The “Ray/Lee” Files IX; This Is Real

Sadly, another human smudge with the middle name of Lee has been implicated in a heinous crime.  The crime is sad, the middle name, however, stands as a harbinger of morbidity.

“A California Amber Alert was expanded to Oregon and Washington as authorities search for James Lee DiMaggio, 40, who is believed to have kidnapped 16-year-old Hannah Anderson. DiMaggio is believed to be driving a blue 2013 Nissan Versa with California plate 6WCU986.”

I hope it’s not all true, the death of a young boy and the abduction of the girl.  But folks, please keep track of this stuff.  If you meet somebody with the middle name of Lee or Ray

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Faithful or Paranoid?

There’s a huge difference between the Faithful and the Paranoid. I see religious people reciting or posting or quoting Biblical references all the time – this may happen with the Muslim community as well, though I’ve yet to see them quote the Koran in a facebook post – and I’m not sure why.

I was raised going to church a LOT.  And the messages haven’t really stuck.  The interactions with some people have, though.  That old saying of how you’ll always remember how somebody made you feel rings very true.  I can’t remember every sermon, hymn, or Sunday School lesson, but I do know the difference between Faith and Paranoia.

Faith, they say, is the unshakeable belief and confidence in the reality of things you cannot see.  It is usually a belief in a deity or in the doctrines of a belief system which work FOR the benefit of the Faithful.
Paranoia, however, is defined as a repetitive thought pattern fueled by anxiety about an unseen or misperceived threat. 

Faith is ordering a drink and knowing it will eventually arrive at your table and be as you expected it to be.
Paranoia is thinking the drink won’t show up on time and when it does it will be awful and probably poisoned.

The thin line between Faithful and Paranoid bisects the gray area between “Realistically Positive” and “Realistically Negative.”  And when somebody of Faith tells anybody else what they are doing is wrong and will doom them based on the doctrines of a faith the listener doesn’t adhere to, the Faithful has then become a Paranoid scorekeeper. 

Amen.

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I Will Maim Teenagers Drinking At Playgrounds

To The F*ckstain Who Smashed Beer Bottles at the Kid’s Playground:

You must be a teenager or somebody else with a very minimal view of the world. You cannot possibly be a good human being at this point in your life, but it will get better if you decide it will.  Until then, you are the reason there are cameras popping up at every street corner and playground.  Big Brother ain’t watching, YOUR BROTHER is watching.  And I’m pissed.

I did plenty of dumb stuff when I was young (as recently as last week in fact).  Fine.  Happy?  Good.  But the fact that you drained a couple Coors Lights, in BOTTLES I might add, which means you have no idea how to properly drain the Silver Bullets, is only the beginning of your idiocy. These are probably your step-dad’s garage beers, or something left behind from a July 4th BBQ your mom threw up after.  This isn’t an adult’s beer, a discerning man’s beer of choice.  Then, as if drinking the last of it, probably with a blossoming young lady who thinks you “bad” or “dangerous” because she doesn’t yet understand Life, as if the last sip was a 3-yard dive for a winning touchdown… you spike the bottle into the cement, shattering it.  Shards left behind in the high-traffic area of an elementary school playground. 

And you blue-ball it all the way home, smug and buzzed on watery beer and Axe bodyspray.  We’re watching.  We’re carrying stun-guns.
And dustpans. 
Decide right now which you’d rather have.

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Condo and Condon’t; What I’ve Learned As a Condo Association Board Member

… and how it pertains to real life.

  1. You are part of a community, like it or not, big or small, populated or wooded, and you can either be a good part or a bad part.
  2. Paying your dues to the association is part of being in the association’s budget so that your neighbor’s fence gets repaired with some of your money, and your backed-up sewer line gets fixed and your floors replaced with some of my money when the poop hits the Pergo. 
  3. Everybody wants a package of comfort that is packed with varying sizes of the same items: Security, Financial Stability, Quiet Hours, Nice Neighbors, Cleanliness, Rules.
  4. Not everybody, in fact, most people, won’t do much to reinforce or model that behavior.
  5. There is always, always, always a neighbor who everybody thinks is crazy and is probably legally crazy, but they always think everybody else is crazy.
  6. I wish the people of the association were all doing so greatly that there were no issues financially or physically to deal with, but that will never ever be the case.
  7. The amount of work to be done is inverse to the amount of money to pay for that work. 
  8. The priority of the work is perceived by whomever needs their walls to stop leaking.
  9. The priority of the work is determined by whomever holds the checkbook. 
  10. Never never never ever buy a condominium older than 10 years. 
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OK, Co-Worker… You’re a Nicehole

He comments on what you’re eating, then backs it up by saying he can’t eat that because he has a medical condition that prevents issue-free digestion of said food.  Then pounds SILK Soy Creamer into his tea.  Dude, it’s chicken, broccoli, and almonds.

He eats 4-8 pieces of fruit per day, spending about 30min washing it in the workplace kitchen sink.   

He wears black undershirts, under his work shirts.

He wears pleated pants.  For the love of Claude…

He walks by people in conversation and throws in a “Hey guys” as though they had acknowledged his approach and passing. 

He doesn’t wear a wedding ring, so he’s either divorced or one of those married assholes who doesn’t wear a wedding ring. 

He is monotonous, which comes across less “cool” and more “condescending.”

I may be reading something into this, but I wouldn’t drive to a gig with this guy, so he gets the Nicehole* award.

 

 

————————————————

*nicehole – n. – Any person who doesn’t overtly act in a manner that warrants being thrown to the ground, yet drives you up the wall.  Ex; Starting conversations they want to dominate. Comparing their troubles as a pet owner to yours as a parent.  Unable to take a visual or verbal cue that you’d like to end the interaction.  Pestering in a “Oh come on, you’ll have fun” kind of way. 

If you have seen the movie “Extract,” David Koechner’s character “Nathan,” the guy across the street is a perfect example.

 

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No. Comment. Please.

I am a comedian, along with a dad, husband, project manager, Condo Owner’s Board member, and dumbass.  Comedians minds don’t work like everybody else’s.  We struggle with the mundane, and we often have a hyper-observant nature, seeing sheer lunacy in something quite small, blowing it into zeppelin-like proportions, when really it’s no more than a child’s floating soap-bubble.  All the same, leaving a shopping cart in an empty parking spot should be grounds for having one’s photo posted on a website.  Oh hey… maybe I’ll start doing that…

Comedians also generalize.  Broadly-sweeping statements leave us open for retort, and stating anything on the internet increases the inroads of replies by a million-fold.  What humors me is the fact that many people have yet to grasp two key elements of web-published statements:

  1. Now that we have a chance to say something, very few people actually have something to say, but very rarely will that stop them from saying something anyway.
  2. When posting something in a medium that allows comments, one should expect at least SOME comments, but shouldn’t hinge one’s worth on the tone of the comment.

We’ve seen the Facebook posts of people saying they are going to lunch, YUMM!, or pictures of food-piles on plates, or statements that make us think “So you logged in to this site and out of your life to make THAT statement about some guy in a truck not knowing how to drive, yet didn’t post a picture of your abs?  What’s the point?”  So yeah, what’s the point? 

The best comedians use an economy of language that not only describes exactly what they want to convey about their subject matter, but they also don’t generalize.  To go so broadly as to say “Nobody does THIS” or “Everybody loves THAT” and NOT have an absurdity to make the statement a joke is to invite disagreement.  Example:

BAD:  Don’t you hate when you are taking a picture with your phone, and you drop your phone in the toilet land then you gotta let it dry?  [OK, I see where it’s going, but then there’s nothing after the “phone in the toilet.”  What’s the point

GOOD:  Don’t you hate when you are taking a picture with your phone, and you drop your phone in the toilet, and then you gotta ask the guy in that stall to hand it back over and he’s a jerk about it?  Broad, narrow, specific.

So, folks, if you’re gonna say something, say Something.  Two of my favorite comedians, Marc Maron and Jake Johannsen, have two phenomenal lines that sum up our online lives.

Marc Maron (about MySpace, and it still rings true):  Someday the aliens will come down here after we’re gone, and they’ll pull our old hard drives out of swamps and hook ’em up and say “Wow, they really thought they were important, didn’t they?”

Jake Johannsen (about people posting pics of their meals): Why are you showing that to people? If you think that’s normal, just hold your plate up to the table next to you and tell them “HEY! Hi! This is my food!  I’m gonna eat this!”  See how fast you’re asked to leave.

Oh, and Teens, please keep posting every video and picture of every debaucherous thing you do.  YOLO, but you will get fired many, many times. 

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Donut Do Not

I drive by a TopPot every day on the way to work.  Have never once gone in there.  The half-donut I had after a recent trip was more of a stress munch, and was the only donut I’ve had for a long time (6+ weeks). And I can smell the fried dough every day I drive by, but I never ever stop. 
But today I decided I’m just gonna go get one and get it over with and just ENJOY A TREAT.  Worked hard this week in the gym, did a 40min MRT blowout this morning, feeling good.  Donut ready.
Nothing fancy, just a maple old-fashioned or something like that.
As I park way behind in the garage and have to walk a long way to the door I see a sign that says
JUNE 7, NATIONAL DONUT DAY, FREE DONUTS, ORDER A DOZEN!!!
 
I’m thinking “Holy crap, it’s meant to be!  I finally give in a little and it’s free donut day!  Just ONE donut and I’ve been repaid for my patience!“
So I head on in, and I don’t see a large case like usual, but no bigs, I see some folks huddled around the case, and there’s a group from Northwest Harvest off to the side, taking donations.  Good call, because if folks aren’t paying for donuts, they have money to drop in those buckets!
 
So then I pull my wallet out, gonna get a coffee, too, great coffee at the Top Pot, I’m like 3rd person in line, and I peek around the gal ahead of me to see the case full of….
empty platters.  6 empty platters.  Some without crumbs.  Just bare and exhausted.
Image
 
Oh, wait, no… there were 2 platters holding the following items. 
2 plain cake donuts, 3 plain cinnamon cake donuts, 2 chocolate bars (1 of which the icing has slid halfway off), 1.5 pieces of walnut bread and a blueberry muffin. 
This is God’s donut prank on me.  Well played.
So I balk and turn to leave, still have my wallet out.  Northwest Harvest Greenbean Patrol stops me with the “HAVE YOU HEARD OF NORTHWEST HARVEST” and I have because I used to drop in and volunteer in college, and I drop a dollar and some change in a bucket while the lady says “You can give $10 and provide this much food…” pointing to a sign.  Her partner there is STARING AT THE MONEY IN THE CLIP OF MY WALLET and gives me a look like “Ummm… what’s that?”  And I leave, having just wasted time.  No donut, just accusatory stares.
 
So I go to the store because now it’s about getting a donut in my hole based solely on the notion that I will not be denied.  Some guy is standing in front of the donut case and cannot figure out how to get the box together for the dozen-ish he’s gonna bring to his co-workers, I presume.  I say “pardon me” and he doesn’t even move, then a little louder with, “Excuse me,” and again, nothing, so I just open a door while he’s standing there and say “again, pardon me, sir”  very nicely and he barely moves.  I grab a chocolate old fashioned, toss it in the bag, and barely have the door open so that I can let it close while he’s trying to reach in it.  I’m not his donut doorman, that guy and his coworkers can kiss my fritter.  I’m pretty much done with people at this point of the morning. 
 
Get to work, settle in with some coffee, and take a bite of the donut. 
Old.  Stale.  No flavor.  Just old and gross.  At least a day old. 
Threw it away after 2 bites. 
Before this weekend is out, I will have a donut in my hole.
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Camp Counseling

The older my sons get, the more we’re going to expose them to activities I didn’t take part in as a kid.  Outdoorsy ones, I mean.  We didn’t camp.  We didn’t travel much.  Most of my travel and overnighters were to friend’s houses or as part of a youthgroup church, which may answer a lot of your questions about how I got this way.  A recent camping trip stirred up a lot of issues for me, which as it turns out, have zip-point-squat to do with Camping.  (And this is of course tacit agreement with the “1st World Problems” silo of complaints.)

First off, there’s very little “vacation” when the whole family is involved, at least with 2 active kids under the age of 4.  It’s about the KIDS.  The campsite had a great environment for kids to get on a couple wheels (bikes, not hamster) and work out some exuberance while parents pondered SPF, sobriety, and power-drinking.  Kids need supervision, so I was on wheel patrol in a pair of Chucks.  Good exercise, pretty much everybody was cool to chat with in the site.  Assholes are everywhere, campsites, The Luxor, youth group overnighters, etc. Overall, great people.  Ran into the guy who coached me in the throws in college track, and camped next to an older couple who had 2 cats with them, one of which was just fine walking around on a leash.  At least twice during the trip I was asked if I was having a good time.  Well, having a good time is relative…Image

Burn a 3-day weekend with 8 hours of road time, close-quarters, bad sleeping conditions for an indoor set-up, wildly varying moods among co-campers, and making any acknowledgement of it equates to being a sopping wet blanket with a major crick in my neck and shoulder.  My wallet and my home improvement to-do’s will stay home next time, y’all go bananas.  I’m a leashed cat myself sometimes.

So while other folks may be on vacation, I’m on a trip.  I defer any preconceived notion of relaxation and I’m instead on a mission to have my kids exercise, overcome fears, and get them into their pajamas alive.  Controlled Risk Activities.  Growth.  Intestinal Fortitude.  Non-lasting head trauma. Zero-scar tumbles.  THOSE are what’s most important about this trip.  This wouldn’t happen on a National Holiday weekend in between mattress sales and franchise restaurants.  And in order to make sure kids don’t catch on fire or get hurt or catch other kids on fire you gotta watch ’em.  And not every parent watches their kids.  You hope all the kids get along well, that no kids are violent bullies or are allergic to wind, whatever notion of “relaxation” you had for the trip has to be left at home.  There are wildly different conditions to contend with, and not every adult is going to be involved at the same emotional level.  I saw 8 year-olds being followed by grandparents, and 3 year-olds blazing around like “no big deal.”

It just struck me that there’s probably not a lot of background checking going on with the tenants of these places, some of whom root-down for a few months.  Could be a lotta freaks there, sex offenders, undocumented Slovaks.  Jeez, a few level-2’s here and there, unnoticed, and yet I’m still the asshole for not joyously diving into the camping experience as if Life begins and ends around a gas hibachi.

Image

OH SWEET, POOL’S OPEN!

ImageSo yeah, there was stress in all of this, so there was very little relaxation to it.  I go into everything that takes more than 2 days with a bit of chagrin and hope for good snacks.  I try to focus on the benefits, like the kids getting out and having fun, some experiences to influence my stand-up, and trying to become a better Dad and Man (I just got a cordless drill last Christmas, so…).

So here’s what I learned from all the travel and prep and experience:

  1. If it’s not about you, don’t make it about you.
  2. If it’s about somebody who is having fun, don’t ruin their good time by outwardly not having fun.
  3. Make the best of it, and realize that you’re having more fun than you’d have if you were at home staring at the TV.
  4. If your significant other takes time to prepare, pack, and plan your part in all of this you better damn-well appreciate it, openly and frequently.
  5. If it’s actually about somebody’s attempt to make you have fun on their terms (“Hey, we got you guys a free vacation weekend with a zip-line, ropes course, 10 mile hike and snake hunting for the kids!), all bets are off, and don’t waste anybody’s time.  “Thanks, but we’re busy” is better than showing up and ruining it for the others, or for somebody who would have jumped at the chance to hunt rattlers with their kids.
  6. Don’t assume it’s about you.
  7. Don’t assume it’s NOT about you.
  8. If you’re gonna go, decide that it’s gonna be a different kind of Fun.  Then have that fun.  You’ll be home before you know it.
  9. Shit happens, and it will happen to you, so just be flexible enough to let it bounce off of you, and not so rigid that when the shit hits it sticks to you for a long time.
  10. Sometimes you have to Go in order to prove why you should never have to Go again.

And a bunch of other stuff.  I learned that I can drive a 30′ trailer with skill, make friends with just about anybody who isn’t a complete mental apocalypse bunker, and that some folks cannot be trusted with your kids.  Plus I went 7-3 in 10 hands of Apples-to-Apples to come back from having ZERO green cards to win my first game in a year.  Then I quit playing, undefeated, POWER DRINKING AT THE PUPPET STAGE, SEE YA.

apples_to_apples_cards_19869.nphd

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American Microcosm: The Con-do Attitude

Condominium: (CON-doe-min-ee-um) n. From Latin for “domi” (home) and “con” (together).  Also from English for “con-dom,” meaning a small space for an uncomfortable screwing.

I made a huge mistake years ago in buying a condo unit.  Basically you get to own an apartment alongside people who want you to observe quiet hours and hate yardwork.  And then you get to pay a fee to an association to take care of all the issues, which usually will be a backed-up main-out for the building’s sewer system or the damage from that not being caught in time.

I compounded my idiocy by agreeing to be on the Board of Directors for the Association, which is combined with a few apartment buildings for reasons nobody can figure out.  Like many celebrity marriages, this coupling happened in the 1980’s probably around money and hidden agendas and has always been a lie about what’s really going on.  The grouping of Condos and Apartments into one association is like having the Montagues and Capulets in the same roller rink.  Sure, there’s rivalry and … No?  Um… Hatfields and McCoys?  Nothing, huh?  Well we shouldn’t be linked the way we are into one association.  And now I’m leading the effort to split the condos from the apartments to have a single association. New real estate rules, for most major lenders, state that they will not lend money for the purchase of a unit in an association that rents out >50% of its units.  The apartments are 80 units, the condos are 50, so we’re over the 50% and can’t get lending for people who wanna sell.  Refinancing is also rolled into this issue.

A few years ago when the market adjusted downwardly, which was actually a correction spurred by the predatory and Soul-committed-to-Hell lending practices of the fucking bank dicks.  Can’t pay + foreclosures = Lowered property values w/high mortgages and APRs (Astronomic Percentage Rape).  Again, people can’t get refinanced due the >50% rule.  So we’re trying to get our own world established and help everybody along.

I then pulled together a Dipshit’s Double and agreed to a SECOND TERM on the Board to allow for consistency in the transition.  It has been during this split that I have felt the most like a traditionally-defined American in my life.

  1. I am part of the “government,” yet hate the way it’s being run and still have little power to change things.
  2. Those who are not in the government dislike it and many believe it is poorly managed and has secrets.
  3. Everybody has the answer to make a perfect nation.  Nobody has any desire to put in any effort to see that world come to fruition.  2 hours a week is too much.
  4. Every new person sees only what’s wrong and how to fix it.  They speak before they ask.
  5. Ex-patriates fling negative comments back over the border, and are usually met with some courtesy.  Lately, however, I’ve taken to telling them how happy I am they are no longer part of the group. Get out. Stay out. Eat shit.
  6. Everybody wants it to be better.  We need far more money (taxes) and resources (workers) to make it better.  Nobody wants to give any more money, because the money given in the past has been perceived to have been misspent.  Still…
  7. The perceived misspending has ended up in the form of repaired decks, fences, unit cleaning and restoration following sewer back-ups and water damage, and higher insurance claims due to all.  A budget doesn’t dictate a course that needs corrections.
  8. Everybody is more concerned with the impact of the Association’s operation within their own walls, while the Association cares mostly about making sure the walls are strong, quiet, and free of rodents and rot.  What you do in your own hoarded filth is your business unless I can smell it.
  9. Good fences make good neighbors. And when those neighbors invite friends over who don’t respect fences, the neighbors have to be told at 7am that their boyfriend’s 185-lb mastiff really should not be dropping plops on the sidewalk.
  10. Nobody respects a financial fine without legal action. Give me a bill for $5 for “Lack of Communication,” I won’t pay it.  Put a boot on my car with a $200 bill for having an ugly paintjob, I’ll pay it and then have to fight The Man about the $200 and who determines what “ugly” is.
  1. Never buy a condo unless you’re over 45 and it is less than 10 years old.
  2. If you care, serve on the board. It’s usually volunteer, but a great lesson in why people don’t volunteer.  If you don’t, be helpful in your comments and feedback.
  3. If you can’t say anything nice, at least be civil.
  4. If you can’t be civil, eat shit.
  5. Remember, always buy the nicest house on the crappiest block, or the near-crappiest house on the nicest block.  Never buy the crappiest on the crappiest.

Ultimately we will end up splitting off and people can refi or sell.  Lotta short sales coming.  A few foreclosures, probably.  Good time to buy a place.  As long as it’s not a condo.

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Gym Neighbors

If you’ve ever worked out in a public fitness facility, like a Gold’s Gym or a high school weight room or “The Y,” and I’m not saying that you have NOT, you look fine for now…

But if you have ever been in such a place you know there are some rules.  And if you DON”T know the rules, well you’re the reason I’m writing this.  These rules are the most-basic etiquette for behavior in a gym, and the people most likely to break them?  THE YOUTH.

The disrespectful, self-entitled, “Fuck you I am on the way up and over your dying ass” Youth.  And idiots.

 

Wipe It Down, Dry It Off

You’re sweating out hot sauce and beer gas from the weekend, all over the elliptical machine which you’ve cranked to Level 4/Mall Walking.  As you marinate the machine you release your toxins and begin to feel a bit better.  Hopefully if you’re only doing cardio you’re doing HIIT cardio, and not planning on trying to hit 49min of boring stuff.  HIIT’s where it’s at.  And you’re drippin’ your biodiesel all over the machine.  This goes for the fixed-weight/pulley machines, too.  You sweat it, you wet it, you wipe it.

Fine.  That’s part of the gig and the machine can take it.  When you’re done, you get a towel of any kind, as clean as it can be, and any kind of cleaning/degreasing spray.  You spray that on the machine or the towel (I get the towel damp, don’t wanna hit other gym-goers with spray) and you WIPE OFF ALL THE SWEAT YOU CAN WIPE OFF OF THE MACHINE.  Not the floor areas.  Anything that a human has to touch or look at after you head off to your Zumba!!! class.  Clean it up.  No sweat left behind. 

PENALTY:  $10 for the first machine, $20 for each one after that. Suspended membership, picture on the wall.  SHAME.

 

Weight Management

Sweet chocolatey Gregg Avedon this eludes far too many people.  Two principles of managing free weights to keep in mind.

1)      Handle Your Load:  Lotta guys still doing that “Pick up the heaviest weight I can, drop it on the floor, kick it to my bench” move with the dumbells.  If you can’t carry it 5 feet, you really wanna be pushing that over your face?  Or do you need attention?  Because you’re damaging the floor, the weights, and your reputation.  10 perfect reps of a weight you can handle for 10 reps are far better than 4 grunting spasms under a weight you can’t count to.  How do you plan to…

2)      RACK YOUR FUCKING WEIGHT:  More precisely, re-rack it.  You put whatever it was, a 3lb red-microsuede medicine ball or a 45.5kg plate, right back where you found it.  Something in it’s place already?  Find the next place it fits.  You don’t’ leave it on the bar in case somebody randomly wants to hit a quick set of 315lb squats.  You don’t tuck the 35-lb’ers under the bench and walk over to wonder what your legs would look like if you worked ‘em out.  You put ‘em back on the rack by the other 35’s, or in between 30 and 40. 

PENALTY:  $1/lb of unracked weight.  2nd offense = Being spotted on the bench by an older Greek man with loose shorts and no underpants.  3rd offense = Suspended membership.  SHAME.

HOLD THE BALL
If you like to play basketball, or “hoop” as white people call it, you’re probably gonna take your ball that you own from the locker room all the way over to the basketball court.  If you’re inside for the duration of the trip to the court and you have a basketball in your position, hold it.  Don’t bounce it.  Don’t dribble it across the entire facility.  BOMP  BOMP  BOMBOMP  BOMP BOMP BOMP BOMPBOMPBOMPBOMP stop it, hold the ball. 

We wouldn’t allow a guy with a bass drum strapped to his belly like a marching band pounder to hammer out a 2:4 beat from the Spin class over to the Stairblaster without glaring.  Why should you, bouncer of the ball, be any different?  Because you have a tanktop from a Summer camp?  You’re wearing retro Pippen’s?  Shorts below the knee are not a pass to act like you’re about to create a highlight reel in the Under 25 game.  Hold the ball. 

PENALTY: Anybody can approach, defend, and hand-check you across the weight room and gets to keep your ball if they knock it outta your hand, then puncture it with an ice pick while your smelly cousin watches. 

 

Phone Down, Weight Up
The Youth are into this new workout craze where you do a set of something, then fill the next 3 minutes by scrolling through the smartphone to see something.  I don’t know what.  But it requires being totally still, sitting on one bench or standing in one place or walking around with your head down and almost bumping into people.

If the facility has a WiFi server, every 10minutes just send out a blast message that reads “KEEP CALM AND PUT THE PHONE AWAY”.  Keep it moving.  Other people have actual friends to socialize with.

 So there ya go.  Anything else happening in the gym is up to you.  Most of us are paying too much money to lift weights with dumbasses.  You can be an animal without being a savage.  Stay dry, rack it, and hold your stuff.  Good advice any time.

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