Excuse Me, Where Can I Find Myself?

In just 3 days I will be turning 34.  It's not really a significant number.  You don't get any new benefits like a super special drivers license, nothing magical happens, your penis doesn't grow an extra 3 inches (unless maybe it does, I'll let you know) and it should be an all around forgettable birthday in the timeline of a human being unless they died when they were 33.  As far as I can recollect, I've never tripped out about a birthday before but dammit this was not how I envisioned myself approaching this completely random age.  If one would've asked me at 32 approaching 33 what I would've expected to find at 34 I probably would've answered, "I don't know.  Probably something really damn close to what I'm doing now.  What kind of stupid question is that?"  I would've been wrong of course and naive.  Life changes quicker than Katy Perry changes costumes at the Halftime Show and much like her changes, it isn't always pretty.

I cannot change all that has happened here recently.  There is no magical DeLorean to take me back,

Just in case you didn't
get the reference

Bill and Ted's Phone Booth is non-existent, and I'm sure if we had time travel anyway that we would quickly fuck it up.  So what's left to do?  Well, at 33 years old I can honestly say that I have no clue of who I am.  How's that for an admission?  No idea!!  I know of things that I like and that I'm into, sure, but as a conscious human being breathing air and inhabiting this planet and using resources?  Nope.  So I'm going to make 2015 and the year celebrating my 34 year residency to try to find myself.  I know that sounds so hippie dippie, blah, blah, new age, cliche bullshit but it's what I'm going to do.  I'm not even sure where to start and that's kind of why I'm writing this.  I'm hoping that my friends and readers can give me some suggestions.  I've certainly had plenty of people telling me lately that I need to and that I'm not the same person that I used to be.  So I want to find either the person that I was that a lot of people seemed to like or find the person that I am.  Perhaps they are the same or maybe they're vastly different, I don't know.  Remember, I'm lost?  

I've heard exes and friends say that they "need to find themselves" for years but I had never really

Could these be the answer?  

given it much thought.  I just agreed because I thought it sounded good.  Now I find myself in this predicament and I don't have an idea of what it is that I'm supposed to be doing.  Am I supposed to explore different religions?  Do I go to a psychiatrist and get put on mood altering drugs and anti-depressants?  Am I supposed to take a heroic dose of psilocybin magical mushrooms?  Am I supposed to walk around with a ponderous look upon my face and occasionally scratch my chin in wonderment?  I don't know.  Those all sound like plausible ideas but I'm really not sure.  My problem has always been that (and yes, I'm bragging a little here) I'm awesome at giving solid advice to others but I'm shit in my own life.  Seriously, I've never steered anyone wrong when they've asked me for advice.  I always think through their problem analytically and logically and tell them what I truly believe is best.  It's one of the aforementioned things that I know that I love to do.  But perhaps I've been too proud in the past to ask people for advice or maybe (definitely) too blind to see my own problems.  So here I am friends, I'm asking for help.  How have you dealt with personal tragedy?  How did you find yourself?  What did you do to get to your own level of accepted happiness?

Seriously I want to know because here's another admission that some people already know, but I do not love myself at all.  I kind of hate me.  I like life and seeing all the cool things going on but I just kind of wish that I was another person.  I've heard this statement repeatedly too, "You've got to love yourself".  Okay, duly noted now explain how that happens.  I guess loving yourself and finding yourself are kind of the same thing, right?  I'm not sure because I've heard both so much lately.  But what if you find yourself and you turn out to be a huge asshole?  I'm a huge fan of psychology and have casually studied it for years, which makes me really inquisitive and generally over-analyze things.  Maybe that's what I'm doing now, but anyway if you want to be a good soul you can either comment below with suggestions, or you can comment on the Facebook page, or you can message me.  I don't care, if nothing else, this can at least be a neat little social experiment where I get all kinds of useful stuff.  

Is There Really Someone Out There For Everyone?

A favorite quote by Chuck Palahniuk 

I've always sort of believed that there is someone out there for everyone.  We've all heard that, right?  Every time a person goes through a shitty breakup, we tell them this sad, worn-out cliche.  Whether it be, "Oh, you and that chick you've been seeing for a week didn't work out?  Don't worry, there's someone out there for everyone" or "Damn, you're going through a divorce after 8 years of marriage?  Don't worry, there's someone out there for everyone."  It's all the same either way.  But one wonders, "Is there really?"  Well, recently I've found myself pondering over this conundrum because I belong in the latter category above.  When you get married, you kind of figure that "Yep, this is the one.  I can mark that shit off my list." You can put your new significant other in a nice neat compartmentalized box checked "The One".  You don't really worry about it from that point on...until you have to.  When everything falls apart and you've found yourself going to two different therapists, resisting the urge to dull your pain with a bottle of pills, going back and forth with your wife, trying not to drive your car over a bridge, not seeing your kids and living with your grandparents in their basement, you tend to do some self and external evaluations.

Considering the previous sentence that I wrote, I probably shouldn't even be pondering the trivial question of "Is there really someone for everyone?"perhaps I should be asking myself, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" or saying something like, "Dude, you should get it together," (rest assured that I am pondering those ideas as well but I'm just not writing about that at this moment).  So after much thought, I've concocted a theory.  It's not very comforting but I'm like 99% sure that it's true.  Here it is:  There are several somebodies for everybody, it's just a matter of timing.  Mind blown?  Probably not, but allow me to expound on this idea.  On a planet that has a population of around 7 billion and counting, it's ludicrous to think that there is one single person out there for you.  Do you have any idea how amazingly hard that would be to find that person?  And what would be the chances that they are in your proximal location?  Let's just say that you don't want to go worldwide, that you just want to find a mate in the good ol' U.S.of A.  Well, good luck on that one too.  We've got 324,109,897 people on our patch of dirt right at this moment.  If there is only one person out there for you, it seems like you'd spend your entire life searching for them and would die before it actually happened.  My theory is sounding better already, huh?  So lets just throw out a completely unscientific number of 100 possible people for every person.  Your chances just got a lot better, didn't they?  (It still statistically sucks but I don't want to do math)  Surely you can run into a few of these people as you stumble through life but here is where my theory sucks an entire bag of syphilis infected genitals...it's all about timing.

I have seen numerous couples and friends through the years who seemed perfect for each other crash violently into a fiery pit of break-ups and divorce.  I'm sure a few of you who are reading this now have went through this.  Here is a truly hypothetical example:  You meet a beautiful girl who has every quality you want.  She's attentive, she's funny but not funnier than you, she likes to cook, she's independent, she seems like a manageable level of crazy, and she smells pretty.  Everything checks off on your internal list that we all keep secretly locked in our brain.  One little thing though, she's right in her second year of law school.  You start dating anyway.  Things start out well, because you two are a new couple and all new couples are sexed up and gross but as time progresses she has less and less time for you.  She's having to cram for exams, she's bitchy from lack of sleep, she can't see you because of the big mock trial final.  You start to grow resentful that she has no time for you, you start bitching at her, she resents you for bitching at her, and before you know it...BAM, you're done.  You've broken up and hate each other and you think that you've lost your "One".  You wallow in self doubt and loathing and question yourself for a month but in reality, perhaps it's neither of your faults.  What if you would've met after she graduated?  Or what if you already had an established, healthy relationship before she went off to law school?  Who knows?  She very well could've been the one for you, but your timing was just for shit.  You missed out on a great thing but you can't fully blame yourself.  Sure you can blame yourself for being a petty little bitch when she was busy but you can equally blame her for being bitchy in the first place.  (If you can't tell, I'm trying to be really fair here because I realize that a lot of women read my blog.)  It's all about timing, man!!!

Timing is completely unscientific as well.  How are you supposed to know when it's right?  I could lie to you and say, "You just feel it, and it feels right, man."  But that would be bullshit.  Every time that we fall in love of course it feels right or we wouldn't fall in love in the first place.  The truth is that there is no way to know if the time is right until it's hindsight.  I would love to be able to say that men, who are known for our knowledge and infinite wisdom, should know but the truth is we are just as dumb as women when it comes to knowing.  Both sexes are equally blinded when in love.  You both overlook all the glaring faults in timing and just rush into it.  You don't see it until it's either too late or far too often when it's over.  That's where I'm finding myself right now.  I truly believed in my life that two different women were my one, one being my estranged wife.  I really do, despite all the fuckery that has occurred in the last 6 months which I will not discuss.  We were made for each other in so many places and she met almost all of my secret internal check points but upon examination we met at the wrong time.  Perhaps one day I'll discuss it on here why it was the wrong time but as of right now some time needs to pass first.  The point is our timing was off.  I can't fully blame myself and I can't fully blame her.  I admit and accept my faults and wrongs and I assume she does too.  Okay, so that was a bit of a drag.  Let's get back to it and summarize this bitch.

I could sit here and list a bunch of possible warning signs that your timing might be off with a person but that would be far too general.  What is bad timing for one couple could be perfect for another.  Some guys would look at a woman who had just got out of an abusive relationship as a warning sign but others might thrive in the same situation.  Some women may look at a single guy with kids as a big no-no, but others might think it's great.  We never know.  I'm sorry that I can't offer you comfort in knowing the exact time but you should know yourself well enough to look at a situation rationally.  However, I can offer to all the other fellow sad sacks right now that you shouldn't give up hope because statistically speaking there are a ton of other perfect people for you out there.

A Really Long Blog About The Fun of Getting Through It

Since Thursday August 28th 2014 at 3:31 I've been in a constant whirlwind of self-doubt, self-loathing, anger, and immense emotional pain.  It makes for the perfect cocktail of depression.  It's just like adding Kahlua, some milk, and Vodka to make the perfect White Russian.  You can't put those elements together

and not come up without some semblance of these results.  I have felt every single emotion in the entire broad spectrum of the emotional rainbow and oftentimes simultaneously.  I think I had forgotten what it felt like to be truly depressed.  I've gotten down about certain elements in my life for sure like money, extended familial dramatics, and things just simply not going my way but just like they say you never forget how to ride a bike, well you don't forget how to be depressed.  However, I want to deal with it this time in a far better manner.  Last time was destructive.

Several years ago, around the early 2000's, was my first bout of actual, real, tangible depression.  I was living with my then girlfriend (lets call her Macy to protect the "innocent") and our fairly new child.  We had met at the end of my Senior year of high school and quickly fell in love or in hindsight, lust.  Macy was 3 years younger than me, she was a terrible student, and I was drawn to the fact that she was pretty open about how much she enjoyed sex, which to any 18 year old guy trumps any and all other flaws that a woman may have.  I'll skip all of the rest of this horrid backstory just to get to the important part.  When I was 20, we were surprised by the fact of her pregnancy although we shouldn't have been with the lack of condoms and the fact that I saw her pack of birth-control scarcely used.  I knew that when I found out that I wasn't going to be one of those guys who couldn't runaway fast enough to abandon his kid and may or may not pay child support.  No, I thought since I hadn't gotten myself into this that I had to do it right.  As Hunter S. Thompson so famously said, "Anything worth doing is worth doing right" sure he was talking about covering a desert race gacked up on cocaine and methamphetamines while hallucinating on LSD and absorbing any and all intoxicants that a human body can handle but still it seems applicable to other facets of life too.  So Macy and I decided that my college days would be put on hold and that we would move in together.  We moved to Atlanta where my parents were and found our first apartment.  Immediately I had delusions of us getting married and raising our child together and ultimately growing old and dying.  I guess I owe that to my parents who are to this day still married.  I was wholly uninitiated with the idea of parents raising a child separately.  Thanks Mom.  Thanks Dad.

So after living together for the better part of 6 months, my life crashed around me for the first time.  Macy had been making frequent trips to TN to "see her family" and finally one night after returning from one of those trips her friend and my eventual wife, Katie, convinced Macy to come clean.  There are no scarier words for a man to hear than "We need to talk" because nothing good has ever come after those words.  Nothing.  She told me that there was someone else, at least I think that's what she said.  In my momentarily crazed mind it sounded like "Waualaea megeghta wawa hohoho buahh".  I asked her to repeat it and it came out clearly this time and for good measure she also advised me that she would be packing her things that night and would be leaving with her stuff and our child the next morning.  My mind snapped, I could make zero coherent speech with the exception of loud screams of "FUCK" and other assorted profanities.  Profanities always have your back, they will always find a way to come flying out of your mouth whether you want them to or not.  I made a lot of noise and a pathetic attempt at suicide.  I cut my left arm like right in the freaking middle of it, like 4 inches away from the wrist, I guess I didn't have any real interest in dying but rather I just wanted some attention.  I spent the next 4 weeks wallowing in what I consider my first real bout of depression.  As I stated earlier I had the perfect cocktail except I added some extra elements to it.  

Subtract the cocaine and that summed things up for me
back then

I spent those 4 weeks doing nothing but dragging myself out of bed to go to work, sitting at my desk like some emotional teenage girl, getting off of work, going to the liquor store, go home, put on some music, and drink until I passed out only to wake up to do it again the next day.  None of that is an exaggeration.  On my days off it was especially fun because I could be all alone with my depression instead of being around a few people to buffer it.  Those days read like the famous (here I am mentioning him again) Hunter S. Thompson daily regimen without all the cocaine.  Just tons of cigarettes and booze with a sprinkling of marijuana.  I did do a lot of writing at that time but none of it will ever see the light of day because it doesn't deserve to.  It's a rambling mess of incoherent, self-pity and longing for my lost Macy.  

So I've said all of this to get to a point.  My life has recently (see above date and time) gone down the proverbial shitter once again.  After 10 years of being with my wife, nearly 8 of them actually married, we are separated.  Now out of respect for her (whom I still love dearly so if you comment, keep that in mind) I'm not going into the gory details of the separation.  I can say that collectively it's been a long line of heartache on both of our parts.  We have cut a swath and had one cut with our families that looks more like a tornado running through a trailer park than a clean smooth cut.  We stuck through it every time.  We headed off any challenge that came our way hand in hand.  We were partners in the truest since of the word.  We've seen each other through so many things these past several years.  The first time I had cancer, I couldn't have asked for anyone better to be by my side.  Katie was there to administer medicine, clean and bandage my wound, and more importantly than anything she was there.  When she has went through her 3 back surgeries, it was the same.  I helped her in every way that was physically possible.  We've both spent so many nights there for each other during a hospital stay or after a surgery.  When she was pregnant with Asher, she had a lot of complications that brought her into multiple hospital stays.  It got to the point that I would actually get dressed for work before taking her, sleep in the recliner by her side, and the nurses would wake me up in the morning for work.  

I know all that sounds like we've had nothing but hardships that we've simply seen each other through but I can also reflect on all the good times (excuse me while I perhaps get a little emotional).  When we married each other in December 30, 2006, I remember in our typical fashion, we were both running behind.  She was having "hair problems" and I had a missing best man that showed up slightly inebriated but still showed

There it is, the big moment

up.  But the part that I'll never forget for the rest of my life was when her father let go of her and she came to stand with me at the alter.  She looked amazingly beautiful and when the preacher asked if I took this woman to be my wife instead of the standard requisite "I do" I confidently said, "ABSOLUTELY".  I'll never forget our trip to Los Angeles a couple of years ago when we went to the Comedy Store.  She wasn't all that keen on going and at one point after being there for an hour she wanted to leave but as we were walking out I ran into a guy at the time I had only heard on podcasts and was a big fan of, Sam Tripoli.  The rest of the night is legendary from that point.  Sam introduced Katie to his girlfriend and we all spent the rest of the night watching comedy and laughing.  At one point in that night, Katie had went to the restroom and as she was coming out she ran into a nice, handsome guy who seemed to be waiting on something.  She asked "So are you a comedian or something?" and he looked at her, probably dumbfounded, and sarcastically said, "No, I'm just the help" and walked off.  Katie came back to the table and said she ran into some rude asshole and the next thing I know the comedian on stage says, "Oh shit everybody, we have an unexpected guest tonight.  Everyone put your hands together for DANIEL TOSH!!!!"  Yep, Katie talked to Tosh and had zero idea who he was.  And of course not all great times were on a grand scale, many of the best times are of us watching movies together or getting into a show and binge watching it (we never did finish "Mad Men" dammit).

I look back at all of these things and more and I wouldn't trade a single moment with her for anything in the world.  I would improve things though.  I would make them better and I would erase all mistakes that I made.  I love this woman more than I've loved anyone or anything in my life (before anyone says "What about your children?" well of course I love them, you dummy.  It's just a different love). Which finally brings me to my entire point that I promised I would get to a couple of paragraphs ago.  This separation and depression can not be like my time with Macy.  I learned too much from that.  I probably could've feasibly died.  No, this time I plan on trying to fight through the depression with self improvement rather than booze and drugs.  I want to be the best man that I can be.  As Mike from Breaking Bad said, "No more half-measures".  Except I'm not talking about killing people, instead I'm talking about living.  I'm not going to lie and say that I haven't been a wreck and that suicide did not seem appealing at one

Look it's proof of me today trying to do better

point or another.  It has.  The thoughts of no more pain and for these feelings to stop seemed awesome but then I thought about all the things I would miss out on.  I can't do that.  Instead I want to once and for all get everything right and together.  I'm vowing here and now to any and all who bother reading through this long blog, that I'm going to start writing again and I promise to try not to write about this again.  Notice the word "try" if I do end up writing about it, you can always skip over it.  Writing is my one true passion (except Katie and the kids) and I want to make this my full time job perhaps I'll even write the Great American Novel that I've dreamed about for so long. This entry, for me though, is more about healing and making a promise to myself.  It has been cathartic to sit down and do this.  I feel marginally better and that's all I can hope for.  As for the rest of my self improvement, well let's just say that I'll be doing better.  I'm going to start seeing a shrink, get this cancer nonsense taken care of, get in shape, and just try to be a better human being.  If things do work out for Katie and I, I want to be the best man that she could ever hope for plus the best man that I can be for me.  

So My Wife Wanted Me to Make Her a "Period Playlist"

Recently my wife was watching the Ashton Kutcher/Natalie Portman movie "No Strings Attached" and was in love with the idea that at one point during the movie Kutcher's character makes Portman a mixed CD for her and her friends when they were on their period.  Although I think the movie itself is fairly terrible, I liked the idea but felt that Kutcher's songs were lacking.  Yes, they were clever titles such as U2's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" and Frank Sinatra's "Life on a String" but I didn't feel that they quite captured the feelings of anger and resentment women display when they are shedding their uterine linings for nearly a solid week.  So my wife asked me, "Why don't you do something like that for me?  I'm special too."  I don't actually think she was serious but seeing that I am currently living in the emotional-rollercoaster-hell that is a woman's period I thought it would be a decent escape to put one together of my own choosing.

1. Chevelle "The Red"

Just change the male pronouns to female pronouns in this song and this is my perception of most women on their period (and for the record by "most women", I mean the two women I've lived with as an adult).

So lay down, the threat is real
When his (her) sight goes red again

This chorus details quite simply how I feel when I see my wife get mad while experiencing her own personal shark week in her pants.  I want to find the closest concealed dark corner of the house, assume the fetal position, and wait until it's over.

2.  L7 - "Shit List"

Through my extensive experience in living with a female for the past 12 or so odd years, I've taken notice that during the week of pelvic blood and thunder, the female species seems more apt to not only get generally angry but they tend to get more specifically angry.  I've seen my wife get emotionally enraged at people for very trivial things like the way someone looks at them or something that may have been done two months beforehand.  It doesn't matter.  It is easy for a menstruating woman to feel slighted.  During those 5-7 days a month, I really feel like she is writing out her own personal shit list of people who are pissing her off.

3.  Queens of the Stone Age - "Go with the Flow"

Yes it is a slight play on words for the whole "Aunt Flow" thing and the light/heavy flow descriptions on Tampons (which by the way, I find disgusting.  Can they not think of some other way to describe their bleeding?   Like "Lock the Gates" to "Eh, not so bad".  It's just a thought.)  However the song is quite apropos to a woman's emotions during leaky week.

She said "I'll throw myself away,

They're just photos afterall."

I can't make you hang around

I can't wash you off my skin

....

I can go with the flow, 

but don't say it doesn't matter anymore

Joshua Homme, lead singer/writer, has obviously dealt with the wrath.  You can't write lyrics like that without some experience.

4.  Meredith Brooks - "Bitch"

Here it is for the playlist, it speaks for itself.  I'm not going to touch on it beyond that.

5.  Alanis Morissette - "Uninvited"

This is more of a song for the guys.  "Why would an Alanis Morissette song be for the guys?" you might be asking.  Well because when your lady is riding the winged cotton dragon, chances are that your invitation to her lady garden has probably been temporarily revoked.  

So these are the top five but the list doesn't have to stop here.  You can take my suggestions and make that special lady in your life a little playlist for her mp3 player and watch her heart melt in your thoughtfulness.  Here are a few more suggestions if you'd like:

The Doors - Peace Frog (Blood in the Streets) 
AC/DC - If You Want Blood (You Got It)
Slayer - Raining Blood
Red Hot Chili Peppers - Blood Sugar Sex Magik
Alice Cooper - Only Women Bleed
Rolling Stones - Let it Bleed
Porno for Pyros - Blood Rag


You get the point.  Now go make that playlist guys and take cover.

The Kingsport Town Center Is an Epicenter of Depression & Terrible Customer Service

Sorry, I couldn't think of a shorter or more clever title for this article without losing the point of it all.  For anyone that is lives in this small corner of the world, you probably are familiar with what I (and almost everyone I know) refer to as the Fort Henry Mall.  I refuse to call it anything else because for nearly all of my life it has been named that but in 2008 it was all supposed to change.  In 2008, a huge (for our area) announcement was made that the Fort Henry Mall was going to henceforth be known as the Kingsport

Yeah, this is really it.  Doesn't it look like
the epitome of hip and fun?

Town Center and some major changes were on the way.  Promises of an actual food court, expanded and newer stores, a bowling alley, skating rink, and a Unicorn were all made but 5 years later, the place is more depressing and boring than it was when it was just an empty lot back in 1975.  It seems that every major store or eatery has left the building in those 5 years since the announcement.  Every time that I go to this sad hull of economic depression it seems that something else is missing or something has closed.  It's like a really terrible surprise when you step foot through the same exact dirty glass doors onto the cracked tile and stained carpet that has been there probably since the early 80's.  When things first started closing down like the Chik-Fil-A and Radioshack, I expected that they would promptly be replaced with something better.  Instead the Radioshack has practically been boarded up and the old Chik-Fil-A has had a series of independent restaurant disasters.  Nothing got better, it got worse.  The actual number of stores is probably half of what it was 5 years ago...and then the movie theater closed.  What is the point?

I say all this because it is now a terrible, terrible place.  It's almost like the souls of the deceased failed businesses that have came through have seeped into the embodiment of remaining employees of the mall.  My wife still goes to the FHM for certain things like getting her nails done or getting her make-up, and sometimes I tag along.  Tonight was one of those nights.  She asked me if I wanted to take our kids to eat in one of the two remaining "restaurants" of the mall while she got her pedicure.  Not wanting to cook nor clean it up, I said "sure".  Now on the lower level of the "mall" is a "restaurant" called Piccadilly.  No, it is not the storied street and social center in London, no it is actually a dingy, dark, low-quality, over-priced cafeteria that employees the most hateful, disgruntled, fuzzy-headed women in the greater Tri-Cities area.  "Why in God's name would you go there?" you may be asking.  Well, I don't have any answers that I can be proud of nor find valid.  Since my wife was getting her nails done directly across from us, I just thought it was sensible.  We arrived at the below-school-quality-cafeteria at about 7:45 and grabbed a tray to go through line and have our slop distributed to us.  We were quickly informed that they closed at 8pm but that they would still serve us by a portly, grease woman.  How very kind I thought, they are open for another 15 minutes and have all of this food available and they are still going to serve us?  As we trudged through the line, my kids were repeatedly told by the serving wench what they couldn't have.  Keep in mind they were closing in 15 minutes and whatever isn't sold is thrown out, but we still have Kim Jong-Il of the cafeteria telling the kids what couldn't be served on a kids meal.  Two of my kids wanted fried chicken, Jong-Il informed them that

What eating at Piccadilly feels like

they were allowed to have two chicken legs with their meal.  There was only one chicken leg left along with 2 thighs and about 6 or 7 chicken breasts.  Server Jong-Il gave my first child the leg and thigh after much debate with Manager Hitler and told my second child that he could only have the remaining thigh.  Perplexed, I asked Hitler if he could just get one breast instead.  "No!!  Breasts don't go on the kid's meal, sir" she replied.  I could tell it was about to get stupid and I thought I might as well play along.  "Aren't you all getting ready to close anyway?  Do you think it's really going to make a difference?" I asked.  "Yes, we can't do that.  What do you want for your sides, sir?" Jong-Il replied.  She brushed my stupid, illogical question off and was ready to move along.  Every item that we asked for was a problem and a standoff.  Since I so stupidly got hush-puppies with my frozen fish, I was not allowed to have a nice, hot dinner roll.  "It'll be $1.50 extra" Jong-Il informed me.  No, I'm not giving you any more money than I'm already obligated to give at this point I told her.  My kids stupidly chose the wrong cup size for their kids

Our Server Jong-Il

meal and instead of calling it square, Server Jong-Il told them to pour out the drinks that they had, and go back and get the smaller kiddie cups.  I asked her if that sounded logical to her, and she didn't appear to understand the question based upon the dumbfounded look upon her face.  When the kids returned from trading in their washable, reusable 18 oz. plastic cups for the non-biodegradable 10 oz. Styrofoam cups, both Jong-Il and Hitler seemed pleased and rang up our slop for $19.11.  I don't think I really need to tell you, dear reader, how terrible the food was but I'll give a quick mental picture.  Imagine a child going to a really impoverished school and they are an hour late for lunch and the cafeteria worker gives him the barely warmed-over leftovers scraped from the pans.  Now imagine being jealous of that.  That is the level of food we are dealing with here. One last kicker about the whole Picadilly experience, refills on drinks were free.

Now as we are dejectedly getting up to leave we have to pass by the slop line and I noticed that the chicken breasts that my son couldn't have and the nice warm roll that I couldn't have were both being tossed into a giant industrial sized garbage can along with all the other uneaten food.  Now I don't feel that we were necessarily entitled to said food but to waste it with such gusto really irritated me.  Greasy Server Jong-Il couldn't just take one of her sausage hands and give my kid a freaking chicken breast because it didn't go with the meal but yet she can shovel it into a garbage can?  I can get over that, I can forgive that but the pure fact that they were wasting this terrible food was ridiculous.  But I will expound on that a little bit more in a moment.

So we've left the pig trough and told my wife about the traumatic dining experience and informed her that she would unfortunately not be able to enjoy the same food we did since they were now closed and all the food was in the garbage.  She looked relived and instead went and got a sandwich from a Italian Village.  I have zero bad things to say about Italian Village.  They are great and far too good to be lumped into this shell of broken dreams know as the Kingsport Town Center.  Anyway, the kids belly's were not quite satisfied so we made our way to the American Cookie Company for some sweet treats.  At this time it was about 8:58 or so but not quite on the 9:00 closed down time.  I approached the fully-lit, fully-stocked with cookies, counter and before I could get a word out of my mouth the 19 year old douche-canoe told me that he had

My suggestion for their new logo

already closed the register.  I sadly looked at all the delicious cookies, cookie cake, and brownies as did my kids but I understand once you close down your register it's kind of a pain in the ass.  I didn't argue even though it was still not quite 9:00 and I politely said, "ok".  We sat down not 15 feet from the cookie joint and watched the little douche-canoe chat up some girls and casually clean up.  As my wife was finishing her sandwich, I noticed they too were actually taking these delicious, sinful little treats and dumping them by the piles into a similar trash can as I had seen earlier.  My youngest son saw this too and asked if maybe they would let them have one before they threw them out.  So I took my six year old by the hand up to the counter and once again before I could get a word out, douche-canoe interjected.  "We can't give you any.  It's against the rules.  We can't even hand you one."  That seemed a little redundant to me but whatever.  I asked him, "don't you think that this is the least bit retarded?"  As he continued to shovel more of the yummy goodness into the can, he said "I guess, kind of."  I wasn't satisfied, I needed him to know how completely ridiculous this was.  I needed him to understand that what his boss or whoever told him to this was an idiotic sociopath with zero common sense.  I leaned in and told him this and asked, "Do you really grasp this concept?  Do you understand the level of stupidity this is at?"  I think he understood because he was able to shake away a wisp of hair and nod.  To put it all into perspective, my 6 year old understands the concept of discarding food in front of children makes one an asshole.

What did I witness tonight?  I watched food that could have easily been donated to a shelter be thrown into a can...twice.  I watched two businesses basically tell a customer to go f**k themselves.  Did Server Jong-Il, Manager Hitler, or Teenage douche-canoe really think that doing a nice thing or the right thing was going to cause Satan to come riding in on dragon-headed horse through the ceiling and disembowel them all?  I'm
glad that these good local Kingsport businesses are hard at work not feeding any of the homeless or helping out the community in any way.  Forget my petty little wants, I can get over it even though I still think it's inconceivably absurd, but the fact that they can't take an extra step or two to not donate their food to the needy is unforgivable.

Daft Punk = Robotic Elevator Disco: A Review of "Random Access Memories" album

If nothing else, I must say that this album
cover is pretty badass.

I've been known to complain from time to time about the music that is being produced and distributed today.  I'm seemingly always looking for a musical messiah to come and save us all from the One Directions and Nicki Minajs of the world.  Lately, I've heard a lot of praise being heaped upon Daft Punk and how they are the new revolution.  I'm always open to new things.  I will try any band or song that you shove in front of me at least once because as much as I love Pink Floyd, the Foo Fighters, Queens of the Stone Age, Nirvana, and others, I can only listen to them so much before becoming a little tired of it.  I'm always searching for those bands or artists to fill those gaps of boredom that I can find in the classics.  I say all of this to let you, dearest reader, that I bought and listened to this album with the purest intentions and admittedly with some excitement.  I was excited to hear what could possibly be the new wave...and then I heard the first track and then the second and so on. 

From the start, I am quickly reminded of disco but not just plain old disco but rather very specific disco band, Zapp & Roger.  It's voicebox/electronica/old school disco beats which is fine, but I've heard it before.  Here is a quick comparison:

 

 

It goes on and on throughout the album.  It is a completely fine album but I hardly see any way that this is revolutionary unless robotic elevator disco is revolutionary.  Besides the quick Zapp and Rogers reference, I immediately thought of the "robotic elevator disco" reference which when my wife heard it she completely agreed.  I don't want to sound like an old guy who doesn't understand music but I'm really lost on this one.  I see that they (Are Daft Punk a "they"?  Is it a group or a person) trying to do, mix old disco sounds with new sounds and artists.  They(?) throw a couple of nice guest appearances by Pharrell Williams and Julian Casablancas (from the Strokes) but I feel that their talents are wasted because they spend 90% of their time doing repetitive lines through a voicebox/autotune thing. 

 

 

I know it sounds like I'm taking a huge dump on this album but I'm really not.  If it didn't get all of the hype that it has, I could easily enjoy this album as a nice thing to play in the background as I work or read.  It's fine, but if I'm in the mood for real disco, I'll put on some KC & the Sunshine Band or the BeeGees. 

 

My recommendation is that you can listen to it for free online through Spotify or Youtube, but I don't think I would go and buy it with money.  

Texting Sucks by guest writer Murphy White with Introduction by Me

I love technology.  My family loves technology.  Chances are that if you're reading this, you like technology as well.  However, every now and then technology doesn't quite fit in to parts of our lives.  For example, using your iPhone to check e-mail, Facebook, listen to Stitcher, and play Angry birds while hanging out at home or the office is good.  Doing all the exact same things while sitting behind the wheel of your car and driving is far less good.  But the line between good uses of technology and bad uses isn't always as clear.  Take texting for instance, I was not that keen on texting when it first started being used a few years ago.  My phone didn't have one of those nifty QWERTY keyboards on it and I had to do the texting old school style by repeatedly hitting the number.  Besides the tediousness of texting back then, I also didn't like the part where it was so impersonal.  If I was already using the phone and the person I was texting was going to be using their phone to receive my message, shouldn't we just call each other?  Also, do you remember how much of a freaking bill you could rack up?  If you didn't have a "texting" package on your phone, you could be hit with a charge of .10 to .15 cents per message sent or received.  I remember working for Cingular back in like 2006 and I would get all of these angry calls from parents that were dumb enough to give their kid a phone without a package on it complaining about a $500 charge for texting.  (I sympathized with them and would usually just credit it off by the way.) Eventually I came around like every other person under the age of 60 and started texting in the past 3 or 4 years.  I still don't like it unless it's something quick like, "Hey, we still meeting later?" or "I'll call you back".  I never think it's a good idea to communicate anything of any sort of importance for the greatest reason of all:  The intended message can be lost in the message.  When reading a text, since it is usually short and imprecise, the reader is not able to hear the emotion or the inflections of the senders voice.  So often the intent of a message can be misinterpreted because of this, which brings me to my guest writer today, Murphy White.  Murphy is a long time friend and the guy I would consider my best friend.  He has recently went through "texting troubles" and wanted to share with me and the world (or the people who happen to read my blog).  So here he is, everyone say hello to Murph.

Texting Sucks by Murphy White

Murphy White

Sitting next to me, as I write this, sits my smartphone. I’d have to say that at least 90% of my generation have one. (I’m 32). They do a lot of really cool things but in my relationship experience, texting + relationship = disaster.
Using technology, for me, is great. I love gadgets. Since I was young I’ve always had a gaming console, TVs, stereos, and computers. Within a couple of years after high school, mobile phones were really starting to come into the picture. Everyone seemed to start getting one. It was freedom to stay in touch from anywhere. No more waiting at the house for phone calls trying to plan things or whatever.
Eventually text messaging came into existence. This spanned both mobile and computers. I remember AOL instant messenger vividly, and phones were getting “smarter” to accommodate text. Never again will society be the same, and with it, the change of the human psyche.
There’s a lot to be said about the power of text. It’s quick information delivered rapidly and can be used in many situations where talking isn’t appropriate. It allows you to multi-task at times. It can be good for making lists for others, plus I’m sure many other good reasons. However, in a relationship, it can spell for disaster. Let me emphasize, “can” though. I’m sure many healthy relationships can handle it, but in my experience it has been awful….and here’s why.

1. The problem with text for me has been that it has no room for context or tone. Often times you can send what is a harmless, casual text, and it can be taken completely the wrong way. Case in point, recently I was texting a girl about having a talk she wanted to have with me, and my text apparently came across as “bossy” for some reason. I’ve had many other examples of this and I’m sure you may have some of your own.
2. Text also brings with it a “curtain.” For some reason, and I don’t mean this applies to everyone, but text brings a certain sense of security. It allows you to be hidden from actual confrontation. I say confrontation, and it sometimes has a negative undertone, but what I really mean is a human connection like a face and/or voice. It allows certain people to hide behind their phone to avoid facing in person consequences like….reactions to what they are saying.Now sometimes….sometimes…you get a combo of both of the above. Sometimes people will avoid a phone call but will text you. Heaven forbid that you ask them why they just didn’t answer the phone and avoid a lengthy text session. This brings up my third point.
3. Don’t EVER argue through text. This is about the worst thing to do, because when you are mad, you have the tendency to think faster than you can type. Not to mention you’re trying to respond to what they are telling you, which is often in the middle of what you are typing and is non-related. When this happens you have this jumble of topics you are trying to juggle all at the same time. Natural conversation goes out the window followed by frustration and sometimes….the end of the relationship.

This is what I plead for in the future:

Text messaging can only be used in certain situations like brief conversations, lists, or to be used in places where talking is inappropriate with arguing saved for a later time. Otherwise, answer my phone call.
Oh, and while I think tech stuff is great….we all need to get out a little more.
(As I check Facebook)