This is my latest entry for Brickfish’s “Photo Crashers” Campaign.

This picture was taken during our NorCal Senior High Camp at Lake Shasta. Because we bathe in the lake we thought it would be fun to get a group together. We decided to wash in stages and took pictures before we jumped into the lake to wash off. We had no idea that the guy behind us (the camp liked to call him “The Bear” or “Grizzly Adams”) was there.

Please vote for my entry here: A Bear in Our Bath

Please tell others to vote for me…I could get a scholarship for $400!! Remember you can also vote every day!

Thanks!

I dreamt of being a lot of things when I was younger.  The world had so much potential and I could’ve been anything.  Some days I was. When I played  with all my friends and I was anything and everything.  I was a doctor, zombie, pirate and everything in-between.  Some things seemed to stick in my head over the years, and were’nt just empty wishes, but actual possibilities.  I’ve learned to never quit dreaming, because each day has just as much potential as it did then.

This is #8 on my countdown of my Top 10 Childhood Dream Jobs.

Park Ranger

Yellowstone.

I’ve always wanted to protect pic-a-nic baskets from unsuspecting bears with ties.  My family did a lot traveling when I was younger.  We went to a slew of National Parks and Forests.  As a kid those things are great.  I remember driving through an area called “Bear Country”.  It was a place where the bears roamed free and you were driving through a whole mess of bears.  A better version of Jurassic Park without the death and dinosaurs.

I love the outdoors.  I would sleep with my window open every night if I could. I just seem to sleep better and wake up easier.  Even if I’ve been sleeping on the hard ground all night I just love to be outside.

Hiking, fishing, camping,  and eating things that most people wouldn’t (thanks Bear Grylls).  That’s what the outdoors is all about.  I thought that being a park ranger would be a cool job.  It didn’t look like work to me.  It looked like one of the best jobs of all times.

Plus park rangers don’t live in cities, they live with nature.  I’ve always thought it would be cool to be like Grizzly Adams and hang out with the bears.  To me it didn’t look like a job as much as it looked like a lifestyle that I wish I had.

now…

Well this dream isn’t completely dead.  I bet I could retire to be a park ranger, but I don’t know how that really works.  If I could live up in some mountain range and spend the rest of my old days there I think It’d be nice, but my friends would all have to have houses on the same mountain and we’d all get together on the weekends and have a pot-luck dinner.  That right there… is perfect bliss.

And the part about hanging out with the bears is a little far fetched.  Bears would rather rip off my face than hang out… according to science.

You know it!

Sometimes I wonder if I’d like to be a mime. For those of you who know me, you know that this is impossible. Thanks to a fake medical condition, if I don’t talk I will die.  But still the idea appeals to me, they seem to live a very satisfied life. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a mime complain about how life was going. Perhaps that’s because they can’t talk, or rather choose not to. Mimes can talk, mutes cannot. Which leads to another point, it’s interesting how “mute” is the only disability to make it onto a remote control.

But remote controls aside, I’m having somewhat of an identity crisis. And by crisis, I mean more of a trivial collection of almost ideas. My hair has been growing, I know, you’re as shocked as I am. As a result my mom has been telling me to cut it. Which I’ll probably do sometimes in the near future, since it is getting simply too long. But people have been telling me that I look like certain celebrities, many of which have names starting with “H”.

First I heard I look like Sam Roberts, granted his name doesn’t start with an ”H”, and according to my friend Jenna Lane, I look nothing like him. Based purely on the fact that she thinks he is hot, and I am not.

Next I was called, Hamlet, now I’m not sure how to take this, number one, Hamlet is not real. Number 2 if he was real, he’s dead. Number 3 Mel Gibson played Hamlet, and although some people think he’s quite the hairy chested hunk, he’s severely short. I think over all I’ll take it as a compliment, as long as it comes from someone named Ophelia.

Next was Harry Potter, I’m not taking that one as a compliment. In fact I’m not sure if I’d consider that one even legitimate, since Harry Potter with all his magical powers still cannot grow any facial hair. Now I, by no means, am the Grizzly Adams of facial hair, but still my patchy scruff totally rocks Potter’s teen stache like a Chuck Norris round house kick of power. Plus, you’d think if Harry had magical powers he would avoid that awkward mid-pubescent voice he’s had in past movies. Also he would probably have a much better hair cut, which may be where I’ve been getting the Harry Potter look alike references. I gotta get this hair cut.

Finally there is Han Solo. I much prefer him over all the “H” celebs, or rather characters. He is probably the coolest character to ever emerge from Star Wars, well Yoda was pretty cool, but he was short and had epically large ears. 2 traits I’m not too keen on possessing. But seriously Han Solo could do the Kessel run in like less than 12 parsecs. Which are units of distance not time, so don’t get it twisted. Plus unlike Luke Skywalker, he didn’t kiss his sister. Also he ends up getting Luke’s sister as his wife and becomes like king of the universe or something. So why not, plus Harrison Ford is probably one of the coolest people on the planet, even off of the planet.

But yeah I’m not sure, who I am, maybe I’ll make my mom proud, cut my hair, and become Jesse again. Then I can finally destroy country music once and for all. Sorry if you like it, it’s great drinking music apparently, well at least that’s all I feel like doing when I listen to it. That and crying, mainly because the music is painful, pain makes me want to cry, and drinking could make some of that pain go away. I suppose it is painful music for people who are in pain. I’m sorry if you like country music, for 2 reasons, #1 one because I’m making fun of it, and #2 it’s country music. Most of the singers sound as if a wild animal has wandered into their pants and turned it into their fight club. Now I know I’m not supposed to talk about fight club outside of fight club, but that’s the only explanation for those wailing melodies that come out of their mouths. Maybe I just don’t get country music, then again I’ve never understood how people could be attracted to their relatives.

MUAH!!

Casey Anderson, a modern-day Grizzly Adams, picked a half-ton bear to be best man at his wedding to Hollywood actress, Missi Pyle.

Anderson 33, hand-reared Brutus from a cub after he was born into captivity and faced euthanasia because he couldn’t be released into the wild.

The pair have become so close that the seven-foot eight inch grizzly bear was best man at his wedding to the 36-year-old actress.

Brutus, who weighs 900lbs (0.45 tonnes), stole the show at the marriage in Swan Valley, Montana, where he ate the wedding cake in front of 85 guests.

Naturalist Casey, who lives in Montana, America, even admitted he even owed his “best friend” Brutus for introducing him to his future wife.

He said: “When Brutus was born, it was a dead end street because he couldn’t be released into the wild so had to remain in captivity or be euthanased.

“So I came up with the idea to rescue him and build a home to save other grizzly bears and since then he’s completely changed my life.

“I take him for long walks. I swim with him and I’ve even started teaching him how to fish. I feel like his father in a way – but in reality I’m more of his friend.

“Now I owe him for introducing me to my wife and he was best man at my wedding – he really has changed my life.

“With other bears he plays rough but I’m not scared of him because when I wrestle him he knows he needs to be a lot more gentle.

“He doesn’t want to hurt the people that he loves and I think he does love me after all the years and time we have spent together. He’s my best friend.”

http://alphainventions.com/entertainment.xml 

When I was younger and still prone to bouts of hippiness, I imagined that, if I ever found myself in need of any kind of advice, I would seek out a Wise Man on some mountain somewhere. And that after several days hard climbing that mountain, I would find myself sitting the feet of a man who didn’t look entirely unlike Grizzly Adams and who imparted the Wisdom of the Ages to me, possibly through the power of song and/or harmonica solo.

I certainly never would have imagined that I would ever find myself, as I did the other day, sitting across a boardroom table from two men in expensive suits with a bowl of individually wrapped Mentos between us and a sweeping view of the city behind us, having merely pushed the elevator button for the “32nd floor” to get there. 

And, most certainly, I would never have imagined – in either scenario – that I would be taking notes about my future financial security with one of those free pencils the kids got to draw on the paper table cloth at La Porchetta. And that it would break half-way through. 

So how the hell did this happen? Because the bank told me to do it (although, admittedly, the pencil was the only thing in my handbag I had to write with other than a squashed easter egg).

“Now, NDM,” I can hear Those People pipe up again in that patronising way of theirs. “If the bank told you to jump off a cliff, would you do it?”

No of course not, people. Sheesh! I really truly had to do it in order to finalise settlement on our investment property. As “guarantor” for my husband’s loan, I was required to seek “independent financial advice” so that I couldn’t later go into court and say “Oh, my husband made me sign that form. What would I know about such matters? I’m Just A Simple Housewife!” and giggle into my ironed and lavender-scented handkerchief. 

So that’s why I found myself “talking money” for One Whole Hour. And not just talk money in a “What if we won the lottery…” fantasy way, but in a sensible “Let’s look at income protection insurance” kind of way. Yes, it really was that stimulating.

It was little wonder then that I found myself going a little mini-break of the mind, as is my way. I began thinking that if I were getting financial advice from Grizzly Adams, how there would have at least been a little bit of excitement since he was on the run from the law and everything. And there was always a chance that some “crazy little critter” might just crawl out of his ample beard. That’s worth staying awake for, surely. 

But then I thought that if Grizzly Adams really was my advisor, I’d probably be thinking “Man, I’m not sure I should be listening to you about what to do with my money if you can’t even afford a razor. And not only does that colleague of yours call himself  ’Mad Jack’ but he appears to be riding a donkey. I mean, what’s up with that shit?”. 

So I guess that’s why people end up going into the city to meet with cleanly-shaven men about Money – because their fancy offices, nice suits, individually-wrapped sweets and exhorbident charging structures show that they know how to make, keep and use the stuff. 

But I tell you one thing: if I ever need advice on how to tame a bear just by looking at him, I know who I’ll be going to.

They're just Good Friends, okay?

My frustration level is at its highest point since being laid off Oct. 2 and rising by the minute.

Head about to explode

I’m starting to wonder if an e-mailed résumé or cover letter could possibly pose the threat of anthrax. Since 2009 started, I’ve probably sent out about 70 résumés and have yet to get a single response — zero e-mails, zero phone calls. I have never experienced a streak like this.

I’m not bombarding the Internet with résumés: I’m only applying for jobs with requirements that I can match. If the requirements include experience or degrees I don’t possess, I don’t bother applying. So why am I going through this run of futility?

The last time I shaved was on New Year’s Eve. My running joke has been that I’m growing a protest beard until my next interview. The protest beard may go by the wayside very soon, as I’m really starting to resemble Grizzly Adams.

Grizzly Adams

I’m not claiming to be the perfect being, but I don’t understand how I can go this long without a single response. This sucks.

With more and more people getting laid off every day, a friend of mine organized a lunch for the unemployed of Hoboken today, and it was great to get out of the house, get some food from my favorite Chinese restaurant in town (Precious) and converse with living beings that don’t have four paws and fur (no offense, Trouble and 8-Ball).

I only knew one of the six other people there, but I was impressed with how bright and talented everyone seemed to be. Unlike some of the dolts I encountered at the mandatory career-counseling session I attended in November, everyone at the table — myself included, I hope — really seemed to have their act together. I don’t know if it helps that a lot of intelligent people are sharing my plight, but at least I’m not alone.

A funny thing happened at the lunch meeting, too. As I said, I only knew one person, but I was positive I recognized another one of the women and couldn’t place where. Then, when she said her name, it all fell into place.

It must have been about five or six years ago, when I was putting myself through the hell of online dating. While browsing through the available females in Hoboken, I kept coming back to one especially stunning picture. I took a shot and e-mailed her, but she never wrote back.

I doubt she remembered me, between the passage of time and the Grizzly Adams beard I’ve been sporting, so there was no awkwardness whatsoever. I know I don’t remember most of the people I “conversed” with via online dating. And I’m obviously happily dating my girlfriend, so I had no regrets. The picture didn’t lie, though: She was beautiful.

It’s a small world, but the unemployed portion of it seems to be expanding exponentially.

By Carrie Waite

Growing up as a little one in the 1970s, my father ALWAYS had a beard. Always, in some form, in some various stage of growth, he was hairy and scary. I had this photograph of him that I was slightly obsessed with because you could actually see his bare face in it. It was either a mugshot or one of those photo booth pics. Let’s go with mugshot.  And I really hated his beard. Every time he’d pick me up for one of those “Dad Weekends”, he would insist on kissing my delicate little face and it felt like sandpaper ripping my skin off. But now, I seem to surround myself with the very thing that frightened me as a little girl. Hairy scary men.

So, tonight we started talking about how all the bands that are popping up in my iPod mix freaking have beards (maybe we’ll cover the ironic mustache trend in a future post, but don’t get me started on that right now). Half the magazine covers at Borders sport a beard (either a beard or Obama this week).

Death Cab For Cutie on The Big Takeover, Fleet Foxes on Under The Radar and even Zach Braff was all sorts of fuzzy on the cover of Geek Monthly. I heard your band must have at least one bearded member to get signed to Sup Pop nowadays and the New World Brewery is like a gang, no make that a secret club for boys with beards most nights. It makes me jealous that I can’t grow one.  

I admit it.  I think beards are pretty sexy, now. Even the scraggly, unkempt ones can have a certain Grizzly Adams charm to them. What is it about the beard? Is it simply a fashion accessory? A resurgent cultural phenomenon? Just plain laziness (this one gets my vote)? Damn manly though, if you ask me.  

Perhaps it’s a sign that my beloved indie-rock has become a “mature” genre. God forbid, are we getting old? Why do all my favorite men look homeless?

Sexiest beard has to be Dave Grohl’s

This was the second year that i celebrated Christmas with a  “Christmas Horror” night. Yeah i know what you’re thinking, maybe we could have watched Scrooged, Black Christmas, Silent Night Deadly Night or even Gremlins right? WRONG! I wanted something special this year and what’s more amazing than watching a chain smoking “Grizzly Adams” battle evil nazi Elves on christmas eve?!! Yeah this little jem of a movie from 1988 is simply titled “Elves” and it delivered the goods!

The premise is simple, a teenage girl figures out that she is the spawn of  a sinister Nazi experiment which involves human breeding with demonic elves attempting to create a race of superhumans. Her and two of her skanky-ass friends decide to spend the night in a department store hoping to get laid by a group of teenage douche bags  in the sporting goods section. But instead they discover they are trapped inside with a crazy horny elf and a group of neo Nazi’s hellbent on getting this little horndog laid on christmas eve to officially start the master race.  Their only hope is Dan Hagerty(hell yeah- TV’s Grizzly Adams!) who plays a down on his luck, chain smokin’,  homeless,  recovering  alcoholic,  ex-con,  ex-cop who is currently trying to hold down a job as the department store’s Santa Claus. Really now does it get any better than that?

Well first i think it would be a great tradition every Christmas to make this movie into a drinking game: take a swig every time ol’ Grizzly Adams lights up a cigarette! I guarantee by the end of the movie you will be completely beligerently drunk!!  Yes Grizzly smokes as much as he can and anywhere he damn well feels like it!! Also i am not entirely sure why this movie is called Elves when in actuality there is only one elf wreaking havoc in the entire film. I must say thought the elf is pretty rad-you only ever really see his upper body and at times his hand and sometimes his feet scampering across the floor. I am a big fan of bad rubbery looking movie monster puppets and if you’re into that as well this movie will not disappoint.

Either way i suggest next Christmas time everyone  check out this movie to lively up the holiday season! This movie is only available on VHS right now so it may be a bit hard to track down. Hopefully next year everyone will be able to enjoy it on dvd.

Check out this scene as ol’ Grizzly drills this dude about the elves in front of his children at Christmas dinner!!!!  Surprisingly enough Grizzly doesn’t light up a smoke in this particular guy’s house-but if you watch closely at the 1:53 mark you will see he’s got one ready-impressive!

When I first saw this picture I thought, “Huh, guess they’re finally doing that Unibomber movie!” But then I remembered that Joaquin Phoenix has retired from acting, so the Grizzly Adams ‘do is apparently just a fashion statement.

A rejected hockey player puts his skills to the golf course to save his grandmothers house. Studio: Uni Dist Corp. (mca) Release Date: 08/23/2005 Starring: Adam Sandler Run time: 92 minutes Rating: Pg13

Adam Sandler fans are sure to enjoy this no-brainer comedy, but everyone else is strongly advised to proceed with caution. Before scoring a more enjoyable hit with his 1998 comedy The Wedding Singer, the former Saturday Night Live goofball played Happy Gilmore, a hot-tempered guy whose dreams of hockey stardom elude him. But when he discovers his gift for driving golf balls hundreds of yards, he joins a pro tour to win the prize money needed to rescue his beloved grandma’s home from IRS repossession. The trouble is, Happy’s not so happy. He’s got a temper that frequently flares on the golf course (he even dukes it out with celebrity golfer Bob Barker), but a retired golf pro (Carl Weathers) and a compassionate publicist (Julie Bowen) help him to perfect his putting game and adjust his confrontational attitude. How much you enjoy this lunacy depends on your tolerance for Sandler’s loudmouthed schtick and a shocking number of blatant product-placement endorsements, but if you’re looking for broad comedy you’ve come to the right teeoff spot. –Jeff Shannon

Happy Gilmore (Widescreen Special Edition) is available at Amazon for $6.99. To Order click here
Amazon Product Pages contain a lot of other details on this product as Customer Reviews, Sales Ranking, Special Offers, Alternate products that customers are going for and much more.Want to read these details? click here

Want to get some other Format / Binding / Version? You can search for them from here

Other Products of Interest

• Billy Madison (Widescreen Special Edition)
• The Waterboy
• Caddyshack
• The Wedding Singer
• Big Daddy

On Thursday night I went to Russia House with a girl I met recently. I tried out some dark Russian beer, and chatted about life. Before I left, I saw my ex-girlfriend downstairs sitting with a group of people at a table. When I saw her, her face was animated and she was obviously talking about something of importance. It looked like she was at the tail-end of a campaign speech, or in the middle of proving a major point. Either way, I walked over, and waved at her. In her peripheral vision, she noticed me, but she looked shocked. Actually she looked exposed, but I don’t know why.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
“I can’t even tell you right now.” I said with a smile.
“We’ll talk later.” She said somewhat abruptly.
I left, and ended up partying in Dupont for the rest of the night. But the next day, her statement knocked around my skull like a loose screw in a car engine. We don’t talk. We don’t even gchat. I’ve probably received one unsolicited call from her in the last two years. Why would she talk to me after running into me at the Russia house? Her expression weirded me out a bit. She almost seemed frightened to see me.
This made me think about the nature of things people say, and what they mean. We are so tied up with the way we communicate; people act weird around people they like, most women are afraid of the men they love, but an interesting stranger is always a good bet eh?
This is on my mind for a little bit on Friday night as well. Its cold and I don’t want to stay home. Staying home alone on a Friday night reminds me of too many past relationships. Too many winters were I had someone warm to keep me happy as bitter cold raged outside.
Earlier in the evening, I had another awkward moment.
I was near Howard University, eating a chicken sandwich. For most of the day I’ve felt light-headed, and the sandwich isn’t helping. I’m sitting there, watching a re-run of Smart Guy on a flat screen a few feet away, and my phone buzzes. It’s a text message from a girl I know, Q.
We were supposed to go to a bar for some early drinks, but I guess the cold killed that plan. The text reads:
Why don’t you come to my house. I have Gin, but no Tonic.
.This request seems reasonable, because its God awful cold outside. But moments after I arrive at the house, I realize a few things were off.  The first thing she asked me was if I’d been to the house before. I said no (her roommate is a friend of mine). The second thing that happened was said roommate, D, came home roughly eight minutes after I arrived. When he saw me in the kitchen drinking a gin and ginger ale with his roommate, I could see he didn’t expect me to be there.
As time passed, I didn’t even feel like I was there. They talked amongst themselves about little things; a missing sponge, some smoky chicken that was cooked a few days back; getting drunk on a Thursday, typical stuff.

It was almost voyeuristic, watching the cute yet intimate interaction of roommates on a Friday evening. Occasionally I tried to say a few things, but I didn’t think I had much to contribute. I started to wonder if I was intruding in some way. Even though I was invited into the house I felt as if I had strolled in of my own accord, loud and insistent, violating space.

My social intuition told me to leave (by now I’m sure D assumed I was trying to hookup with his roommate, but later I’d find out he didn’t even care) but the cold kept me inside. I popped out my laptop at some point and diddled on the internet.
D started watching the Jim Lehrer news hour and Q started using her laptop. I was a few feet away, sitting in the kitchen.  Then I also realized I’d never seen Q in a calm social setting before. I had only seen her at wild parties, where we gave each other drunken hellos and sprinkled random statements over the moment like beer foam.

The evening progressed into a strange dialogue that made me feel as if I was spiraling into and old yet  familiar place. Even though we chatted about normal things; something wasn’t clicking. Whatever good intentions had brought me to the house, it was backfiring fast. Conversation lagged, and I tried a little harder to make things work. This didn’t work;she look bored and a little frustrated. With all my life experience, for a little while I fell back into a childish naiveté. I wanted to know where the dark cloud came from, what was happening and why the early evening was quickly slipping into darkness. This didn’t happen, and I sensed it was time to leave.

“I have to meet someone else pretty soon.” she said.

I nodded. I felt this was an indirect (albeit polite) way to say it was time for me to go. This didn’t bother me. As adults when we are in socially awkward situations, we don’t have to talk about them, we just nicely tell the person to leave. Problem solved.

I started putting my winter gear on. I was still curious about what happened. I paused in the doorway for a moment as I headed out. (Like I said, childish naiveté). Like a young psychologist, I wanted to know what was happening. Was it bad energy? Body language? Something else? I asked her. So I said, “I feel awkward. Is something wrong? If so, please tell me. I’m very curious.”
She stood up for a moment, and sighed.
“You are a cool and interesting and all that, but maybe I’m just not a nice person.” She replied. I paused for a second. I would have scratched my head but I had my gloves and a hat on.

I didn’t really know what this meant. I’m not sure if anyone has ever told me something like  that. I thought she was cool, the statement made things a little more fuzzy. I thought she was a nice person. We were supposed to hang out at a bar. I think it was the house. Something about being there made things weird. Bloody cold weather!

As I turned to leave, I felt slightly worried. I wondered if my friend thought I was trying to hook up with his roommate, and what the subsequent fallout would be. As I walked down some cold dark steps towards the street I heard her voice behind me. “ Have a good night.” She said.
I walked towards Georgia avenue, heading back home. In my mind I wondered, “what just happened?”
I wasn’t upset, because I know that some groups of people just can’t communicate. They are like fire and ice. Oil and water. We must have been like that.
I thought about how happily D and Q had chatted to each other. It was like watching a sitcom, minus the Prague laughter. I thought of my living situation. My house is quiet, and my roommates are all but invisible. There is no happy morning greeting, no laughs about a missing sponge or a smoky pot, no outings on a Friday night. The house like many in DC; large, empty and cold. Every now and then I might hear laughter upstairs, or the sound of a television from a room downstairs. Sometimes, there are breaks in the silent moments. I might play some music, or I’ll hear the blare of a siren outside. If it’s windy, the shutters will rustle. My space heater hums. When my micro fridge resets itself, I hear a little clink. That’s about it.
Maybe at D’s house I had stepped into that little comfort space that people normally don’t see. That intimate side of people who live together, only seen by the clock on the wall. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to see it. Maybe that caused the cloud.

*  *  *
I go home and drop asleep for a few hours. When I wake up, there is a text message on my phone.
Its from a friend, Liz. My roommates and I are going to Wonderland, the text reads. I see it as a good sign. I head to wonderland, doing a light jog in the freezing weather to the metro station. I have a six minute wait at the train station. When I reach the bar, as usual its packed. I go upstairs and grab a drink. I’m still mulling over a few things in my head. I’m worried that I’ve somehow put a dark smear on my relationship with two people I thought were cool, and I keep thinking about what my ex-girlfriend said at Russia House.
.Its possible she saw the girl behind me and felt awkward, or maybe one of the guys at the table was her boyfriend and she didn’t want him to see me, I dunno. But something about what she said seemed rushed, and dismissive. I wondered why she looked so surprised to see me. I do live in DC after all.
.I grab a beer and stand watching the crowd. Tonight is not a night for dancing. The makeup of the crowd is a little odd. Mostly guys and girls with short hair cuts dressed like guys. It dawns on me that it’s a gay night.
The lesbian couples are semi-obvious. For the most part there is one girl dressed like a guy, then a cute (more “standard looking”) girl dancing with her. On nights like these, I feel as if I’m doing something fundamentally wrong. These women are happily making out, hooking up and going out. A girl who dresses like a man can get laid, but a guy who is simply a guy has to fight and cajole and twist things around to even get a half decent hello.
I feel like leaving, but Liz sends me a  text. (They actually went to Local 16 on U street). We are coming to the Wonderland now.
I chill for a bit and the music gets better. Somewhere on stage, a person hits the light switch, and the entire dancing area is cast into shadow. On cue, people start making out. A tall mocha-looking guy is making out with a short brunette beside me. On stage, a girl dressed like Andre 3000 is making out with another girl while they dance. More girls are kissing girls, and couples are kissing each other. I feel empty watching these people embrace. I would leave, but it’s so cold outside, and all I have is my quiet room to go to.
The DJ starts playing some reggae music, and I amuse myself by singing along. A scruffy looking guy comes over and hands me a flyer. “This is my party, we’ll be playing a lot of 70’s reggae music. You should check it out.” He says. I smile and say “Respect.” But I can’t bear to tell him I don’t really like 70’s reggae music. I find it depressing.
Liz and her two roommates arrive. They are both gay. It fits the theme of the night. They dance energetically to the music and disappear into the folds of the crowd. I see a girl come upstairs. I recognize her as Anna. There was a night last year she was all over me then gave me her number. I saw her the next day at a house party and she pretended not to know me. She is with her boyfriend. He looks like John Heder.
Guys in the bar are working hard to get laid, but I see that most of them will go home alone. We are such awkward creatures; we go to tiny spaces to consume chemicals that dull our senses, then stand in close proximity to other people to get a sense of community.
Freaky.
At some point, someone touches me. It’s a girl I recognize. She says a quick hello and disappears. A part of me wants to dance with Liz, but she’s betrothed to someone else, so I leave her alone. Her roommate is dancing very intimately with her, but he’s gay, so that’s cool.
After standing by the water cooler for ten minutes, I decide to bounce. I tell Liz goodbye and head downstairs. I see my friend. “I could really use a cup of tea.” I say to her. She lives a block away. “I have a long walk ahead.”She opens her mouth and makes the sound you hear when someone is feeling sad on 70’s Tv: “Whaap, whaap, whaaaaap.”
“You don’t have any tea?” I ask her.  She nods no. “No coffee?” she nods no again.
I realize she thinks I’m asking her to come over to her place using tea as a bogus excuse. “Hey its not like that, I’m just cold.” I say to her.
“Whaap whaap whaaap.” She says again. “I’m going to find my friend upstairs.” She says, and walks away without saying goodbye.
Whatever, I tell myself.
These things don’t sting me anymore. I don’t think people are inherently mean, confused or bad. I just think that as you grow older you care a lot less about things. Everyday you hear that people die, get shot, are raped, murdered, starving, bankrupt, homeless and ill. Can you really spend time caring about a negative statement? A random run-in? Or even think about someone you once loved? Probably not.
All you want on a cold night is someone to snuggle with. Someone to wake up naked with and smile at in the morning while you make tea and eat waffles after morning sex.
I walk back home, and surprisingly its not as cold. The wind has stopped and the blocks go by in a blur.  A few weeks ago on a night like this I would feel as if I wanted to escape, as if the events around me were a representation of who I was, but I know this isn’t true. Its just one of those Friday nights, when you have a few drinks, listen to a little music, and think about life.
Then you go home, crawl into bed and sleep.

Dear Laurie,

Did you see this article about the officer who was suspended because of his mustache? This doesn’t seem right. Could this happen in corporate America?

I am growing a killer beard right now and don’t want to shave it off when I return to work from my leave. This is a big blow to all of us sporting Grizzly Adams beards or rockin’ 80’s mustaches! What can we do to prevent consequences like this (aside from the obvious)?

- The Corporate Manscaper

*
Dear Manscaper,

Companies are bossy and love dictating the terms & conditions of your appearance. It is easier than running a debt-free, totally accountable, efficient organization.

There are existing policies on the books of most organizations that speak to clothing, piercings, tattoos, and facial hair — especially when facial hair compromises the safety & quality of products. Most companies will offer religious and cultural exemptions related to the dress code policy just to keep the lawyers off their backs. Here is the HR secret of the day: no one cares about your facial hair unless it’s gross.

My thoughts? if your nose hair blends in with your mustache, you have serious issues beyond employment.

Love,
Laurie

Last night as I read my favourite blogs, Eddie cheered the Warriors to victory over the Roosters, and I wondered… “Are TVNZ playing reruns of Grizzly Adams, and capturing the manly hearts of a whole new generation of New Zealanders?!” 

The inspiration?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The inspired?

First off, what passes today for country music is not country music. It is southern pop.

A female country singer should not be better looking than Brett Butler, and IF a male country singer happens to be handsome, he must cover his face with at least a mustache if not a full Grizzly Adams beard or sport a mullet. That being the case, we can guesstimate that there has been no genuine country music made since 1995, when that little twat Shania Twain came along and made record execs everywhere cream their pants. Country AND pop?

And so began the decline of country’s more homely elite. Garth Brooks attempted to enter the pop universe with an alter ego ‘Chris Gaines’. Unfortunately this lowered his status from ‘untouchable god’ to ‘retarded bear’ and he was forced into hibernation. Reba McEntire had to take up sitcom acting to make a living. Billy Ray Cyrus ignored child-labor laws and sent his own daughter to work in the slave factory known as The Disney Channel. And as for the four-some Alabama, no one is quite sure what happened to them. Some speculate that they just went home, to New Jersey.

The loss of these unsightly angels has ripped the soul from country music. A country music song is usually about one of three things; A) a sad story; B) drinking because you are sad; and C) Jesus. And therein lies the problem. Sure anyone can sing about Jesus, but what do beautiful people have to be sad about? I would say nada, but I am not spanish so I will say nothing. Only someone who looks like Travis Tritt can sing about despair and keep it really real.

I hope that one day country will rediscover its slack-jaw, low-brow, beer-bellied roots. But until then you can find me drinking lots of Jim Beam and singing Garth Brooks ‘Night Rider’s Lament’ at the top of my lungs. Yoodle-lay-hee-dee-hoo-dee-hoo!

The Latest News From Jackson Press – The Winter Lull

Good day from Jackson Press!

We’re writing you from grey, dismal central Ohio, typical for January, although the weather is warm (almost in the 50’s). Warm enough for motorcycle riding, if the roads weren’t wet and rain wasn’t in the forecast.

My Winter Lull is beginning to kick in and it’s getting hard to get motivated to do anything. Partial hibernation, I call it. You know what I’m talking about – sleeping longer hours and enjoyably eating fattening foods as one follows their more primitive instincts. I’m even tempted to grow my beard and hair out (what hair I still possess!) to better resemble Grizzly Adams. Click here if you don’t remember those “two fabulous seasons” of “The Life and Times of Grizzly Adams”.

It’s been thirty years since that show aired, Hollywood! High time for a remake, don’t you think?! Remakes – that unimaginative, age-old Hollywood tradition of raiding the mediocre past to create new, super expensive, less-than-mediocre products! God bless Hollywood’s general lack of creativity, which keeps those older, less than fantastic shows, like Battlestar Galatica (which is a fantastic show, despite the Hollywood remake stigma), Charlie’s Angels, and Miami Vice alive as viable, money-making ventures!

Perhaps the new Grizzly Adams could be a hipped-up, modernized, big screen remake starring George Clooney? Grizzly Adams could be an avid environmentalist Ph. D extremist who lives alone in the Sierra Nevada wilderness, apart from the materialistic world the rest of us inhabit, campaigning ardently and surreptitiously with his partner (not pet!), a cyborg human-grizzly bear hybrid.

And the cyborg bear-human can possess the brain of his beloved best friend Sam (life partner?) in the partial robotic body of the grizzly bear, and both Sam and the grizzly could both have been fatally injured together in a mudslide caused by the lack of topsoil from over harvesting of trees and widespread wildfires. And it is this accident that acts as the trigger that pushed Adams over the edge, forcing him to fight back against corporate greed and wanton human consumption!

And in the series premier, Grizzly Adams, blessed with dual Ph.D’s in extreme advanced biology and experimental cybernetics, has to surgically place Sam’s brain into the bear’s body, after replacing all of the bear’s injured body parts with custom-created bionic parts, giving the now super-human (?) bear the brain of his best friend and the strength and agility of ten grizzly bears!

There, Hollywood! I’ve done all the hard work, crafting the basic concepts and giving you the foundation to build on. All I ask for is prominent credit and maybe $25K, in cash, a cheap payoff for such a fantastic concept!

In other news, the bathroom remodeling is finally in it’s final stages. Yes, it is still progressing, a week-plus after we started. We had to give the grout time to cure (3 days), then the grout sealer needed time to cure (24 hours), and yesterday we had to redo the drywall where the tile and old wall board come together, giving the joint compound time to dry (overnight).

Today we’re ready to caulk and paint. Caulking’s my job; painting’s the wife’s job. Hopefully I can take the inaugural shower in it in a couple days and then we can all stop sharing the master bath (no, not simultaneously). Then I can rest a while before the next major undertaking here at Jackson Acre, and maybe even do something fun!

The Name Plate Saga continues and now Miller’s mad. Thanks for reading!

Hopeful Hollywood Creative Genius!

Schwache Vorstellung von den Grizzlys. Aber das ist nur die Meinung eines Eishockeyregelkundelernenverweigerers. Jedoch sah man diese Aggressivität…

…viel zu selten. Schade das. Denn so schlecht waren sie gar nicht. Lange nicht dort gewesen, konnte ich dennoch kein Glück bringen. Schade. Wir verfolgen das weiter…

[UPDATE 23.11.2007: Auch gegen die Metro Stars verloren. Doppelmist.]

[UPDATE 25.11.2007: ...und noch ein 0:5 gegen die Eisbären hinterher. Aua.]