tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13597721610336067382024-03-13T16:25:09.369-07:00Running & NewsFlog My Blog.Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-44976855710163340292010-02-05T19:58:00.000-08:002010-02-05T20:18:52.153-08:00Running & News Recommends This....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmwVoxT708KfgHUtdIOTK3nQft0cHJgL9FolZUnTQ5ZtLGWlZwJImjwURs51CWhcYgqXG9GhWi8RUiAOC6TvcZv1aYaKjHaWO0XqwD9aXuS85EsM74268DnPY0eRUSXb432rEwjcllpI/s1600-h/todd-sarah-palin-testify-alaska-dude.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 175px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmwVoxT708KfgHUtdIOTK3nQft0cHJgL9FolZUnTQ5ZtLGWlZwJImjwURs51CWhcYgqXG9GhWi8RUiAOC6TvcZv1aYaKjHaWO0XqwD9aXuS85EsM74268DnPY0eRUSXb432rEwjcllpI/s200/todd-sarah-palin-testify-alaska-dude.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434979309434286002" border="0" /></a><br /><br />As a point of being both lazy and letting the actions speak for themselves, please watch and read:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMj0OsCVtvZWAgdzatPKwNz0hVuAqM8l5V6L7A9VhFpwHHGLe9Rdz4DrTHLjviAyvLv9T5XgoMdL14wUNtI7c6hpXnFUoOZ24ADhl7wlWOfrj4gRxWH9BmGTn3C9Y8dLdpkcWo7iRPUsA/s1600-h/redman+4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 172px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMj0OsCVtvZWAgdzatPKwNz0hVuAqM8l5V6L7A9VhFpwHHGLe9Rdz4DrTHLjviAyvLv9T5XgoMdL14wUNtI7c6hpXnFUoOZ24ADhl7wlWOfrj4gRxWH9BmGTn3C9Y8dLdpkcWo7iRPUsA/s200/redman+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434978908617786706" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.aolnews.com/politics/article/todd-palin-had-big-role-in-sarahs-politics-e-mails-show/19346679">AOL News - that's right - Shows Us Todd Palin Did More Than Be A Mann</a><a href="http://www.aolnews.com/politics/article/todd-palin-had-big-role-in-sarahs-politics-e-mails-show/19346679">y</a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6igot_mtv-cribs-red-man_music">I Have an Arguably Nice</a><a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6igot_mtv-cribs-red-man_music">r Crib Than Famous Rapper Redman (arguably)</a><br /><a href="http://www.aolnews.com/politics/article/todd-palin-had-big-role-in-sarahs-politics-e-mails-show/19346679"><br /><br /></a><a href="http://www.aolnews.com/politics/article/todd-palin-had-big-role-in-sarahs-politics-e-mails-show/19346679"></a>Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-57652785475369432652010-01-12T23:26:00.000-08:002010-01-14T12:37:31.740-08:00Random Thoughts: Being a Lackey for John Mayer<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnwQnvAaXtHJec74UybzdqxUpxryA7_FVTjphAo8N5vyNnRzXMZzwgIjzIGqj4w27bYlv7wUHJWdTrYAq6DCn4SDQSWgsJPPLqtDmml4vlL_HHktLVID6NkoIpTUE-ZolL2Hv8IvcwN0/s1600-h/john-mayer-free-fallin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnwQnvAaXtHJec74UybzdqxUpxryA7_FVTjphAo8N5vyNnRzXMZzwgIjzIGqj4w27bYlv7wUHJWdTrYAq6DCn4SDQSWgsJPPLqtDmml4vlL_HHktLVID6NkoIpTUE-ZolL2Hv8IvcwN0/s200/john-mayer-free-fallin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426139856609902818" border="0" /></a><br />Yeah, sure you're "friends" with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_mayer">John Mayer</a>. People think you're cool. You get to hang around in John's entourage. You're part of his crew. You get to free ride off of JM. For the price of being his <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lackey">lackey</a>, you receive hot women, cool parties, probably an assortment of drugs, probably a decent amount of money, arguably good music, tons of Twitter followers and John's witty but thoughtful prose.<br /><br />Not a bad gig, right?<br /><br />Not necessarily. I did mention 'the price of being a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lackey">lackey</a>.' Yeah, that's right. Are you a true friend, or a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lackey">lackey</a>? Very fine line. And if you're going to be a lackey, you need to have the personality of being a lackey. You have to be able to be a tool. A manservant, if you will. I think the Fresh Prince is calling his Butler Jeffrey now. You can't be your own person if you're a lackey. You're inevitably tied to whomever you are being a lackey for even in whatever independent ventures you involve yourself in. You're universally known as one of "John Mayer's Boys."<br /><br />Friends are different from lackeys.<br /><br />Just think if you were to try to introduce your girlfriend to John Mayer. She'd totally want to do him. And could you trust JM? Could you trust your girlfriend? The man has a helicopter made of gold (seriously). Do you think he cares about your feelings? No. He has a helicopter made of gold. And your girlfriend will bang anything with a guitar. And she'll do much more for a man with a helicopter made of gold.<br /><br />So say you're a normal person. You have goals. You're driven. But now you have the chance to be a friend of John Mayer. What do you do? My answer: as difficult as it may seem, break up with John Mayer before you get a girlfriend. Or don't ever get a girlfriend. Just <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sexual_intercourse">bang</a>. Find a way to use his fame to tie into yours. Don't look back. Don't feel any shame from using him. Become friends with the band Weezer. They still get a lot of airplay but somehow seem irrelevant on a national scene. You can work off of an aging fan base, linking yourself to a recognizable name, and still date a respectable female that won't be tempted to sling leg for a rock star.<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N5EnGwXV_Pg">Don't let that be your girl...</a></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-35601619423662560312009-12-26T16:01:00.000-08:002009-12-26T16:02:08.396-08:00Urban Meyer to Step Down as UF Head Coachurban meyer, head coach, university of florida, health reasonsNiche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-11870769000677363562009-12-16T22:19:00.000-08:002009-12-16T23:02:49.137-08:00A Nice Buzz Brings Clarity<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqmmMVoT80JJirQVtyQP3-d0aafidodXnYk_jJuWaNVNoAGno9vB4U0BY-9OIuTqs_3BAlzNWK7wRAHZxYV687T0s4pU52G1pIEi4ghGzUqkw51T3pirTMH33dgblAFwPdsToPmsrhPg/s1600-h/wine-tours.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 231px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqmmMVoT80JJirQVtyQP3-d0aafidodXnYk_jJuWaNVNoAGno9vB4U0BY-9OIuTqs_3BAlzNWK7wRAHZxYV687T0s4pU52G1pIEi4ghGzUqkw51T3pirTMH33dgblAFwPdsToPmsrhPg/s200/wine-tours.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416091254009631378" border="0" /></a><br />I enjoy drinking sometimes. There's something to it, possibly something much more scientific than I care to research to back me up, that brings out a conciseness to my thinking. Drinking brings out a simple and clear picture. Maybe, it's just a gift to the ADD-children in this country.<br /><br />Nonetheless, I enjoy it. Sometimes when I drink to a certain point (not of complete drunkenness but of an OK buzz), I begin to tire. Maybe, it's the fatigue and not the direct alcohol I like? Because there is something to fatigue that shines that light of clarity in the brain. Instead of fog, there is line of direct waves connecting and firing, resulting in brutally honest verbiage. And sometimes, I love every second of it.<br /><br />It's the fine line of drunkenness and buzzing we must walk (in various facets). Drunkenness leaves us stupid and slurring. A solid buzz can lay sharp, poignant remarks which would have never been uttered in a sober state. Unless of course you're Robin Williams (and lets face it, when was he ever sober?). Liquid courage is not a bad thing when it's somewhat controlled. Our thoughts and emotions are combined and evoked most brilliantly when a line, the line between control and freedom, are tiptoed on.<br /><br />Or so my 3 1/2 glass of cheap Chardonnay say.<br /><br /><br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tK3Ce9md96g: The Decemberists, Sixteen Military Wives -- Somehow this represents what I'm trying to say.Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-84989979068471294062009-11-25T21:59:00.001-08:002009-11-25T23:45:18.630-08:00A Native American's Take On Thanksgiving<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTqeOKFj6wOShL-7lA2fH2rqWW2j3mgd48cKxHKKPOpmTytwgNiTiy2QozuUta8J46rABEFUb669hZak_SftnGSXXbc86QxibQsTlXW7f4O_cOA0MYdpv-VEPEkGbu0Op_7GN5HvqRvDo/s1600/First-Thanksgiving-Pilgrims.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 248px; height: 162px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTqeOKFj6wOShL-7lA2fH2rqWW2j3mgd48cKxHKKPOpmTytwgNiTiy2QozuUta8J46rABEFUb669hZak_SftnGSXXbc86QxibQsTlXW7f4O_cOA0MYdpv-VEPEkGbu0Op_7GN5HvqRvDo/s200/First-Thanksgiving-Pilgrims.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408306707753764290" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">If I were a Native American, I might have this to say about Thanksgiving:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear White People (and all other people who give thanks to those who stole my land by eating Turkey):</span><br /><br />My name is Dale, and I'm 1/8 Native American. I know 1/8 may not seem like a lot, but if my people were allowed the necessary means to raise a family in some other place besides a remote desert, I may have slightly thicker blood lines. You see, my grandparents and parents had to marry outside of their inner-circle because they had dreams of working at an establishment beyond the local reservation Radio Shack. Oh, and just to clear something up, I'm a Native American. Not an Indian, or an Engine as you rednecks like to call us. And you may think it's cute to call us "Indians: Feathers, not Dots." It's not.<br /><br />I'm not trying to sound too bitter. I'm really not. You just have to understand folks: YOU STOLE OUR LAND! It's kind of difficult to see around that (especially around this time of year). You guys walk around with so much pride as you cook up those turkeys. OK, no big deal. Except you cease to remember that we were the ones who taught you how to kill those things in the first place! And the maize. Don't even get me goin' on the maize. Or as you call it, corn. Which brings me to another point.<br /><br />Just because you rename something, doesn't make it yours. For example, you think all Native American names are so hard to figure out just because we don't have a vowel after every consonant. However, unlike your names, our names actually mean something more than some insecure, desperate attempt by our parents to a) live vicariously through us by attaching the same name or b) attach some trite name like Michael, in order for them to seem hip among their friends who are having children also named Michael. In your language, Pat means Pat. In ours, Pat means "fish" (something we must kill and eat in order to survive, instead of a sport we sell to ESPN as a Sunday morning TV show). "Shiye" means son. Not "Cal Weatherington III." By the way, my name is Dale which is shocking to a lot of my white friends. They all think I should have a name like "Squanto." That's fine. I say that makes a whole lot of sense, and if they had a Native American name, it would be something like "Pussytalk."<br /><br />Again, I'm not writing this to sound resentful or bitter. It's just that you people, I don't know, STOLE OUR LAND! I know, I know. I shouldn't complain that much. In fairness, you've given us retribution such as arguably moderate strides in affirmative action. I mean, really, you stole our land, but now that my kids will get a small leg up on the SAT and a first-round bye to the Ivy Leagues, we should all be square. I'll make sure to remind them of their advantages when my future teenage daughter is hooking, and my 12-year old son is working security at the casino I manage. Hopefully, if we're lucky though, my son will gravitate to the steady income of hack road comedy. Undoubtedly, he'll get a steady dose of it on the weekends at the casino. If he's lucky, maybe a big comedian like Pauly Shore or Bob Saget will drop in and take him to the cocaine infested Motel 8s they reside in along their route through Tulsa.<br /><br />Sorry, I'm not trying to ruin your fun. Have a great time with your families, really. Have fun watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. In fact, my family will probably watch the Parade that's sponsored by a major department store seeing as that's as close as we get to one. Wait, nevermind, we don't have a TV. I'll be happy as long as you can find a way to turn this day into a huge marketing ploy. I mean, you've sure done a helluva job with Columbus. That dude has his own holiday. Seriously, what the fuck did that guy do? Discover America my ass! First, it was the Vikings, then us, then Columbus. Besides, Columbus wasn't searching for anything. Columbus was like my drunk uncle: he just stumbled around, killing people in the process, until he "discovered" a place he could get a decent meal and not have to show ID.<br /><br />Anywho, back to the reservation I go and the moonshine I brew openly and without federal regulation. Thanks White People (and all other people who give thanks to those who stole my land by eating Turkey).<br /><br />-DaleNiche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-57702650078044332972009-10-14T22:58:00.000-07:002009-10-19T00:34:59.283-07:00"The Black Taco"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6tCma_-Gm-3bzb9wGeLQpDNtH9XftOTVoXmJd8fpM6lj_Apy7PTHsjB96PaY2C0rhUNRq_xDD8U3kUATsjU9FVLrXhHSMjzxcfFb4_ga7gb3Rn_nucypP7kyE52JSqpHjfkAKK2SdyQw/s1600-h/bj+taco.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 216px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 158px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394204091669043154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6tCma_-Gm-3bzb9wGeLQpDNtH9XftOTVoXmJd8fpM6lj_Apy7PTHsjB96PaY2C0rhUNRq_xDD8U3kUATsjU9FVLrXhHSMjzxcfFb4_ga7gb3Rn_nucypP7kyE52JSqpHjfkAKK2SdyQw/s200/bj+taco.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Taco Bell has risen the stake on value, and sexual innuendo. Recently, the new "black taco" was introduced. Who's satisfied? Every drunk slug in America, by God. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>And...sexual humorists across the continent. Taco Bell is glamorizing and making a killing off of one of the greatest frat boy jokes since the term "sorostitute" or, the black taco's rival, "the pink taco." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, "What's the deal with the black taco?" I could understand the already promoted red taco...representing fiery spiciness. But the black taco? What the hell does that represent? Maybe the answer lies in the full name, "The Black Jack Taco." But it isn't a 21 cent taco. It's an 89 cent taco. I guess the reference is to the fact that the BJ Taco is a "jackpot of a deal." Really...</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So, guess what? I'm suspicious of the Black Jack. So, I'm going to do some research. Tomorrow, I'm going to talk with some folks who've had a BJ. </div><div></div><div> </div><div>I'll ask them how it felt. I'll see if it's something worth getting sometime. If they felt guilty for it, or if they felt a bit of pride. At least in private. Did it feel warm? Was it gooey? Kind of dry? Possibly crunchy? A little crunchy can be good...if you're into that sort of thing. As long as the outside was hard. Real hard. Should I have it at home or right there in the parking lot? Did it last very long, or was it, as expected, quick and easy? How was the sauce? Did it make you spit or swallow? Did some slop on your face? As long as it was cleaned up. Was there bumpy stuff on the outside? I mean bumpy isn't necessarily bad...as long as it doesn't stay with you. Either way, it's a great source of protein. And remember to check for hairs. I can't tell you how many times I've received things like a BJ and gotten hairs mixed in. Remember, this is America, not Germany.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So maybe the BJ Taco is something of value. Or maybe some crude, childish sexual reference in order to get attention.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-70899887374629917622009-10-09T20:02:00.000-07:002009-10-09T21:26:17.568-07:00The Guy From Five For Fighting Has a Higher Pitched Voice Than James Blunt<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwWqx4Oz5YfocVs4jRA5bg5Tw-eZjW0ynH8XGSw1JhYXLoRemqWUr3tCs_CNOg0BHeI5NnXmQauaWuwf3IBUJtZ7z6jI7E8aMpqQTUbVDo2ORwQznkX6OvvXrvfiACqaHjbzXCP2B5UvA/s1600-h/james+blunt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwWqx4Oz5YfocVs4jRA5bg5Tw-eZjW0ynH8XGSw1JhYXLoRemqWUr3tCs_CNOg0BHeI5NnXmQauaWuwf3IBUJtZ7z6jI7E8aMpqQTUbVDo2ORwQznkX6OvvXrvfiACqaHjbzXCP2B5UvA/s200/james+blunt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390822278524199330" border="0" /></a><br />I did my own pitch off in my apartment earlier today. Alone. Well, not completely alone. My dog and a handle of Kettle One were within an arm's length at all times while this ground-breaking experiment was taking place.<br /><br />F.F.F.'s hit "Superman" vs. J.B.'s hit, "You're Beautiful." A steel cage match of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">effeminate</span> male vocal cords. The result was a slight victory by F.F.F., and me wailing into a recently used and still moist hand towel. Why'<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYjkUZ29TbLyWgifaklyQk71m_bY0Y1SIbUIWZ0xa-un1QbhZTBceNGf9cZfpMlPOer9KLOgik6Bf-OaTiaQXvAmipbcSPN2dNe4AYAkTVYn7-xffuc3CSIijR9uTeq3Ir7K5jDNuvnbc/s1600-h/five+for+fighting.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 153px; height: 153px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYjkUZ29TbLyWgifaklyQk71m_bY0Y1SIbUIWZ0xa-un1QbhZTBceNGf9cZfpMlPOer9KLOgik6Bf-OaTiaQXvAmipbcSPN2dNe4AYAkTVYn7-xffuc3CSIijR9uTeq3Ir7K5jDNuvnbc/s200/five+for+fighting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390822432501296610" border="0" /></a>d I put this experiment on you may ask? Because I have homoerotic tendencies? No.<br /><br />Because, by God, I was bored as shit. Sometimes this happens, and you can't be scared to try things. It sure as Hell beat probing around on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Facebook</span> all day, or blogging.Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-30170855276237122752009-09-21T23:18:00.000-07:002009-09-21T23:33:56.156-07:00Just Saying Hi<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTiJdXcZYOOX990u1SvNPybUxLyEnYHjQBL4c-6_z-nJymWLJJOTzoz6xj_x4U6-FIovFLmPbe-eK3C6nrlTjFiwiNiVpNjOFy-EgMpq39TenIUR5nH7zNosBhMRTrQRNWc9yiHwKqfcI/s1600-h/smiley.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384174859670649666" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 197px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTiJdXcZYOOX990u1SvNPybUxLyEnYHjQBL4c-6_z-nJymWLJJOTzoz6xj_x4U6-FIovFLmPbe-eK3C6nrlTjFiwiNiVpNjOFy-EgMpq39TenIUR5nH7zNosBhMRTrQRNWc9yiHwKqfcI/s200/smiley.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Because that's really what we do, for the most part. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>We say hi. We do it in different languages. We do it in different ways. Sometimes we smile. Sometimes we scowl. Sometimes we look at the ground. Sometimes we look away. Sometimes we smile, scowl, look away, and then wonder why.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>We sometimes care when we say hi. We sometimes mean it. We want to be genuine, but how can we? Some people plan their days around hi. Some people talk shit about hi. Some people write blogs about hi.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Occasionally though, hi can get you places. Hi can get you high. It can mean more than you expected, and it in that respect, take on a meaning which is more powerful than the words you spoke. Sometimes you meet a girl or a guy. Sometimes, the door to stardom or power opens...just because you said hi. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Hi is powerful.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>But the results of hi don't matter. Hi, should be hi because it's hi. It's about being in that moment. Smiling when you meet someone. Hi can be played with or left alone. But it should be said. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So say hi. Who knows where it goes beyond that moment, beyond a smile, but a hi is a hi is a hi. And that's all that matters.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LanCLS_hIo4">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LanCLS_hIo4</a></div>Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-77401971458689562872009-09-18T21:14:00.000-07:002009-09-18T21:30:03.221-07:00How To Write Your Own Self-Help Book & Save The World!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKjHyYp4Ox01ugtvSc26Ht_uEPY-pGfaQY8Rrc_AjlOQGOdQSXYjv-cUFTjhDXLpFnM0kLGMpFtR9RX4frBn7o_v1VzX4ZCTbUado2kVGLN-lnTB5xNGm1fXiKtWghxQ3brUdyYcOSamA/s1600-h/social+networks.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383027965193225634" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 212px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 148px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKjHyYp4Ox01ugtvSc26Ht_uEPY-pGfaQY8Rrc_AjlOQGOdQSXYjv-cUFTjhDXLpFnM0kLGMpFtR9RX4frBn7o_v1VzX4ZCTbUado2kVGLN-lnTB5xNGm1fXiKtWghxQ3brUdyYcOSamA/s200/social+networks.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>You gotta love the generation we grow up in, huh? It’s pretty amazing. Everyone is an expert. Thanks to the advent of Myspace and Facebook, Ipods and Iphones, Youtube and Youporn...just me?<br /><br />We now have 156,000 ways to express ourselves through scandalous pictures and emoticons.<br /><br />In fact, I think we should all write self-help books. We should. And don’t think writing a book is that difficult. Each of us can just compile all the information of our various online profiles into one tight manuscript, something just a little thinner than <em>War and Peace</em> or Bill Clinton’s, <em>My Life</em>.<br /><br />And then, after we write it, just before it goes off to print…we do the world a favor. We say, “Fuck it.” And we don’t print it. Instead we go buy 19 kitchen magnets and post it right next to that crappy picture your 1st grader drew. Because just like that crappy picture your 1st grader drew, while you might think it’s a loving piece of inspiration, everyone else just thinks it’s a piece. </div><div></div><div> </div><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJtbEZThWag">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJtbEZThWag</a> (a special dedication to the la lifestyle)</div>Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-80541273017442256922009-09-08T20:09:00.000-07:002009-09-08T22:34:30.587-07:00A Comedy Called Dying: Part I<div>When I think about it, I pause. And I lose myself. In the train of thought that accompanies something unattached, distant, abstract and yet, absolute.<br /><br />Death scares me. But more so, it makes me wonder. I wonder about the crazy events that lead up to now, and the fact that I can walk and talk and think. I wonder if I've lived another life or if I'm going to live another one -- if so, I'd prefer something near the Hamptons. I hear the Autumn there is to die for!<br /><br />I think about this a lot. Usually, I'm alone in my boxers drinking a cold Coors Light. I know my Coors is cold because it is Cold Activated. When the mountains are blue, it means my beer is as cold as the Rockies. Thanks subversive marketing campaign...now I want to drink and possibly live out my golden years in the great state of Colorado.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4q8Z5vlAGQG9B_Y7NsTxDvJrhBvX450QqrYo7L4hRNa9tG3wkDTGYN8-shUf86mZDUD-a7bGUlDHIpnJAAqP4F4QFp85lo0Kx6WIwOtZkNgmII3KdfT0FiMKSBjGONqybrHaQ05wYphE/s1600-h/coors+light.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379336520238307474" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 185px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4q8Z5vlAGQG9B_Y7NsTxDvJrhBvX450QqrYo7L4hRNa9tG3wkDTGYN8-shUf86mZDUD-a7bGUlDHIpnJAAqP4F4QFp85lo0Kx6WIwOtZkNgmII3KdfT0FiMKSBjGONqybrHaQ05wYphE/s200/coors+light.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />It's amazing what we have here. And maybe it's more amazing on the other side? Or the next side? Or maybe there is nothing on the other side? Or...who created sides? Is there a God? Why does He watch me all the time? I do weird things.<br /><br />But do these questions ever end? Who knows the answer? Should I just not think about it? Should I think about it? Should I go to Church? Because if the crazy dude with the megaphone and hat yelling on the Promenade is right then at least I'll be in the clear! I wonder what an acid trip would do for me? Maybe that crazy dude isn't so crazy after all? Can I even grow a crazy man's beard? Probably not, my facial hair is currently blonde and grows at the rate of a New Jersey lawn.<br /><br />Though I know these questions don't ever seem to have a period, the one thing I'm quite confident in is the fact that I am sure as hell not the only one to ponder them. Way back when, now and 200 years from now, the same questions have, are and will be asked. 200 years from now, I may know a little more as to the answers.<br /><br />I hear the phrase frequently, "live as today is your last" or "live in the moment" or variations of these. Is that possible to do? I mean, if I lived as if today was my last, I probably wouldn't wear pants. Anywhere. Just nude. At the grocery store, on my front porch. Not at the dog park. I see bad things happening there.<br /><br />Really, though. You can't possibly live in the moment all the time, or most of the time. I mean, maybe. But you wouldn't be the most productive person. In fact, you'd have to be like my old roommate. Where the parents buttress your finances and weed and reality tv suction you to a dirty, torn up couch, so much so, that you can see the ass grooves in the middle cushion. True story.<br /><br />So, I'm left with questions. But I have to have some resolution. Something, I can say, 'ok this is what I think and now I can go to sleep. Now, I can go run. Now, I can read the paper (or now, internet aggregators).' Now, I can go function in society because this little game I'm playing with life and death and living and dying, well, it is fickle and fragile and logic only gets me so far.<br /><br />So, I resolve that questions are all I have.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eejRZaL9-LQ">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eejRZaL9-LQ</a> This song makes me want to dance awkwardly.</div>Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-62017526171877189462009-09-03T19:58:00.000-07:002009-09-03T22:16:40.492-07:00When There's Nothing Left2 arms,<br />each in the 90 degree position,<br />in the 90 degree heat,<br />ranging of motion,<br />and in motion.<br /><br />Faster and faster and faster.<br /><br />Sweat droplets peddle from the back of shoulders toward one another,<br />progressing like a flip book they join and race down the spine together.<br /><br />The heart's appetite starves for blood,<br />wanting it more and more,<br />slowly and quickly,<br />struggling,<br />stealing it using those powerful engines attached to the hips<br />from that<br /><br />damned, neurotic bobble head,<br />that rabbid barking dog that won't turn itself off,<br />that won't shut up or shut off,<br />that despises boredom and the duldrums of nothingness,<br />that hates itself for holding the other parts of the machine back,<br />that won't stop worrying and planning and thinking and stifling action.<br />Creating dreams and restraining the physical body of making those dreams actuality.<br />Where do the subconscious and the conscious marry? Where do they divorce? Why can't they just be friends?<br /><br />And round and round and round the questions spin around<br />the mind's kinetic race track.<br /><br />Just be placid.<br />Like the nothingness of an evening lake in those Georgia summers.<br /><br />As the lungs expand and contract and pulse and yearn.<br />Faster and Faster.<br /><br />The blood drains away,<br />withering,<br />from the top,<br />to the bottom.<br /><br />The body teams together with all its parts.<br />Functioning in complete harmony,<br />like a perfect wave, rising steadily,<br />until eventually,<br />it collapses.<br /><br />The fire is out.<br />Just the white flag of smoke.<br /><br />And when there's nothing left<br />you sit there,<br />you lay there,<br />on the ground,<br />the green grass,<br />the blue sky,<br />the black sky,<br />the clouds,<br />the stars,<br />the sun,<br />the moon.<br />You sit there.<br />With that 'been-there, done-that' smirk,<br />eye lids lazy,<br />red-face and flush,<br />shoulders and legs that moved so intensely, so aggravated, with purpose,<br />now slouch and droop and fall in line with gravity,<br />because the light has finally been shut off for a few minutes.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0QtNSJLkurk">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0QtNSJLkurk</a> -- and you are in the moment.Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-72807681292512740782009-08-31T23:21:00.000-07:002009-09-01T00:07:39.341-07:00Turf Wars at Bars: THE Pressing Issue of Our Time<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAEB0fM3RS4gBlLAmPrkYzB9ek9MHYjAgL5bnOb3gciBAdt-_YHJMRFp0pkOBJwDHnOu7a1llICPuoCy8ExdYqWqtnx8ZQ-14Da1O_O0MMn0FIbY1LGh_XKkS0fS43069-dRoGgIcJlxo/s1600-h/moes.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376391116384896354" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 155px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAEB0fM3RS4gBlLAmPrkYzB9ek9MHYjAgL5bnOb3gciBAdt-_YHJMRFp0pkOBJwDHnOu7a1llICPuoCy8ExdYqWqtnx8ZQ-14Da1O_O0MMn0FIbY1LGh_XKkS0fS43069-dRoGgIcJlxo/s200/moes.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>I just came back from 90 West, a bar approximately 450 feet from my apartment. Why do I live 450 feet from a bar you may ask? Exactly.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>But I did hear something that astounded me when I was at the bar a few minutes ago. First off, this bar is small and quaint, but has a very loyal following. It's kind of like the Moe's from The Simpsons. Same 8 people there. Same smell of skunked beer and arm pit. Oh, and this one dude, Chris (complete Type A personality, firm handshake, loud, probably obnoxious, my guess works in sales or retails douche bags as a side project) goes, "this beer tastes like ass." Ha Ha...how does that dude know what ass tastes like?* Probably the same guy who says, "lick my balls, faggot!" Contradiction of terms, possibly?</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ3pyLD39q_shByAgFThWhzqvBT5Eeyc-fpI-k3e1Pnsl_lD_YbNzRLiVvpOIZDkLe9OMfE9ItvxHj70BMoCY-BX8xnWlUCc76Pj4JtA8ppD3QQzsPhbYgklLmjsGPJsXNXQ6lFp8N81k/s1600-h/moes+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376392009944340242" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 153px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ3pyLD39q_shByAgFThWhzqvBT5Eeyc-fpI-k3e1Pnsl_lD_YbNzRLiVvpOIZDkLe9OMfE9ItvxHj70BMoCY-BX8xnWlUCc76Pj4JtA8ppD3QQzsPhbYgklLmjsGPJsXNXQ6lFp8N81k/s200/moes+2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Anywho, so the female bartender (who'd I'd definitely bone) starts talking about why they don't serve hard liquor. Her theory was that they don't serve hard alcohol because it would start turf wars between bars. Basically, liquor gets you sicker. And if someone such as myself who is new to the bar shows up after a rowdy 90 West crowd is 8 shots-a-patron deep, I'd get my ass kicked.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Apparently, territory and turf isn't specific to just gangs out here. I don't get that. If the bartender's theory has any truth to it, I think it speaks to a greater truth about ourselves. A truth that is full of individualism. A truth that leads to ego, and eventually, to comments like, "this beer tastes like ass."</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>But there is another truth out there I think. A truth about our desire to help. A desire to see the parts work together for a greater whole. Just as negative begets negative, I believe the opposite is certainly true. I know the opposite is true in fact. Everytime somebody tells me they read this thing, I'm inspired more and more. We're designed to work and live and play and yes, fornicate, together.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f6J3OD4Z0UQ">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f6J3OD4Z0UQ</a> </div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>*it tastes like maple syrup</div></div>Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-77668939689317319212009-08-21T21:57:00.000-07:002009-08-21T23:06:49.945-07:00My Dog Got Offered Sex This Morning<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhagl5jFdZCuqyZtJ5ceioAuRcCCrzF3-o7kHZHGonvWaNOdV03cXYSKnjZiSybPVhn2sbc4Vw0RPsqiGNZXdWKbGlEdNdsZsJkzObng1zkYEUjORmlHL9f9NW2EB91VAWrOOOAjZolXu4/s1600-h/minna+1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372654148041267682" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 244px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 140px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhagl5jFdZCuqyZtJ5ceioAuRcCCrzF3-o7kHZHGonvWaNOdV03cXYSKnjZiSybPVhn2sbc4Vw0RPsqiGNZXdWKbGlEdNdsZsJkzObng1zkYEUjORmlHL9f9NW2EB91VAWrOOOAjZolXu4/s200/minna+1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Seriously. The time was 7:14am. I was by the mulched area with the plants that enter the storage place next to my apartment. Seconds later, an Asian man appeared with 2 dogs. My dog pulled from me with strength, a habit she doesn't break when greeted by other animals. I pulled back in defiance. Or was it jealousy?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>My daughter is Minna Cross. My <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">pit bull</span> mix. A 2-year-old renegade of a dog. She has energy, can be a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">hellion</span>, but is sweet as can be. A truly beautiful animal. The 2 dogs walking by...also quite beautiful. The 1 animal was a brindle, just like mine. Kind of like the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Cincinnati</span> Bengals' Mascot.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The man and I exchanged kind, semi-<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">awkward</span> conversation, and after about 20 seconds of broken, unassertive Asian-accented conversation, the gentlemen asked if my dog was spade. I guess I said she was a she at some point during our brief encounter, or he had been eyeing up my animal for a while, watching me walk her on a regular schedule, following Minna during her daily routes to relieve herself, standing outside my shower. Who knows, really? Nonetheless, he jumped on it, and posed the statement, "I'm looking to breed my dog."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">awkwardly</span> chuckled, and said something equally on-point, "Oh ok." Good work, comedian.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It took me a few seconds as I walked back to my apartment gate with animal feces wrapped in the LA Times newspaper until I realized this dude had just propositioned my Minna Cross for sex. I guess he didn't proposition her for himself. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">That'd</span> just be way too Alabama. But he propositioned me - for Minna - for his dog. I wondered if somehow, with only 3 more degrees to go, we could connect this audacious proposition to Kevin Bacon.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Thinking back, I feel quite honored. I mean, Minna Cross is my kin. I did birth her. Or paid $100 from a kennel. Because, to own a good looking animal is a true feeling of pride. </div><div></div><div>PS- If this article didn't make you laugh, just take a brief look at the tag words I used.</div><div></div><div></div>Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-22547612383534571602009-08-17T00:40:00.000-07:002009-08-17T21:30:07.650-07:00Pop Music With Teeth<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DhaneEAMCeHJwoolXs2-NrNUQ45UkVYFxoJICDUVBQQU3DRzUw4tGzYtZBeO_c4ZaQDi2IcfSOVHhABnjNjA82vQTg8ttf9ijx5GBMUbAZzYrYvOFHvi1_J4xBaS4bibN5lBBwgPJSs/s1600-h/tree_alone.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371153270535842434" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 221px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 241px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DhaneEAMCeHJwoolXs2-NrNUQ45UkVYFxoJICDUVBQQU3DRzUw4tGzYtZBeO_c4ZaQDi2IcfSOVHhABnjNjA82vQTg8ttf9ijx5GBMUbAZzYrYvOFHvi1_J4xBaS4bibN5lBBwgPJSs/s200/tree_alone.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I saw this line in a blog I frequent. And sometimes when you read or hear or say a great line, a line that captures complex, ambiguous thoughts in a precise and succinct way, you're only left repeating it.<br /><br />"Pop Music With Teeth."<br /><br />"Dissection. Exploration."<br /><br /><br />And Layers.<br /><br /><br />Pop is a layer. A sometimes simple, yet necessary and seemingly complex layer to pull off well. A fun layer. A happy layer. A layer meant solely for entertainment. A layer to get caught up in and lose your brain for a few minutes when it starts running in circles.<br /><br />Music With Teeth. A smart layer. A thoughtful layer. Deeper meaning. Thoughtful, insightfulness. Saying something that matters because pop and culture have a long ways to go before they meet in a harmonious and productive place.<br /><br />This doesn't go just for music. This goes for everything. Especially art.<br /><br />And I'm starting to fall in love with art. Music, comedy, even acting (the real acting--not the shit Vin Diesel does). Before, I liked art. I'd take it to a Chili's. Have a couple drinks. Maybe take it back to my place and see where things go. Now, I love it. Meaning now, I'd take it to The Olive Garden. Possibly caress its hair and pour it cheap Merlot before attempting an 11th grade-style finger bang.<br /><br />But I love art. Above all, it truly is an exploration. An exploration that starts with the mind and flows through all the senses. It baffles me and fascinates me. It's like, that's what humans -- with all our grand and limited capacity -- were meant to do.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-81442930268757750802009-08-13T20:50:00.000-07:002009-08-14T01:07:25.806-07:00"The Strenuous Life"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzfS5SMZllFaRe-ZOoB8vgbfLfP_5F1CI2oAjWIuEhvMQHAvDP6lMEPlK2QmSA5JC0IfW5LMJGKfjtKHo_B9zl75lZqb8Jmuq3H7NwmT2fdNkeSJqcmOFGCJ3NMjytNHTqApOZN7yXHfg/s1600-h/teddy+r.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369725124496693394" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 152px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzfS5SMZllFaRe-ZOoB8vgbfLfP_5F1CI2oAjWIuEhvMQHAvDP6lMEPlK2QmSA5JC0IfW5LMJGKfjtKHo_B9zl75lZqb8Jmuq3H7NwmT2fdNkeSJqcmOFGCJ3NMjytNHTqApOZN7yXHfg/s200/teddy+r.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I've been skimming the news lately and there seems to be quite a fire raging over the various healthcare proposals looking to make significant changes to our current system and grant access to many more folks across the nation. Actually, not so much the actual proposals, but more uninformed rage over the possibility of significant change and progress.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>SO, to uninformed rage and eratic, angered dialogue, I'm sorry, but I'm going to go take a piss and forget about you.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Ok, now I'm back. Feeling a bit lighter after excreting the bile of Coors Light in my bladder, I think I'm ready to turn my thoughts towards a term made popular by a Teddy Roosevelt speech entitled, "The Stenuous Life." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Roosevelt says, among other things in the speech:</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>"I wish to preach, not the doctrine of ignoble ease, but the doctrine of the strenuous life, the life of toil and effort, of labor and strife; to preach that highest form of success which comes, not to the man who desires mere easy peace, but to the man who does not shrink from danger, from hardship, or from bitter toil, and who out of these wins the splendid ultimate triumph."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Furthermore, so fascinating to me is that this comes out of a Darwinistic belief that death lumes around the turn of any corner of our lives.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Personally, this hits home so to speak. Since, I was little (which was quite little seeing as I'm now only 5'8") I've always had a distinct concept of my own mortality. I remember the first Gulf War. Seeing the news on tv and fearing that I was going to get attacked in my own home by the Iraqies. I was 5. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>As absurd as that sounds, this is exactly what 5 year olds in Iraq say. And unfortunately, it is a very real fear. Then and now. This is why "the strenuous life" matters. This is why knowledge is important. This is why every major and minor concept to our lives has to be looked at with a moral and ethical conscience. Not concepts derived solely or primarily from self-interest. Sometimes it isn't easy. But if we don't, we slowly decay. Ourselves and our future inhabitants. Our lives are by happenstance, no matter what you may or may not believe. We're completely random and probably quite lucky when compared to other organisms. It seems to be quite a disservice to the randomness of life, that spawned us which spawned, among other things, Nintendo DS and Ipods, to pollute, pollute, pollute.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amwVyRH2B8A">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amwVyRH2B8A</a></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-49717892206259541552009-08-11T23:22:00.000-07:002009-08-12T01:11:04.747-07:00The Best Marketing is to Not Produce Crap<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368984246081778434" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 244px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOSdLZoKJsECnE2wJXgJKP-vSFbU5qHvgvhdY1ePKMoZ8AtJVGZvF9MItyVgC1n7fT6HXNMZv_cfy9Mafb4ckBL4bjnl3NqEKXDDgZH_ksCf4X-A-UzCPhQWN4hJVRKlheR5T1hB6MeN4/s200/Pile-of-self-help-books_--002.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>I don't claim to be an expert on anything. I'm decent at hitting a punchline, probably better than the average hack comedian. I can run fairly fast, again faster than the average jogger pushing a twin stroller with a dalmation by his side. There are a couple things I can say with confidence I just know that others don't quite understand. Kind of like the Time Warner guy who comes and installs your internet. He does this within minutes with unfettered success and now you check your email and include crass remarks within your blog without having an idea where the hell the dude drilled or what cords connect to what. He knows what to do and how to do it, leaving you flabberghasted and yet, extremely satisfied. Are you listening ladies? I'm referring to oral sex.<br /><br /><div></div><div>Nonetheless, the proclamation of expertise is a blurred one to say the least. It's like every other book at the front of a Borders is either from some politician or a self-help 'expert.' Books about making money, picking up women, losing weight, and marketing are, themselves, a beautiful example of the double-edged sword that is capitalism. Producing a product. Marketing that product. Having people buy that product. But do the people get something out of it?</div><div></div><div></div><div>My answer: it depends. I've read several of these books (for free from the pubic library--and yes, my library ironically had the "l" stolen from the front of its building) that seem, at least to the simpleton I may very well be, convoluted information on bringing in complex and unrealistic systems of organization and structure into my daily life. Given I'm sure the reality of implementing this type of advice depends on the person, situation, goals, etc., I can't get around one major main idea that seems to at least be hinted at but rarely called out in many of these books. This main idea: Don't Produce Crap. </div><br /><div>Find something you like and get good at it. Work hard and try to work smart. The systems of organization don't make sense to a lot of the people who buy it and/or offer practical implementation techniques. Even if they do, it has to be simpler. Much simpler. They don't need an expert's manual. They need a beginner's manual. We all need beginner's manuals for the things we do most of the time. When we have some talent or are considered at least decent at something, that's when we turn to reference manuals. Not books in pretty hard covers that overpromise, oversell and overmarket (and will often times tell us to do the same thing). </div><br /><div>So to all who follow a passion, it is very easy to get caught in the trap of compensating for a lack of skill by overly marketing. In some cases, for the business men and women and comedians, you may make some money and/or become as famous as Bob Saget. But believe it or not, I suspect from a truly outsider's point-of-view, those have there slight downsides. The way to overcome is to produce work that people truly value. That's it. When the product you produce finds value in the hands or heart of others, then reach for that reference book at your local pubic library.</div><br /><div></div><div>"Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." Leonardo DaVinci</div><br /><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RcDCvQbOdig">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RcDCvQbOdig</a></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div></div>Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-42897615379110677912009-06-27T17:44:00.000-07:002009-06-27T18:06:21.016-07:00You Drive an Over-Sized or Over-Priced Car to Compensate for Your Under-Sized Penis or Fake BreastsI've lived in the south and now Los Angeles. Maybe an F-350, maybe a Lambo. It's stupid. Your car is stupid. You're really stupid.<br /><br />I'm guessing you're 4. Maybe 4 1/2 inches on a good day. If you remembered to take your Extenze tablet. I know you saw the ads at 3 am. You were probably rubbing it out to one of the commercials. (I won't fault you for that, I probably did, too.)<br /><br />People think the 'My child is an Honor Student' bumper stickers are dumb. At least the attention is on your offspring. Be grateful to be alive and the opportunity to afford good meals with good people. Don't piss away money on your own vanity.<br /><br />However, if you do piss away money on your own vanity, make sure to sell out hard and to the right. The way it goes on a 4 1/2 day. Be the best d-bag you can be.Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-5314792757994516982009-06-22T21:43:00.000-07:002009-06-22T22:20:04.434-07:00The Fake Dog Feces Pick-Up<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGllYlBlKJG7xGK0_3LTZoX0t01CjYudEm9pspBqCfUu5w1gDoZ7OaldpgTCz71d2Rftga2x0mWG_Gp2gt1ruo5mSXL84HA9-W0OjMh3d-cYszq2KirxURaDVel-ZAq_h3VBTApJhsbjE/s1600-h/minna.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350383588063440386" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 166px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGllYlBlKJG7xGK0_3LTZoX0t01CjYudEm9pspBqCfUu5w1gDoZ7OaldpgTCz71d2Rftga2x0mWG_Gp2gt1ruo5mSXL84HA9-W0OjMh3d-cYszq2KirxURaDVel-ZAq_h3VBTApJhsbjE/s200/minna.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>It's like the boner tuck. All guys know it. Sitting in some lame survey course with an endless stream of power point presentations in front of you. The mind drifts. The pants buldge. If you're to stand-up, somebody might as well go sleep in the tent you've just pitched.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Similar to the penis tuck, I pulled an almost parallel maneuver when walking my dog to the car this past weekend. Without a grocery bag, paper towel, or New York Post in-hand, I had nothing else to do when I noticed my dog about to lay cable in the lawn of the apartment complex nearby. I looked around. The coast was clear. Quickly and calmly, I removed my running shoe (this has to tie into running somehow). I pulled off my black sock. I scowered the area once more. Two bikers and some passing cars at about 35 mph. I reached down. Fake scoop. Fake scoop. Fake scoop that almost touched.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I know. Judge me how you will. However, if you haven't already, you'll be in my shoes, too. And when you are, you'll remove those shoes, reach for your sock and start fake scooping. Just don't make contact.</div><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-41621754150679774862009-06-01T23:44:00.000-07:002009-06-02T21:28:23.758-07:00Personal Triumph at the Playboy Club<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWL4Bn1dY-YnEHJxQh4iiveHg0Sa8d_TltpKvWcaIdVl2460bbwdSfIQ-sSoIP99NWbeHObPmpN6anwLp0QTQqA4l-gf1tmySKPLKrNPzqoPedXMzjjqcQWaph1oGCvPUkW8b7aoRUXNE/s1600-h/hugh-hefner.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWL4Bn1dY-YnEHJxQh4iiveHg0Sa8d_TltpKvWcaIdVl2460bbwdSfIQ-sSoIP99NWbeHObPmpN6anwLp0QTQqA4l-gf1tmySKPLKrNPzqoPedXMzjjqcQWaph1oGCvPUkW8b7aoRUXNE/s200/hugh-hefner.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342629296450899922" border="0" /></a><br />The answer is yes. I had an eight-some. Myself, Hugh Hefner, and then 3 sets of hot blond twin ho's. H.H. was the conductor. Me at the caboose. Cigars. Patron. And low-brow sexual activity.<br /><br />This is how I spent my Saturday night. Except without everything I just said.<br /><br />I did, however, get to the top floor of the Playboy Club in Vegas. How? Well, being white and middle class helps. But of course, a friend of a friend who is a hot girl.<br /><br />Amidst the bunnies, absurdly priced drinks, intimidating body guards and badass view, I realized something. A year ago, to the day, I was driving out to California in my Jeep Liberty (I race soccer moms on weekends). To LA. With about 8 grand in my pocket, no job, no idea of where I was going to live, a dog in my car, and a close friend whom, at the least, would have a drink before my suicidal realization set in.<br /><br />Now, I proudly sit here with a somewhat regular income, the same Jeep, the same dog, the same favorite "I ran into a wall" haircut, and the same dream with a more defined path. A little further along. A lot further along.<br /><br />I still wait for my burnout. A demise where the harsh realities of society kick in, and I decide to grow a gut and attend bowling nights on a regular basis. I'm not the Vegas type either. Throw change at my feet, and I'll pick it up and run fast. Somewhere between college football and song-and-dance.<br /><br />I'm not always entised, I'm not always stable, but I've got my legs under me at the moment.<br /><br />What I'm most proud of though...even in the depths of hedonism, I haven't wasted many moments.<br /><br />I guess that's my goal right now...just don't waste many moments.<br /><br />Me and Julio (and a line somewhere in there I keep coming back to): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqtX4qZBdRsNiche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-61591729263396336072009-05-26T21:08:00.001-07:002009-05-27T09:17:55.582-07:00Dumb Sorority Bitch!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg89BzEDILd_66sgbqo7qBcsWQiDpHFb5P1uzBUPZw6NUDhxmBSZpBX_jyoneAljHaMLV0Ng5buyA8hOnLQG2QLVr9f-lbGTRzdgaDgspsIQBVTskvSmjHMpfhpT9_nMrX1GvmwoX53LsU/s1600-h/keg.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 233px; height: 175px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg89BzEDILd_66sgbqo7qBcsWQiDpHFb5P1uzBUPZw6NUDhxmBSZpBX_jyoneAljHaMLV0Ng5buyA8hOnLQG2QLVr9f-lbGTRzdgaDgspsIQBVTskvSmjHMpfhpT9_nMrX1GvmwoX53LsU/s200/keg.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340370008738739330" border="0" /></a>SO here's the story...<br /><br /><br />This weekend I was at a party. I was talking to this girl, and she had a friend. Before I met the friend, I was prefaced with the fact that this girl was visiting from Maine. Ok, so drinks<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>are flowing. That always helps.<br /><br />So, I meet this friend. I shake her hand and say, "Hi, my name's Justin, nice to meet you." She says, "Hi, nice to meet you." I then say, "I heard you're from Maine." She says, "Yes." I say, "Well, it was nice of you to shave your legs for tonight's party."<br /><br />Ok, funny, yes...come on you know it. Offensive...well, no. I'm smiling and saying, 'just kidding.'<br /><br />A minute or two later, she says, "I just graduated college." I say, "Cool." She says, "I was in a sorority." I say, "What sorority?" She says, "Phi Mu." I say, "Oh, cool...Phi MOOO."<br /><br />Ok, funny, eh...offensive, well, no. I haven't met any of her sorority "sisters." But again, smile, 'just kidding.' Not this time...she goes off.<br /><br />"Phi Mu has been around longer than this country, since 1831! You can't say that! You don't even know us. That's so rude!" I say, "Wait, wait, Sir Isaac, I'm no history buff, but (and this is just some random fact I picked up in 4th grade), but I'm pretty sure this country was founded a few years before 1831. And furthermore, maybe I should poke fun at your college and not your sorority for not having any idea when this country was called a country." She went on to tell me how I wasn't funny and was just mean, and I had no right to say any of that.<br /><br />I went on to argue with her for a few minutes with something resembling what I'm writing below:<br /><br />So, here's the breakdown. I offended her for the Phi MOOO comment because, according to the person who told me this (a good friend of mine who was in the sorority), Phi MOOO is a common nickname given to them by other fraternities and sororities because of the reputation of having rather robust women. At the time, I just said it and didn't think about what it meant. Upon further examination though, I decided she still should not be offended.<br /><br />First, she was not fat. Second, I don't know a single person in her sorority! If I attacked her personally, that's wrong. If I attacked her friends, that's another thing. I didn't do either. This is all the reason to not be offended. Oh, and her legs were shaved and I have never been to Maine (and I mentioned this, along with the fact that I've heard it is a very pretty state).<br /><br />And lets get one more thing straight. Frats and sororities are fine I suppose. Drinking urine as a hazing and ritualistic chest shavings are odd, but whatever. The people in sororities and fraternities are not 'sisters' and 'brothers.' That may be what they call each other. There is tradition there, ok. But they're not kin. At best, a few of them will remain truly good friends. And that's great. But the whole brother-sister thing (or, to be more exact, that some take it to heart)...that's just a way of rationalizing the fact that these are people you initially don't know and decide to pay money to drink the same beer with.<br /><br />Like I said, later, some may become close friends. And I'm all for close friends!<br /><br />Some folks need to get off their high horse and stop taking themselves so seriously. Just because you don't have a funny comeback to what I say doesn't mean you should be offended. Laugh or don't laugh. That's your choice, but don't get bitchy. It's a goddamn joke. I make fun of myself way more than I make fun of anyone else. It's called humility, and for $1 you can make a collect call and go get some.<br /><br />One other thing. I have friends who, on occasion, will say, your mom jokes and sometimes they get directed at me. This happens occasionally, and sometimes they double-take to see if I'm offended. Why? Because my mom is no longer alive. I'm not offended at all, though. Because it is a joke. Just a joke, and if it's funny, I laugh. Or at least I fake laugh, if it was a decent effort.<br /><br />A very wise philosopher once said, "If we couldn't laugh, then we'd all go insane..."<br /><br />...like this bitch.Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-76204484849572618012009-05-25T16:59:00.000-07:002009-05-25T18:14:16.416-07:00What Does Memorial Day Mean?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtLmyMyqfSh2YbnSgJ6WPlpD1_w0RlFDV1acZFnnEqarz-ey87dYS8Qsfq7wKfB9_FjW9vAercXK3N_IWbPPA2O45348wWmee1IkwP1lI-wtAJdDvetCNKcCSw5WMbVF0arvi5dLRKzXc/s1600-h/004VietnamWar_468x382.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 215px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtLmyMyqfSh2YbnSgJ6WPlpD1_w0RlFDV1acZFnnEqarz-ey87dYS8Qsfq7wKfB9_FjW9vAercXK3N_IWbPPA2O45348wWmee1IkwP1lI-wtAJdDvetCNKcCSw5WMbVF0arvi5dLRKzXc/s200/004VietnamWar_468x382.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339933598033815714" border="0" /></a><br />Memorial Day! Remember to remember. That's not as easy as it sounds for a lot of us.<br /><br />In a world of facebook, twitter, templated blogs and such, memorial day takes on a different tone in my opinion. On the face, it is suppose to be a time to remember ones who have been lost and who may still be fighting in war. But how much can it really mean for someone who hasn't been there, and lets be honest, for many of us who have never taken the time to at least try to figure it out?<br /><br /><br />Interesting article:<br />http://ac360.blogs.cnn.com/2009/05/25/the-decline-of-veterans-in-washington/<br /><br />On top of that, war is a complex thing. It involves an imminent loss of life. It involves the ultimate cost, and at the same time, the act of it has been beaten into the ground so many times in our country's (not to mention our world's) history.<br /><br />So, instead of remembering to remember. Maybe lets try to remember to try to understand. Try to put our shoes in someone else's. You don't have to agree with past wars fought, but you can always better understand the constructs of them, the effectiveness or ineffectiveness of them, and most importantly, the human face behind them.<br /><br />Below are easy-to-read wikipedia links on a few of our most recent wars. Feel free to take a gander...<br /><br />http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_War_II<br /><br />http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Korean_War<br /><br />http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Vietnam_WarNiche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-83465653186251382972009-05-20T00:08:00.000-07:002009-05-20T11:02:08.890-07:00It is Time to Do the Little & Annoying<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsvnDvzAYTxltp2ippdme0dbsf8wLDnKuNsCLL7Ba8gzfm9mx2D3b-kkgt8njsG24ixPYNK1htZMzw8opOvis47MQ9FhwSkydjQKAYVVIPBhTgWKHZbwqvqpb1Bb9T9ImavQKUHcUjbsg/s1600-h/autumn1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 163px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsvnDvzAYTxltp2ippdme0dbsf8wLDnKuNsCLL7Ba8gzfm9mx2D3b-kkgt8njsG24ixPYNK1htZMzw8opOvis47MQ9FhwSkydjQKAYVVIPBhTgWKHZbwqvqpb1Bb9T9ImavQKUHcUjbsg/s200/autumn1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337967479777052194" border="0" /></a><br />I hate admitting this. I talk on a grandiose scale a lot. For good reason. In our day-to-day, we often get lost in little things. Annoying things. We let these things own us, and we don't see out of it very often.<br /><br />What I have missed, however, in these blogs, is a lot of the little stuff. And it is so necessary. For all the big things, with big purposes, can't be arrived at if you don't do the little things. How can you get from Point A to Point C without going through Point B? I don't think you can.<br /><br />Lets use running as a tangible example. If a certain runner wants to run 16 minutes flat for the 5K then what does he or she need to do it? First, the desire (aka the big picture). He or she has to have the dream and the passion to drive him or her to put in the work to hit the time. Second, the work. Or the workouts. This takes time. It can be quite mundane, and it can cut into outside projects...like binge drinking or skating off to The Keys -- to binge drink. But the first can't be actualized if the second part isn't in place. Finally, performance. This is letting A and B mesh together. The only other element to be factored in to Part C...FUN. Generally, you don't do something if it isn't rewarding or fun. Usually, it can and is both. Part A (The Dream) + Part B (The Work) + Having Fun = Part C (Performance).<br /><br />I tend to miss Part B. Mentally, Part B is not the most challenging. But it is absolutely necessary to get to Part C. Oh, and there is one more thing to Part B. While you're doing Part B, you can't worry about Part C. In other words, you can't worry about the result. You can't worry about success or failure. Success and failure aren't real things anyway. Just a figment of some bygone, black and white frame-of-mind. Worrying about Part C clouds Part B. There is a reason why Part C comes after.<br /><br />Now, I'm confused over my parts. Which one is the one you take if the condom breaks? Oh, that's Plan B.<br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKkffzm6L7oNiche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-20247062125704254002009-05-11T23:43:00.000-07:002009-05-13T13:19:32.574-07:00Idiot America? Maybe, but Maybe Not.Just read this article about a new book entitled, <span style="font-style: italic;">Idiot America</span>. Go ahead and give it a read (it's quick). Following, read a few of the comments below the article.<br /><br />http://scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/2009/05/idiot_america_new_and_expanded.php<br /><br />Ok, if you decided to not read the article, then you're probably a good example <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9K6kLDAToQPSNNQ5zAnlTuv712rYjDXf7iPlp48Jsp0hvdQ8RuTXVRkPGuEaabPeKooSfFN-cr4AVVDJPY-LqhDlgFfjABve5PRuzrwrZogjIdGm_UCQEA7mQBXevbq4d0SipQJ66Zgo/s1600-h/walt-whitman-photograph.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 162px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9K6kLDAToQPSNNQ5zAnlTuv712rYjDXf7iPlp48Jsp0hvdQ8RuTXVRkPGuEaabPeKooSfFN-cr4AVVDJPY-LqhDlgFfjABve5PRuzrwrZogjIdGm_UCQEA7mQBXevbq4d0SipQJ66Zgo/s200/walt-whitman-photograph.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335403386073476386" border="0" /></a>of what the article is speaking to. To give a brief summary: the article discusses the book with the popularized Green Day lyric as its title. Throughout, the book highlights examples and the reasoning behind the act of the dumbing down of our society, often times reducing complex topics to very black and white terms. Aided by the ease of the internet and milestone advances in technology, now more than ever, anyone can be an expert. "If anyone can be an expert, then no one can be an expert!"<br /><br />This brings something to mind something I've yet to address, and that is, the purpose of this blog. In short, I'm doing this for myself. It is an exercise in thinking, articulating, and then transposing that into something that, in turn, piques the interest of you, the reader. I'm not trying to make money or characterize myself as an expert. I'm certainly not an expert. And I may not even pique your interest.<br /><br />I have goals, but if someone were to ask me what I do or what I want to do, I could not provide a clear or definitive thing. In fact, there are many things that interest me, and I'm OK with pursuing those things until it feels time to focus more energy in another direction. This blog helps me along in that pursuit. My purpose is for self-improvement, and thus far, I'm achieving that.<br /><br />As far as Idiot America goes...well, I have a feeling in Whitman's time there were some greedy assholes, too. Some self-proclaimed whatevers. He dealt with it, though. People are pretty decent.<br /><br />http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GDU6ns2mRM -- Billy Bragg & WilcoNiche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-47491620682298085292009-05-10T10:32:00.000-07:002009-05-10T13:28:26.676-07:00Republicans, Dems Agree on Something; Kumbaya<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvB7tyt-D6Wy8Xd0sVJOWKuzdvN-7ilN792W98lBZqkZ9Yc9kehnOsZ-YqDSao10TT4SQli5TmMcZWEUQMLDcxCCoZMN1bsVzFdaJXJxqz3pX8fMIWBYfctZfYa3xLUEn5uMX6v4HqCI/s1600-h/scott+jerg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 195px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvB7tyt-D6Wy8Xd0sVJOWKuzdvN-7ilN792W98lBZqkZ9Yc9kehnOsZ-YqDSao10TT4SQli5TmMcZWEUQMLDcxCCoZMN1bsVzFdaJXJxqz3pX8fMIWBYfctZfYa3xLUEn5uMX6v4HqCI/s200/scott+jerg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334276291178072658" border="0" /></a>Employers want to offer incentives for employees who keep it healthy, and lawmakers on both sides of the aisle want to make it happen. Holy shit!!! They agree on something! I think I have an erection.<br /><br />Seriously, though. Read this article:<br />http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/10/health/policy/10health.html (This Man Has Been Lifting Weights and Doing Cocaine All Day)<br /><br />If there is a backlash, it's coming from critics who say that it shouldn't be the role of government or business to pry into the personal health of its employees. Fair enough, Bob Barr. It makes sense that Big Bro doesn't need to know about my morning sugar intake, nor about the Tuesday Happy Hour gone awry. However, adding on-site gym facilities or offering incentives for taking part in company health programs can only help.<br /><br />If you want to argue it a different way just think of the well-balanced person as a more productive person. Personal health breeds personal well-being which breeds productivity in the work place. And I'd be willing to bet there are a wealth of studies that exemplify this. One auxillary, yet profound benefit is the effect on others. There is personal production, and there is group production. One's mood and actions effect others whether one likes it or not.<br /><br />So, my thoughts? This is worth corporate tax benefits. This is worth throwing money after because if implemented and managed well, it will save lots of money in the long-term. However, like anything government or the individual spends good money on, it is completely necessary to be smart about the implementation policies. One size does not fit all and policy needs to reflect that. Not more governing or less governing, lets go with smarter governing.<br /><br />Happy Mom's Day!<br /><br />http://jumpcut.com/view/?id=90C87DD4783511DCB237000423CF381CNiche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1359772161033606738.post-55505945796337148242009-05-08T18:04:00.000-07:002009-05-08T18:59:48.775-07:00SOAKSometimes thinking can hurt,<br />the basis of neurosis,<br />Forest was onto something.<br /><br />Tomorrow is 24<br />and,<br />no Jack Bauer I am.<br />Maybe,<br />there's a connection though,<br />after all, he's 42.<br /><br />Just<br />go.<br /><br />Away<br />brain.<br /><br />Take a nap.<br />Your job isn't to win,<br />not even most of the time.<br /><br />You have to sleep, too.<br />And let the ignorant ones handle the grave yard shift.Niche Playerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17274852140960520080noreply@blogger.com1