Five Things That Amuse Me

1. When people open their car doors at the bank drive-through
2. When a driver changes lanes in order to be first at the light, and then he/she goes slower than the cars in the other lane when the light turns green
3. When people try to pass on the right on the interstate, only to get stuck behind somebody else
4. When a driver blows by me like I'm sitting still, and then I see him/her a few minutes later on the side of the road busted for speeding
5. When a person parks over the line and then flips out because my vehicle is within the lines, but only 5 inches from his/her vehicle

You Say It's Your Birthday...

I turned 34 today. Nobody has asked me if I feel any older or different yet, but I'll go ahead & answer anyway. Nope. I still feel the same. I'm still just as tired & worn out as I was when I was 33, 32, 31, etc. Having kids ages a person! In fact, I've discovered that the number of kids one has is inversely proportional to one's energy level. I've been feeling about 65 years old for a few years now.

I suppose I'm safely in my mid-thirties now. Thirty is a big deal. Then I consider 31, 32, & 33 to be early-thirties, 34, 35, & 36 to be mid-thirties, and 37, 38, & 39 to be late-thirties. I now have just a tad under 6 years to go before I hit 40. I think I should begin planning for my mid-life crisis right now so I won't have to stress about it later. Actually, since the average dude in America now lives just over 75 years, my life's midpoint will occur at 37.5, just 3.5 years from now. That's good...that means by the time I turn 40, I'll have my mid-life crisis behind me!

Let's see...what are my options? Leave my wife for a girl half my age? Never. Hop on a plane & travel to Australia? Possibly. Dye my hair? Probably not...with less than 4 years to go, my hair is still 99% brown. Buy a Corvette? Hmmmm...... I've always wanted a ca. 1965 Corvette Stingray convertible in bright red. I think that might just hit the spot! I guess I should start saving a few pennies here & there so I'll be ready for this purchase when the time comes. There's no worse feeling in the world than attempting to buy a ca. 1965 Corvette Stingray convertible in bright red, only to discover you're a few dollars short. It would suck to have to suddenly downgrade to a Chevelle or something.

Anyway, I'll shut up for now & find something more productive to do, such as cracking my knuckles or picking my nose. Tonight I'm going with my family to eat at my favorite restaurant, and I shall be having a margarita or two. Cheers!

This Blog is an Inspiration

I learned last night that my blog is having a profound influence on some people. The drummer in my band told me that after reading "I Need a Haircut," he had a nightmare about me. When he started telling me about the dream, I expected him to say that my hair kept growing until I looked like Chewbacca, and I threatened to tear his arms out of their sockets. Or maybe the part in the blog about my fat-ass gut made him dream that he was in danger of getting swallowed up by its enormity, much like the Sarlacc attempting to consume Lando Calrissian. 

But I was wrong. My drummer buddy dreamed that I never exercised or lost weight, so I had a heart attack & kicked the bucket. He said he woke up confused & couldn't figure out if I was really dead or not. He then advised me to exercise & eat healthy food so his nightmare about me wouldn't become a reality.

I thought that was pretty funny. That's all I wanted to post for now. Now it's time for me to get back to my triple cheeseburger, fried chicken, and 4 pounds of bacon.

Well, This Stinks

Last night my 6-month-old son decided to "do his business" one more time before he went to bed. As he was sitting on my lap, he was straining & grunting. "Greeeeeeeat," I thought. In almost 5 years of being a parent, I still hate changing diapers. I hate it with a burning, flaming passion. In fact, I still cover my nose with my t-shirt when I'm lucky enough to get a gift-wrapped baby bomb. So after the straining & grunting session, I brought my son to the changing table to freshen him up. Little did I know that life as I knew it was about to change.

I unzipped my son's pajamas & began to remove his diaper. It was a lot like opening a gift--a very nasty gift--since I didn't know exactly what to expect. When I pulled that diaper back, I saw the nastiest mess of poo I've ever seen in my life. I dunno what he had eaten last, but it caused him to take the mother of all dumps. I quickly pulled my t-shirt over my nose, pulled out a wipe, and began the fruitless attempt at cleaning the steaming brown pile from his skin. After I pulled out a second wipe, I realized that THERE WERE NO MORE WIPES. After screaming in horror like a little girl, I called for reinforcements. My wife arrived at the scene with a new stack of wipes, but it was too late. Because of my son's glee at being changed, he had begun to move his limbs around as if to dance with joy. And as a consequence, bits of semi-liquid turd began appearing on his feet, his legs, his hands, his stomach, his pajamas, my hands, the changing table's terrycloth cover, and a silk pillow nearby. Holding back my freshly-eaten dinner of tostadas, I quickly finished cleaning his smoking exhaust to the best of my ability while my wife filled the bathtub with water. As he dangled precariously from my outstretched arms, I raced to the bathroom to toss him in the tub. The impromptu bath freed my son from the remainder of his megacrap, and my wife rescued the pajamas & other contaminated objects.

As of right now, I'm still traumatized by this terrible experience. I may seek counseling to help me get through this. I don't know if I'll ever be the same again.

Who Needs Electronic Tuners Anyway?

Now seems like as good a time as any to put in writing the most hysterical and most humiliating gig of my musical career.

About 9 years ago, when I was in the thick of being a full-time musician & gigging 4-5 nights a week, I had a gig at a popular local club. This gig was a little unusual in that I was scheduled to play with the opening group as well as the main band. I had gigged many times with the first band, but this was the second band's first (and last) time performing together. I had recently been a musician on the second band's first album, so this was sort of our big debut. And I need to stress that I had no plans of becoming a permanent member of this group. This was one of my rare good decisions!

I played with the first group, and the gig went well. During the break, I carefully made sure my instruments were in tune for the second band's set. When it was time to crank it up, the lead singer/lead guitarist walked in with a crappy Peavey or Ibanez electric guitar in one hand, complete with unclipped guitar strings protruding wildly from the machine heads, and a tiny practice amplifier in the other hand. The bass player followed with some cheap-ass bass. I knew right away that this was not going to end well.

We started playing a song, and something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Somebody was out of tune. I did a quick tuning check during the song...nope, it wasn't me. Then I realized that the guitar & bass were out of tune. Actually, they were in tune relative to each other, but not to me! During the song, I tried my best to detune my guitar so that it would match their tuning. Every time I thought I was in tune with them, which was actually out of tune, I realized I still needed to detune further. Finally, after one of the songs, one of the other band members realized that something was out of tune. "Look, why don't we all just use my tuner & make sure we're in tune?" I suggested as I held up my trusty electronic tuner. "Nah, we tuned up outside," said the bass player. "We tuned up to this..." And he proceeded to pull a pitch pipe from his pocket & blow into it, as if to demonstrate that it worked. At this point, I didn't know whether he was serious or playing a cruel joke on me. I realized that he was serious! That pitch pipe was so inaccurate, I don't think its notes were on the musical scale.

We made  it through a few more songs and then we took a break. During the break, I chatted with some friends & discussed the horror that was unfolding on the stage. At some point during the break, the singer got word that we didn't need to bother playing again. Apparently he was so upset, he went outside and cried. Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway), we never performed together again. 

This is a story that I'll be telling for decades.