Sucking As A Human Being

The other night, I was scrolling through my feed and found this interesting tweet.

What caught my eye was the referenced song.  I recognized the tune as I had downloaded the same song after I heard it in 'Hall Pass' a few months ago.  After confirming with Sweets we were talking about the same song, I joked that half the songs I've downloaded were from commercials or movies.  This was an off-the-cuff quip, but then I realized there was some truth to it.  Below is a list of songs I've downloaded after hearing them in commercials, TV shows, or movies.

Rubberband Man, The Spinners - Stripes/Office Max

Start A War, The National - St. Vincent

The Downeaster "Alexa," Billy Joel - Hangover II

Safe and Sound, Capital Cities - Mazda

The Walker, Fitz & The Tantrums - Supercuts

Overwhelmed, Tim McMorris - Sam Adams

Back to Paradise, 38 Special - Revenge of the Nerds 2

I'm Shipping Up To Boston, Dropkick Murphys - The Departed/Sam Adams

Walking On a Dream, Empire of the Sun - Hall Pass/Honda

One Thing, Finger Eleven - Scrubs

On Top Of The World, Imagine Dragons - The Incredible Burt Wonderstone

Lose Yourself, Eminem - 8 Mile

Get Back, Ludacris - Tropic Thunder

How's that for sucking as a human being?

What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

If the expression is true, I would like to thank Cheyenne (I went with the traditional spelling) for making me stronger.  Let me explain why.

My heart skipped a bit when I read the following headline last weekend:

Minneapolis Good Samaritan murdered trying to help stranger                      

This happened last Saturday afternoon and grabbed the attention of my wife and work friends because I told them a similar experience that happened to me, and just two nights prior to the news story.

As anyone who has read this blog religiously would know, Thursday is my bowling night. This is also the night my wife works a late shift with a client and doesn't get home until after 11p.  Last week, I was upstairs surfing the Web and listening to music when the dogs started to bark furiously.  This isn't uncommon as Jack will wait in the kitchen until one or the other of us returns home and offers a loud and rambunctious greeting.  What was odd on this night was the barking started at 10:30 and became progressively agitated.

Annoyed, I went downstairs to see what was the matter.  Through the large window of the kitchen door (for which we need to get a curtain), I could see a black woman in her late teens to early twenties standing on the back porch. I opened the door and asked the key questions including "who are you?" and "what are you doing here?"  She was concerned the dogs would bite her and when I told her they wouldn't, asked to come inside.  The temperature had dropped below zero and I wasn't going to have a conversation with the door open, so I let her in.

She claimed she was with a couple friends in a pick-up truck and they were driving by the lake a block away.  They saw a police car at the far end of the street and her friends asked her to see if they could get through.  There was heavy snow that morning and our neighborhood streets hadn't been plowed. When she approached the police car, her "friends" threw her bag out of the truck and took off.  Somehow, the police found her bag and searched it, but didn't find anything, so left it with her.  They also refused to give her a ride home.  So, she was reduced to knocking on doors to find someone to help her.  I used to think I was required to be in a needy person's line of sight to be harassed, but I guess I just exude "sucker" like a clarion call.

Right away, her story didn't add up.  I couldn't understand why her friends couldn't drive up to the police car, rather than have her get out of the truck. The police searching her bag was a little unsettling and their refusing to give her a ride seemed cruel, but not beyond the realm of possibility.  

I asked her if she had someone to call.  She said she could call her brother, but he was working until midnight.  She called him, but when he called back there was no connection because both handsets of our land line lost their battery charges.  I had my cell phone, but I didn't want to go through the process of calling her brother and waiting for him to call back again.  I asked if she had any money.  Of course she didn't and conveniently had loaned her bus pass to her sister because her car wasn't working.  Faced with the choice of having a stranger in my house until the witching hour or throwing her out into the cold, I decided to offer her a lift home (SUCKER!  SUCKER!  SUCKER!).  Looking back, I had a couple bucks and some change in the car; which I could have given her, along with a ride to Sun Ray to take the bus. Instead, I took her from St. Paul to this area of north Minneapolis:

Yes, this is a crime map of the area.  I take heart there was only one murder in the area (the black "M" in the upper right hand corner).

I Should Have Sat Down

This image may look like I’m trying to frame the picture correctly on my iPhone, but the truth of the matter is, I needed to position my head like this to fit into the airplane lavatory.  My shoulder is actually butt up against the angled wall at the back of the space.  I could not turn to face the toilet while standing up.  I had to position myself by putting my knees against either side of the toilet in a way that must have been reminiscent of POW’s stuck in tiger cages in Vietnam.

As I relieve myself, I notice the stream doesn’t have the flow or direction that correlates to the sensation of volume I’m feeling.  I look down and confirm I’m having a Top-Bottom dual stream effect and the lower one is hitting the front of the toilet seat and my shoes.  I do a Kegel pinch & push to get a single stream to complete the task.  I zip up and make an assessment of the damage.

I have a small spray pattern on my pants, but nothing noticeable.  What was noticeable was the puddle of piss between my shoes, and I don’t think all of it was mine.  When I boarded the plane, there was an unmistakable smell of urine.  I put the seat down to sit and throw wads of toilet paper on the puddle.  I use my feet to mop up the piss and grab another bunch of paper to pick up the wad and throw it in the toilet.  A quick dab of hand sanitizer completes the clean-up.  When I get back to my seat, I can see more spray pattern on my shoes.  Next time, although it isn’t manly, I’m just going to sit down, or maybe hold it until the plane lands.

Real Boys of Genius

Years ago, when I was visiting my family in Connecticut, my brother explained a little bit about his parenting style.  At the time, his two sons were very young and his attitude about raising them could only be described as laissez faire.  He wasn't a bad dad, in fact he took very good care of his kids, but they could get pretty wild.

His light discipline was his way to prevent them from feeling bad.  He revealed he was constantly reminded of times that were embarrassing or demoralizing for him and he didn't want his boys to feel the same way.  I knew exactly what he meant; I suffer from the same ailment.

One episode that continually burbles from my memory at odd times was when I was in Mrs. Griswold's second grade class.  As I look back now, we were probably doing a segment on the five senses.  We had a guest speaker who would ask for volunteers.  Being an eager child back then, I would raise my hand each time but was denied the chance to shine.  We reached the fifth and final sense and she asked for volunteers.  Undaunted, I raised my hand again and was lucky enough to be selected.

My luck further improved when I saw her reveal a cookie brought from the cafeteria.  I was going to get a treat, too!  She asked my name and then the loaded question, "How can you tell this is a good cookie?"

Instead of defining "good" as either "delicious" or "pleasing," I decided to take the tack of "not evil."

"You should break it apart to see if there are any pins in it," I replied. 

I like to think my answer was influenced because Halloween was approaching and we were drilled to be careful of the candy we eat after Trick-o-Treating.  We were warned there were sickos out there who could put things in candy to hurt little kids.  Even as an eight-year old, I refused to become a statistic. 

What followed were gales of laughter and I can still see clearly in my mind's eye Jeffrey Simmons putting his head in his hands in the front row.  It gets worse. 

“Okay.  But how can you tell if this is a good cookie,” she tried again.  Rather than changing my answer, I assumed she didn’t hear me the first time (ironic as we were learning about the senses) and gave the same answer.  Seeing as this line of questioning was going nowhere, she then whispered "taste."

I realized then what my mistake was and affected a look of epiphany and triumphantly exclaimed, “TASTE!”  She invited me to taste the cookie and I took a bite.  I nodded my approval.  "It's good."  And pin-free.  I ate the rest of the cookie at my desk.

To this day, peanut butter cookies taste like failure.

Real Men of Genius

Voiceover (singing):  Real Men of Genius!

Announcer:  Today we salute you, Mr. Two Day Propane Grill Builder

Voiceover (singing):  Mr. Two Day Propane Grill Builder!

Announcer:  After several months of your box of grill parts sitting in the garage, your wife hints heavily she would like to cook outside once before summer ends.

Voiceover (singing):  You can’t put her off forever.

Announcer:  That empty feeling in your gut isn’t the anticipation of grilled burgers, steaks, and salmon.  It’s the realization the instruction manual is the size of a phone book.

Voiceover:  Your story will be better without exaggerations!

Announcer:  After two hours of sweat-soaked effort, you decide to stop for the day once you realize the left and right leg brackets are assembled on the wrong side.  You go from Step 10 back to Step 6.

Voiceover (singing):  It’s like playing a game of ‘Chutes and Ladders!’

Announcer:  After four hours over two days in 90 degree heat with 70 percent humidity and damaging only one part in an expletive-filled tirade, you finally have a working propane grill.  At least, you hope it’s working.

Voiceover (singing):  Better have the wife use it first.

Announcer:  Go ahead and crack open an ice cold Bud Light, Mr. Fix-It .  Then you can decide how you are going to get that broken light bulb out of the socket without hurting yourself. 

Voiceover (singing):  Mr. Two Day Propane Grill Builder.

Real Men of Genius

Do you remember those Bud Light commercials featuring “Real Men of Genius?”  If not, they were pretty funny and I had a recent experience which made me think of those commercials  (http://budlight.whipnet.com/).

Voiceover (singing):  Real Men of Genius!

Announcer:  Today we celebrate you, Mr. Change a Flat Tire on your Wife’s Car without Reading the Directions.

Voiceover (singing):  Mr. Change a Flat Tire on your Wife’s Car without Reading the Directions!

Announcer:  When others chose to set the parking brake and block the back tire, you ask “why bother?”

Voiceover (singing):  Safety precautions are for suckers.

Announcer:  You eagerly begin the task at hand, carelessly disregarding the fact you placed the jack on a patch of sand on the concrete floor, figuring if the car starts to fall, you will have plenty of warning beforehand.

Voiceover:  Watch out!

Announcer:  And when it does, nearly taking a chunk out of your garage floor, you use the jack from your car in an innovative approach to lift the front end on the opposite side, only to succeed in lifting the back tire on the same side.

Voiceover (singing):  Didn’t learn the basics of Physics.

Announcer:  Never a quitter, you use the two jacks on the same side of the car with the flat tire and finally get the spare mounted.   What should have taken you twenty minutes to do, took nearly ninety.  Way to go!

Voiceover (singing):  What a colossal waste of time!

Announcer:  Go ahead, have a Bud Light.  Afterwards, there’s a chore in the house that requires you to be on a step ladder.  We’ll wait.

Voiceover (singing):  Mr. Change a Flat Tire on your Wife’s Car without Reading the Directions.