly.

Crying Won't Make It Clean

Tonight I wonder if somehow the past predicted the future. A past post (04/11/06 The Kid Has Heart & A Killer Right Jab) I did that seems to haunt me. It's playing out in real life, down to nearly every line. It's meaning semi-altered to fit present time and situation. The future film of one boy's life, that had yet to be played out back in April, has hit the theater today. I originally wrote about a little new-found friend of mine named Evan. He was a shy kid in search of a boxing coach and somehow I ended up "showing him the ropes". Back then, I summed up Evan like this..."Physically, everything about him was wrong for the sport. Mentally, he was the perfect fit. Someone with courage and strength to overcome the odds. To fight thru tough times and never give up even when he's backed into a corner."..."Boxing can teach you so much about yourself. Your character. Your heart. It brings out things inside you that you didn't even know existed. Good things. Positive things. Things a boy like Evan could really use." I never realized the depth of those statements, until now.

When I met Evan in my boxing gym and heard his story, I secretly feared how the final scene would end. I was afraid his life movie would be cut short. White lettering would scroll across a black screen displaying the credits - roles people played in his life. I wondered if I would have a part. If my name would scroll by. Would I of made enough impact on him to be a part of his life? A positive influence? Or would I play a role I wouldn't want to be known for? A role I fear. The role of the blind man. The role of a failure.

Evan is clearly a fighter. A kid that has battled heart surgeries all his life could surely stand toe-to-toe with any boxer, but I never dreamt he would have to fight a match like this. It sickens me. Literally. I felt as if I was going to vomit when I heard what happened to this kid. I was speechless. In shock. I never saw it coming. Like being sucker punched. A knockout in every sense of the word. I flashed back recalling the moment I wrote this..."Maybe one day he will grow to be a great fighter. Maybe not. One thing is for sure, he will get to grow-up. The most important fight is the fight Evan has battled since birth - the fight for his life. A fight he is winning and I'm confident he will continue to win. Ropes or no ropes, I'll be cheering from his corner. Evan has found his passion. He is filling that hole in his heart with boxing. When the doctors look at Evan's heart, I wonder if they see it the same way I do. If they see what I see. What shows up on a hospital scan is not a true picture of Evan's heart. Evan's heart is truly seen when he boxes. It shines thru his eyes. Nothing short of brilliant." Evan is growing up alright. How can you not grow-up when your innocence is stolen?

Tonight, there was no passion in his heart. No shimmering in his eyes. He was silent. Motionless. A shadow of himself. The best way I can describe him is that he has died inside. When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. But I think in this case, life's twist is too sour. I want to fix that. I hope I can, that it's possible. I want to help Evan make lemonade taste like a sweet summer day. Let him be a kid again.

I only share parts of Evan's story in hopes that by doing so, someone out there can help me help him. My main concern...how do you save a life? A child's innocence has been lost. I can't give that back to him anymore than I can give him a new healthy heart. I'm scared that one day I won't be able to escape the ghost of him. Even though I am not the one who committed a crime against his innocence, I'm feeling guilty because I didn't see the signs. I'm afraid that because I am unable to make him clean again that I will suffer for not saving a life. Unknowingly, I played the role of the blind man that failed Evan.

Take all that anger, all that frustration and all the negativity and turn it into a positive. Don't take it out on yourself. Take it out in the ring. Let your hands go. Release it inside the ring and inside of you. There's no shame in crying. But when you rise each morning, you can't cry for yesterday. Crying won't make it clean. Crying is a release, not a cleanser. I swallowed the lump in my throat and told a 10-year-old boy that tonight. Perhaps I should tell myself that as well. I know his shame. I feel it too. Evan was just a foot in front of me where he sat on his hands, head down, listening. I feel as if I sat on my hands too for all these months. And I can't wash my hands of that.

Don't Hate The Playa, Hate The Game

What are you doing today? Want to snope thru my e-mail? Are you shaking your head yes, sure? Ok then. Wish granted. Here is a small flurry of e-mail exchanges I had with my sister. Actual e-mail addresses, full names, times and dates are not being disclosed in order to protect the innocent...I mean guilty.

Her e-mails will be in red. Mine will be in blue.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you so much for this weekend!! It's one of the nicest surprises anyone has ever done for me. It may of been my bestest birthday ever!:)

I sent you the two photos from the skybar &one I took of you surfing. Tell me if you don't get them,never mailed straight from my phone.

I'm sure by now you have told everyone Paris Hilton smiled at you. Too bad you don't have proof. You could post this email on your nerdy blog as proof. I just gave you an idea,didn't I?

Miss you already,wish you could of stayed longer. Give everyone a hug from me. See you for Christmas. Can't wait,5months & counting!

love ya,
Jennifer

---------------------------------------------------------------

You're very welcome. I had alot of fun. Just don't gush on your brother too much. It could get weird, like we were dating and that would be very West Virginia-E, not very California-E. Speaking of going out, do you have plans for the rest of this week to extend your b-day celebration? Like a date with a stud. Hulk Hogan perhaps?

126 there today huh? As Paris would say...that's hot!

- me

---------------------------------------------------------------

I do have a date on Wednesday night but not with the Hulkster. how was the flight?

---------------------------------------------------------------

The flight - we didn't crash or get hijacked. So the flight was up to par.

What's wrong with the Hulkster? He's perfect for LA! Fake, tan, blonde and has a big chest. What more could you ask for?

So who's the hot date with? Tell me it's not that hairy speedo wearing dude. I'll puke.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Oh my god I've turned into you! I don't even remember the guys name! This is bad. What do I do?

shit

---------------------------------------------------------------

HAHA! Are you serious? That's awesome. Yes, you've turned into a guy overnight, actually a pimp. Welcome to the playa's club. Dark and shaddy practices. You'll fit right in. I've never forgot a girl's name I had a date with, so I don't have much advice for you. I guess you could always lift his wallet during the date and sneak a peak at his ID? Better yet, just avoid having to address him directly. If all else fails, a coy "hey you" should get his attention without blowing your uninformed cover. Good luck!

By the way, this IS getting blogged. Hah.

The 212-796-0735 Craigslist Mystery

Back in the days of the Cold War, spies found ingenious and unusual ways to communicate with each other, hiding their communications in plain sight, whether encrypted or not. For instance, an intelligence agent/spy might contact his case officer/handler by placing an ad in the personals section of the local newspaper. This practice was glamorized on the Hollywood big screen in the movie "Red Dragon". From his maximum security prison cell, Hannibal Lector used the method of placing ads in a tabloid newspaper in order to send tips to a fellow serial killer on the loose. This practice seems to continue today, but in a more modern and very real way...via Craigslist.org

On May 8, the following personal ad appeared on the Internet classified ad site Craigslist. (It has since been removed.)

--------------------------------------------------
new york craigslist > manhattan > missed connections >
For mein fraulein
Mein Fraulein, I haven’t heard from you in a while. Won’t you call me?
212 //// 796 //// 0735
--------------------------------------------------

If you actually called the number, you would have heard this prerecorded message (MP3). It's a head scratcher that's keeping National Security Agency analysts occupied. Each block of numbers is repeated twice. Below I have transcribed them only once for clarity. You will notice it contains an unusually high number of zeros. This is sure to test the decryption skills of even the best of us.

Group 415
01305 60510 12079 04606 50100
93000 08203 90130 94069 01207
81080 17028 01706 90220 73038
01401 70150 15073 00402 00680
12013 12510 00540 04091 01401
30150 86022 09608 10660 02082
05507 00020 00000 02208 30290
08022 01200 40710 13065 02709
40190 29014 02200 80020 11083
07300 30260 19000 00700 00000
86

Several days later around May 12, Craigslist pulled the ad, but the number remained up and running. Hackers, phone phreaks and other curiosity seekers flooded the number with calls. That's when some more of the details behind the number began coming out and it caught the attention of US Government, in particular Homeland Security. The number is a VoIP setup from a small provider yet to be identified, but the wholesaler is a company called RNK Telecom. The account was prepaid and the flood of calls it received quickly depleted the account balance. Now the number gives nothing but a busy signal. Many questions remain, even though that the number seems to be no longer functioning. Who put the ad on Craigslist? What is the encrypted message and what does it mean? Is this all some sort of elaborate prank? Or could it be a viral marketing scheme of some type? Or the most frightening issue, could this be a form of communication terrorists are using to plot another US attack?

The Craigslist posting is typical of how intelligence agents might communicate in hostile countries where they are actively trying to evade the country’s intelligence services. What makes this situation even more bizarre is that since May, there have been 2 other follow-up posts! This one came on May 29...

The telephone number 415-704-0402 is registered to Pac-West Telecomm, another VoIP wholesaler. Although this doesn't tell who retailed the number, or to whom. The recording is much like the first number. It starts with some music, reads groups of numbers, each group read twice, ends with more music. The same pattern again.

--------------------------------------------------
s.f. bayarea craigslist > san francisco > missed connections >
For Mein Fraulein
Mein Fraulein,
You must call me again soon.
///415///704///0402///
--------------------------------------------------

Group 617
06107 80020 21085 00601 30690
06079 01201 50240 07006 01601
70690 95000 01702 40050 14024
00908 70220 67089 07401 00820
10086 07801 30240 04016 02707
30130 15006 09306 91120 20084
00000 00210 03070 03107 60490
65023 02706 70000 07016 01201
7

The latest, a 3rd number was posted on June 10. It's a shorter message than the previous 2, but still follows the same basic pattern. This telephone number is owned by Global Crossing, a wholesaler of VoIP and other telecommunications services. The VoIP retailer is still unknown.

--------------------------------------------------
atlanta craigslist > missed connections >
For Mein Fraulein
Mein Fraulein,
I hear the weather in the South is good this time of year. Won’t you call me?
///678///248///2352///
--------------------------------------------------

Group 134
00300 30020 79087 02202 50150
75031 06501 00110 67027 06607
90640 21079 02107 90000 72018
06501 60000 12008 06801 90180
15088 03108 40730 29024 02500
60760 79013 01107 70950 07071
01806 9070

Craigslist was founded in the mid-90s in San Francisco, CA. Now can you guess what I'm doing in SF this week? A copy of these messages has been sent up the chain of command in the US Military and at this time is labeled as "classified". No further information will be released, but you are free to take a crack at decrypting the mystery messages yourself. And if you find anything, please let me know because this isn't easy!

Blogging From The City By The Bay

I've visited California many times, however this is my first trip to San Francisco and already I can say 2 things...

The Golden Gate bridge is neither golden, nor gated. The only part of the name they have right is that it is in fact a bridge. Otherwise, what were they thinking?

And can you keep a secret? My sister doesn't know it yet, but I'm stopping down in Southern Cali to take her out for a surprise birthday celebration - shh. Yes, I'm a swell little brother.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go hitch a ride on the Rice-A-Roni trolley.

Stifled Creativity

Mrs. Yoast, that was her name. The Jr High School art teacher I remember, unfondly. In a venue where freedom of expression should be embraced, she placed restrictions on a student's work. To young aspiring artistes, she was Hitler in a pleated skirt. She dictated what could be shared and what should be hidden from eyes. She rejected all of my project ideas. She told me flat out "this is what you will create." Where is the freedom in that? How does that express ME? She stifled my creativity. She put an end to any artistic talent I may or may not posses. At an age where I was just beginning to discover myself, I discovered that I couldn't create within her classroom, her walls. I was trapped in a box and what was inside needed to fly free. But Mrs. Yoast 's lock was tight. There was no release.

When it comes to defining the word "art," it's definition is endless. There is no way you can simply define it. It is undefined. It's open to interpretation. That is the beauty of art. It's what you make it. It's what you see. It's what someone else sees. It's meaning may not always come across the way the artist intended it and their style may not be your liking. But if you can at least appreciate all that was poured into it and be open to various degrees of interpretation, then I think you are further along than Mrs. Yost will ever be.

Form of expression varies. It doesn't matter if you are a painter, writer, musician, whatever. From paint to canvas. Pen to paper. Finger tips to piano keys. It's art. It's personal expression that flourishes when unleashed and suffers when stifled. Placing holds on creative juices is like tying a bird's wings together and demanding it fly. There will be no liftoff. He will never soar. He will frustrate. He will make do with what he has. What he has been held down to. He will crawl because it's impossible for him to take flight.

The piece I settled on was titled "Learning To Fly." A spin-off from the Pink Floyd song. To my teacher, she got what she wanted. A chalk drawing of someone who was suppose to be a influence to me. For me, I turned the limitations she gave me into something that had greater meaning...IF she knew how to interpret my expression. And that, that is something she did not see. She did not see me. For that, I am disappointed in her. For a woman that was suppose to be so in tune with artistic expression, no person could be father from understanding the mere concept of the word "art." And far from understanding me. The real kicker, it was even in black and white for her to see. Literally and figuratively.

I still have the chalk drawing. My Mom has held onto it all these years. It depicts the silhouette of an unclothed man standing with his ankles tightly together, as if they were tied. Eyes closed, held tilted back and arms spread eagle. His toes just barely grazing off the edge of a cliff. A cliff where the bottom was not in sight. He was to fly. Or fall. The only color in the drawing was a very thin red line outlining his being. As with any art, it's open to interpretation. As the "artist," I know what it means. What I meant for it to say when I created it. For Mrs. Yoast, it met the class requirements and nothing more. A-. Not a bad grade, but it wasn't the grade that mattered. I wanted to send her a message. A message that obviously flew right over her head.

I'll let you interpret my drawing. Red representing blood, power, passion, anger, life? An unidentified man plunging off a cliff - a cry for help, a wish to fly, a mere representation of the song's lyrics? A combination of all of these things? You figure it out.

Since her art class, I've lost my will to create like that. I have no clue if I HAD talent, or if I HAVE talent today, because I won't pick up a brush. It's been stifled for over 10 years, but maybe it's time to let it fly?

If This Was An Audio Blog, I Would Hum Carnival Tunes

Step right up folks. The freaky sideshow carnival is in town! A kitten possessing 2 distinct faces was born in Ohio last week in what veterinarians call a very rare and bizarre occurrence. The young feline has 2 mouths, 2 noses and 4 eyes that have yet to open. The mouths apparently meow in unison! How freaky is that? And...I want him. The coolest cat we had growing up was a maincoon cat with 22 toes - an extra digit on each front paw. She had a litter of kittens, some of which had the normal 20 toes and some which did not. One of her kittens had 7 and 6 on the front paws. It was pretty cool. Needless to say those snowshoe footed cats walked well across snow, but sadly, not all of them had 9 lives. Now in other news, that isn't as freaky, but just as cool...

Let's talk about pee. Yes I'm doing another pee related post (11/4/05 If This Doesn't Make You "Pee Shy", Then "Gay Jay" Will) on the world's hippest bathrooms, in particular, urinals. New York's JFK airport has installed mouth-shaped urinals in Virgin Atlantic's clubhouse. Personally, I think these are awesome! However, some people don't care for the big-fat-red-lip kissing pissers. Who are these people? Women activists. My question, umm why do women get a say in what type of plumbing fixtures are installed in the MEN'S bathrooms? Does this make sense to anyone? Should I make a fuss over the tampon dispensers in the ladies room? Apparently some women made such a stink over the urinals that the airport pulled them out and issued an apology letter stating...

"We are, of course very sorry to hear of your concerns with the design of the urinals that were to be fitted in our clubhouse at JFK airport. We can assure you that no offense was ever intended. The urinals were intended to be one of the more fun and quirky features of the new JFK Clubhouse, a project overseen by Virgin's in-house design team led by two female designers. The urinals themselves were the idea of a female designer, and we were surprised by the public reaction."

Seriously, the guy who wrote this apology letter needs to grow a pair.

Finally, I can't keep this to myself any longer. If you are a reader of the blog "Bitch On The Street", then you are familiar with the watermelon woman. If this is the first time you are hearing about her, let me briefly fill you in. BOTS (Bitch On The Street) as she likes to be called, goes around NY taking photos of some of the strange people she encounters on a daily basis. In particular, she came across a woman that eats nothing but watermelon for a meal. She sits down with a full watermelon and a plastic spoon and begins eating. New diet fad? And my Mother questions why I want to move to NY! Ahh, duh - to witness cool sh*t like this first hand!

My conclusion...people, places and animals are freaky...and I love it. They make this world a more interesting place to live and they give me good reason to hum carnival tunes when I spot a sideshow freak.

(Please note, no freaks were harmed in this blog post. Good natured fun was my only intention. I don't laugh at the handicapped or anything like that, but if I saw the watermelon lady walking the 2 faced kitten into the men's bathroom at the JFK airport, well I would just have to laugh...and so would you.)

Is This Crap True?

Scorpio - Your Horoscope for July 18, 2006

You’ll find that you’ll be in that very rare situation of having to work very hard in order to get noticed by someone today! Normally, as a power sign Scorpios don’t have to do much to attract attention, especially when it comes to romance, but today you’ll need to change your approach!

Hmm.

I Lost My Mind When I Caught The Flu

Start the violin playing because I'm about to tell a tale of whoa here with. (FYI, that is an actual saying my Grandmother uses and I have no idea where she gets this stuff. The 1930s vault?) I'm sick. Fighting the flu...and in July! Who gets sick when it's 90 degrees out? Apparently me. The flu does strange things to your body...and your mind. Catching the flu is never fun, but having the flu in mid-summer, well that just really sucks ass. The worst part is that when your body shuts down, your mind seems to get a mind of it's own. It no longer belongs to you. It belongs to the flu. Those nasty little germs that come to party in your body. Think back to "The Cosby Show", circa 1980something, the episode where Rudy caught the flu and Cliff did a little jig to demonstrate the germs partying in her body. Know what I'm talking about? No? Ok, then ignore my ramble. Remember I'm sick, so if I'm not making any sense, I have a good reason. It's called being on drugs. Lots and lots of drugs.

The flu battle began back on Wednesday where I cut my workday a little short because I felt like a Mac truck had just ran me over. Thursday I toughed it out like a champ. Meeting after meeting after meeting. I didn't have time to be sick. The words "Have Flu" were not listed on my day's agenda. Friday morning, I got up and was paying the price for being a brave little solider the prior day. Standing in the shower contemplating whether or not I had already put shampoo on my head 3 minutes earlier, I realized I wasn't in the best state of mind. I had no clue what I was doing and the day hadn't even begun! I got out of the shower, looked in the mirror and said f*ck it. Then crawled back into bed where I stayed for 6 more hours, until sleeping beauty rose at a bright eyed and bushy tailed noon! I don't think I've ever slept that much in my life. Total, I had around 13 hours of sleep! It made-up for the lack of sleep I suffered for the past several months. Strung out on flu meds, I did get a little work done from home. I also did something I swore I would never do. Something worthy of being ridiculed for. I hope you are sitting down when I say this...I joined MySpace. I know, I know - cringe, giggle, let the mockery begin.

I was getting stir-crazy. I'm not good at being sick. I can't sit still long enough to get better. So I attempted to entertain myself. I tried finishing the Internet and I almost succeeded until my Mom called. She wanted to chit-chat. Lucky me. If you know my Mom, you know what this is like. She talked and she talked and talked. And just when I thought she was all talked out, she talked some more. On and on and on. My mind had clocked out long ago, but I think she was going on 45 minutes or more chit-chatting to me about absolutely nothing. I sometimes screen my Mom's calls. I know that is really mean. I love the woman dearly, but I just can't talk to her on the phone about nothing for that long. At one point, I actually layed the phone down beside my head on the couch and started channel surfing. The show "Cheaters" was on. If you never saw it, congratulate yourself for having a life. However, when you are home sick, that is about the only thing on TV. So I watched 2 gay dudes fight over a 3rd dude, complete with a bitch slap! I think the show is suppose to be a realty drama show, but to me it was pure comedy.

I'm dragging this post out, much like my Mom's phone conversations. So let me wrap-up with a recap of the flu bug highlights. Eww, ahh.

• Created a MySpace account. You can view it at www.myspace.com/diamondkt Just 1 hour after creating it, I regretted the decision. I've never joined any of those social networking sites like Frienster, nor have I ever signed up for any online dating sites and for good reason. Just an hour after creating the MySpace account, I started getting bizarre messages from people. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only normal person alive on planet Earth. I have a feeling I won't be keeping that MySpace account for very long. Weird people scare me, but I just had to see why it is rated the #1 most visited site on the net today.
• Despite not feeling well, I was determined not to let the flu ruin my weekend. So I dragged my ass out where my friends were doing shots of God only knows what, while I was stuck doing capfuls of Robitussin. Hey, a shot is a shot.
• Took my waverunner to the lake this weekend and came to an amazing discovery. Your back can get pretty fried riding hunched over in 90 degree direct sun, shining down and reflecting up on you from the water.
• Weekend finished off with a surprise visit from my niece. She buttered me up with the usual hugs and kisses. Then she layed it on thick by telling me she likes my car. Finally, she went in for the kill and raided my kitchen. Did you know 2-year-olds like beer? I learn something new everyday.

Transparent

I once read somewhere that people see you the way you allow them to see you. For those that wear their heart on their sleeve, you give the world an open invitation to what's inside. But what about those of us that aren't always as open? Does that mean we will forever remain a mystery? A dimly lit shadow that only cracks the door open for a select few. What if I were to put it all out there? What if I made it as real for you as it is for me? Would you relate to my pain and accept naked truths? Could you handle the rawness or would you run to flip the switch, turning the light back off? I've been called a "mystery man". That I omit parts of myself from others until I can fully trust them to see all of me. Maybe that is a form of self-protection or maybe I'm not shielding anything. Perhaps I'm more transparent than I thought. People can see thru you. For some, it's not hard to make an accurate assessment of your character. I realized this last night when I received one of the most amazing letters anyone has ever written me. To say it was insightful is a great understatement.

Normally I wouldn't share a personal e-mail I receive. Although in this case, I've asked the person who wrote it if I could post this. They agreed as long as I kept their identity unknown. This letter has not been edited, only a spell check has been run. Everything else is left original the way they wrote it. The way I like it. The way it should remain...in their words. I will admit that their assessment of me was pretty much flawless, minus the deep depression. I have my moments, but I think these days, I'm fairly happy. Maybe it's a misconception that I'm a great mystery. I may not wear my heart on my sleeve, but apparently I wear a transparent cloak. Perhaps others have also seen through me, but never before has anyone been able to articulate it to me with such clarity. (This letter came to me unexpectedly after I mentioned that I am considering quitting my blog, mostly due to lack of writing inspiration. A letter like this may of just inspired me to continue writing, if not publicly on this blog, then perhaps privately in my own venue.)

Subject: This is the e-mail that I didn't send you the other night.
Your writing has been great. I would even have to go so far as to say that it's wonderful. It appears as though a professional writer has crept into your body and written some of these posts you have written lately. They are fluid, and descriptive and beautiful. You make people see and feel what you are writing about. You have a gift of writing that most people would love to have, embrace it, cultivate it, be proud of it. I don't think that you realize your potential. No true artist is ever satisfied with their work.

Now about blogging. Everyone feels like quitting blogging sometimes. I have always felt that you do too many post in one week. I don't know how you do it. I'm surprised you haven't suffered from burnout a long time ago. Personally I hope you stay around, it would be a great loss to the rest of us if you should quit completely.

Sometimes I worry about you. Do you want to know some of the things that I know about you. We have established that I know that you are kind and sensitive and friendly. You are also very loyal to those that you care deeply about. But I also believe that you can be very stubborn and head strong. You also suffer from highs and lows at times. Not normal highs and lows, you can be very up or very down.

You are good at almost everything that you choose to do but, you are too judgmental and hard on yourself. At times you doubt you abilities. Although outwardly you are confident and proud of your accomplishments, inwardly you suffer from inner insecurities and depression, deep depression. Many very creative people are this way. Sometimes I think that's what brings out their creativity.

The depression will get better when you find your soul mate David, You are not complete without a significant other. Although you like the sex, a lot, hehe) It's not just the sex for you David. You like having someone lean on you, need you. You like caring for her and being her protector. You love the feeling of her needing you, it gives you that masculine high when you are with her. It makes you feel complete. In fact I sometimes I think finding that special someone is the only thing that will ever make you feel complete. Is that enough, do I know your inner feelings. Am I creepy? Sorry.

All of the things that I have said to you about your personal self are not from psychic readings. They are all from mere observation. So not to worry I'm not going weird on you. I'm just a good observer. And I think the things that I have noticed are pretty much right.

If you choose to quit blogging, keep writing , even if it is just in a journal. Your writing is well worth keeping.

WhatsHisName & WhatsHerFace

I think I meet a new person nearly every day. Sometimes not just "A" person, but multiple people. Groups. Men. Women. Foreign. American. Among all the meeting and greeting and hand shaking that goes on in our lives, a name is often lost in the mix. You stand, shake hands and introduce yourself. You listen and then you forget. Minutes later while talking to a co-worker, you are nonchalantly trying to weasel in this question..."yeah, you know...what's his name again?" Then you follow that up with the fake "oh that's right, how could I forget." The truth is, you forgot. And you're embarrassed to admit that truth. You know, just like you forgot old whatsherface. It happens. We all do it, some more than others. It's not a good thing, but now there is help! I'm going to help you eliminate "whatshisname" and "whatsherface" from your vocabulary by giving you some tips to help you remember that nameless face. With a little luck and a little effort on your part, following my tips just might help you save face as well.

Being able to remember names is a valuable asset in both business and social arenas. It helps you build an instant rapport with new contacts. Many companies place a premium on interpersonal and relationship-building skills, so name recalling makes a decidedly good impression on employers too. In you personal life, if you forget a girl's name, you might as well forget the 2nd date. They say (there is that infamous "they" again) first impressions are important. Although that may be true, first impressions aren't everything, but they sure as hell count for something! So if you can't even get the name straight, then things are not looking good for you my friend. Now let me help you fix that...

Be Interested:
Depending on the person you are meeting, this can be easier said than done. This rule however is simple. If someone interests you, you will WANT to remember their name and much about them. This rule is very true for me. If you spark my interest, I will be very attentive and it will show.

Verify It:
Unless the person has introduced himself to you, verify what he or she wishes to be called - a more formal or informal version of the name they like to go by.

Picture It Written On Their Forehead:
Franklin Roosevelt would imagine seeing the name written across the person's forehead. This is a particularly powerful technique if you visualize the name written in your favorite color of Magic Marker. I pick red.

Imagine Writing It:
To take step 3 further, neural linguistic programming experts suggest getting a feel for what it would be like to write the name. Move your finger in micro-muscle movements as you are seeing the name and saying it to yourself. The REAL trick is not to look crazy doing this!

Use Word Association:
Try to connect a person's name with a familiar image or famous person. Example...my name is David. So just think of David vs Goliath when you think of me. (kidding)

Use It Frequently:
Try to use the name 3-4 times during your conversation. Use it when you first meet, when you ask a question and in your departure.

Record The Name In A "New Contacts" File:
Top sales reps keep a record of new contact names and information, including where and when they met. Review it now and then, especially when you will be attending a conference or meeting where you may see these individuals again.

If these tips don't help you cement names like Joe Blow into your thick head, then I suggest you ask every new person you meet to wear a nametag around you for the rest of their natural born lives. Or, you can just call everyone "dude" to keep it simple. It's an enduring universal nickname right? Oh how the ladies will swoon when you call them dude. The song "Dude Looks Like A Lady"...there is a reason that was written - duh.

Muhammad Ali Was My Highlight of 2006 MLB All-Star Week

As you probably know, Pittsburgh hosted the 2006 MLB All-Star game and events recently. Baseball is my least favorite sport (too slow and too much crying in baseball), so in no way was I interested in shelling out $250+ a ticket for the game. Then add $50 for parking (no joke) and of course you have to eat and drink...so throw in an extra $50 for wining and dining on weak beer and stale hotdogs. Do you see why I passed on this "great" event?

However, I will say we have a very nice field to host the big leaguers - PNC Park. Of course, this moblog shot isn't of PNC Park. Instead it's a photo of the David Lawrence Convention Center that hosted the All-Star weekend festivities, including Fan Fest. Now that, I did attend and it was only "ok". The highlight - the sports auction where I placed a bid on autographed boxing gloves that were worn and signed by Muhammad Ali!

Backyard BBQ Grand Finale

This is a moblog shot I took over this past weekend during my "late" 4th of July party.

The bad news - it didn't photograph as well as I had hoped.

The good news - my friends and I still have all our limbs intact from playing pyrotechnician for a day. Three cheers for having 10 fingers! High-five.

Happy (belated) July 4th back to
all of those that wished me a good holiday while I was away.

Happiness, A Fine Aged Wine

It is often said "enjoy your youth because those good times won't last forever." However, people may think that the happiest days of their lives are when they're young, but a new study suggests that belief doesn't jibe with reality. The University of Michigan polled 540 adults in the 21-40 age group and 60+ age group. They rated their own happiness right now, predicted how happy they'd be in the future and also how happy they think others are in those age groups. The results were published in the "Journal of Happiness Studies", which is a delightful name for a scientific publication. The results overall, people have it wrong. They believe that most people become less happy as they age, when in fact this study and others have shown that people tend to become happier over time. Not only do younger people believe that older people are less happy, but older people believe they and others must have been happier "back then". Neither belief is accurate.

People often believe that happiness is a matter of circumstance. That if something good happens, they will experience long-lasting happiness. Or if something bad happens, they will experience long-term misery. Instead, people's happiness results more from their underlying emotional resources. Resources that appear to grow with age, much like a fine aged wine. People get better at managing life's ups and downs, and the result is that as they age, they become happier - even though their objective circumstances, such as their health, decline.

They say "the good die young", a saying well before my time. Growing up, I think I believed in those words. When I was 16, I honestly thought that I wouldn't live to see 18/19. Then after age 19, I somehow accepted the fact that I may live past my teen years. I have no idea why I thought I would die so young. For whatever reason, I believed that I would die a horrible and tragic death (usually traffic related) before the age of 20. It was just a "hunch" I had. It was something I made sure never to mention to my Mom for fear that it would upset her. Or that if I acknowledged such a morbid short-term future, that somehow I would give that vision life, which would mean the death of me. I realize that sounds very disturbing, even though today that vision is deceased.

Now that I'm a little older and I would like to think a bit wiser, I can see a future. My future may not exactly be in black and white. It may not be scripted out to the letter, but a vision is there. I can envision myself one day getting married. I can envision myself one day having kids. I can envision all those wonderful things and happy times I'm sure my parents envisioned in me the day I was born. And maybe I've watched too many movies or maybe I'm a hopeless romantic, but I can't help but feeling a little moved when I pass an old couple holding hands or sharing a quiet moment together. I wonder if today they are celebrating 60 years of marriage. Even from a distance looking on, I can feel the close bond they share. It travels lightly in the breeze and flutters past my heart like a butterfly. And I'm a little envious.

As far as happiness coming with age, I can't attest much to this study given the fact that society would still label me as "the youth". I'm still the one pouring the red wine rather than watching it age on the shelf. I haven't sat back and waited for happiness to arrive. I've had to go out and get it. For me, happiness comes from many things, but mostly from within. I like to believe this study is true. That as the days and the years go by, that I'll only grow more at peace with my life. That I will no longer look to want or need things in my life to bring me joy. That I could sit on a park bench holding my wife's hand in mine and feel content. Maybe happiness really does come with age?

This may sound odd, but there are times when I love being young and there are times when I wish I could fast forward life. Fast forward to a place of content. A place that I think would find on that park bench. Finishing each other's sentences. Retelling one another the same stories we have both heard 100 times before, but somehow we don't mind hearing them once more. It's the way she tells it. The way I look at her and see that beautiful 25-year-old girl telling me that story for the first time, on a first date, 60 years ago. How I loved to listen to her then. How I love to listen to her now. She's like a fine aged wine, and we are only getting better with time.

It's 2070 and I'm happy.

Chic Geek

Vogue most likely would not call this look elegant or stylish. It wouldn't be deemed fashionable, nor would it be considered sophisticated among well-dressed young executives. However in the geek world, some may see this as uber-cool and label it as "chic geek". When it comes to black tie events, many geeks find themselves out of their element. While the rest of us often look forward to social outings, geeks dread the thought of having to become a social butterfly for a night. A geek would rather sit behind a PC staring at code than mingle among a crowd. His goal list doesn't include introducing himself to that breathtaking vision who is sipping wine across the room. A geek's party goal is more likely about brining some geekdom to the event. Something that says...I'm here. I'm a nerd. Get use to it.

When one geek was invited to a black tie party, he attempted to put a little chic in the geek by creating his own cufflinks out of Ethernet connectors and wire. Thus the crimp-your-own cufflink was born. He's has detailed instructions on his mod so that other geeks can follow suit. Personally, I wish nobody follows suit on this. D-O-R-K-Y. I have a wedding to attend next month and I can just imagine if I were to wear Ethernet cufflinks on my tux, my date would slap me silly and disown me at the reception. And it would be well deserved. However, if you like this type of chic geek, then here's the Ethernet Cufflinks How-To Guide.

Fuck

***WARNING!***

This post may contain a naughty word or two.
Reader discretion is advised.

Whenever you hear or use the word "fuck", you probably realize the social implications the f-bomb carries, but do you ever wonder about the possible legal implications of the word itself? Probably not. Although maybe now you will. At least one Ohio State University student's curiosity got the best of him when he decided to write a 78-page college paper on the word fuck. Fascinating, right? Christopher Fairman has published a scholarly paper called "Fuck". It's as simple and provocative as the title suggests. It explores the legal implications of the word fuck. The intersection of the word fuck and the laws pertaining to the word fuck. It's examined in four major areas: First Amendment, broadcast regulation, sexual harassment and education. Now that's fucking deep!

The legal implications from the use of fuck vary greatly with the context. To fully understand the legal power of fuck, the non-legal sources of its power are tapped. The visceral reaction to fuck can be explained by cultural taboo from drawing upon the research of etymologists, linguists, lexicographers, psychoanalysts and other social scientists. Fuck is a taboo word. The taboo is so strong that it compels many to engage in self-censorship. This process of silence then enables small segments of the population to manipulate our rights under the guise of reflecting a greater community. Taboo is then institutionalized through law, yet at the same time is in tension with other identifiable legal rights. Understanding this relationship between law and taboo ultimately yields fuck jurisprudence.

Too many big words in there for you? Well let me keep it simple then by summing this up and throwing in a 4-letter word. Read his f-ing paper, maybe not all of it, but at least scan it. It's pretty interesting. Hard to believe someone took that much time to research something as simple as a cuss word. In particular, take a look at Chapter IV Section C "Genderspeak and Workplace Fuck" on page 50. You will learn how to properly use phrases like "fucking idiot" and discover who says "motherfucker" more - men or women? Fascinating literature indeed! Read it all here, Fuck.pdf

Related past post of interest...

• 10/18/05 The Usage Of The Word Fuck
  

That was alot of swearing on my part. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go say 7 "Hail Marys" and 5 "Our Fathers" to cleanse my dirty boy mouth.

Hey Mon, Back & Ready To Blog...Kinda

Ahhh. Nothing like a spontaneous week long vacation in the islands to rejuvenate your mind, body and soul. It was a rather last minute trip, pretty much unplanned with no agenda. The only thing on the itinerary was to relax and have some fun...put a giant checkmark beside that! Aren't those the best kind of trips? The ones where you fly by the seat of your pants and just explore as you go. Seven days and six nights (may have to check my math on that) where I unplugged and isolated myself from the world. I'm not one of those crazies who feels the need to get a little office work done while his toes are buried in smooth mounds on white sand. No, if I had my cell phone with me, I would of thrown it into the Caribbean upon the first ring. To me, vacation time is a time to escape. A time to getaway from "normal life" and live the life of a beach bum...minus turning your surfboard into a makeshift bed to sleep on.

This will come as a shock to the editors of "High Life" magazine, but people can visit Jamaica and actually enjoy themselves without hitting the bong every 15 minutes. I stopped counting the number of times I was offered a hit when it went into double digits. Random Rasta dude: "Hey mon, you wanna party?" I think I'll pass this time around, but I'm sure you will ask me again in about 5-10 minutes from now. Stoners and memory lost go hand-in-hand, in case you didn't know. So yes I did pass on the great abundance of fine marijuana they had readily available, but I did sample plenty of those delicious brownies - yum! (Kidding.)

Now that I'm back, I've brought home with me a nice nutty brown tan. A little glow across my face from the rays. A little hop in my step from the R&R and most importantly, a big smile on my face to remind me why I work so hard. It's life's little pleasures. Being able to get up and go at any time and not having to worry about the size of my wallet, something that was constantly on my mind during past travels. Being able to set my own work hours that embraces spontaneity. It's a freeing feeling. Jamaica doesn't have the mental stimulation like a visit to Paris would deliver, which by the way is on my travel to-do list. However, the idea of a trip to Bob Marley's homeland was to let my brain fry. Not fry from drugs, but fry in the warm sun on a beautiful beach. Not a thought or a care in the world. You gotta love that! Hmm, remind me again why I returned home?