My Name Is Skippy Dammit

Look at this handsome chap posing for his prehistoric mugshot. Sure he has no neck, but have you seen some of those humans playing in the NFL? Magnificent individual, don't you think?

This my friends, is Neanderthal Man. You can call him Skippy, that's what I call him. I read an article today that says scientists have determined that Skippy and his friends weren't dumb, just different. I think it's about damn time that someone finally stepped up and started defending his good name. I have always thought that Neanderthals got a bad rap. You hear people use his name in a derogatory manner all the time. What did Skippy ever do to anyone to deserve this sort of slander? Now scientists have determined that the Skippy clan actually had tools that were every bit as good as Homo-sapiens, perhaps even "more efficient." You can read the article here.

I think it's nice that researchers are able to do this for Skip and his chums. I find it interesting that they spent three whole years re-creating the tools that Skip and Homo used and then compared them against each other. I wonder how long it actually took Skippy to create them. Accounting of course for the whole evolutionary process, I mean, that in and of it's self was a chore. I bet it didn't take him three years to come up with the notion that a sharp rock could cut things. Skippy was probably just shuffling around, hunched over and bare footed, then he stepped on a sharp piece of flint that cut his toe clean off. Despite his trauma he probably thought "Damn, if this rock can cut my toe clean off, I bet I could use it to kill me some 'Macha' (Neanderthal word for Monster) for dinner!

They have decided that the Skipster may have even had a "rudimentary language." You bet your sweet bippy he did. (see Macha) Granted there is no way to prove this, but you have to figure that they could communicate. Although looking at his picture I don't know that Skip was a man of many words. He appears to have an expressive face. His portrait relays a message of unhappiness about something. He's probably like me and doesn't like getting his picture taken, that's what he is communicating to me. Who knows for sure, but I would bet he's a riot at a Neanderthal party.

So raise a glass to Skip and celebrate his existence. Here's to hopes, that science will continue to show the world that we should celebrate not defame, Neanderthal Man!

Bollocks

I accidentally hit myself in the balls today. I really hate when that happens. Fortunately it wasn't a direct hit so I was spared the mind numbing, eye crossing pain, of a bulls eye. Why did God decide to dangle those things on the outside of our bodies, with the thinnest of sacks, no protection whatsoever, and then just for shits and giggles made them the most sensitive spot for pain? He put a woman's ovaries inside her body, why not men? If you punched a woman in the ovaries would they experience the same excruciating pain that men do?
Sure child birth is no picnic, I get it. I witnessed the births of my four children, I don't presume to equate the two at all. I'm just sayin', it really, really, hurts to get hit in the nuts. Women will never understand this pain just as men will never understand the pain of forcing a human baby through their hoo hoo, and for that I thank God.
My wife and I have had this debate for years and we have to agree to disagree. "We get PMS and child birth, it's the least God could do to even the score! Besides it can't hurt that bad." You women have no idea, you can't understand just like we can't. Plus I'm not so sure PMS isn't a punishment for men too! Sure we can pass a kidney stone through our very tiny pee pee hole, they say that hurts like child birth. I don't know and I hope never to find out, but you could certainly ask a women who has done both.

I have to admit that it is pretty humorous to see someone else take a shot in the junk, hell Hollywood has made it a mainstay in movies and television for years. I'm betting that since we get a kick out of watching it, no doubt God thought to himself, "this ought to keep me entertained for a few million years or so."
I played Tennis in high school and took a serve right square in the crotchal region. I believe that was the most intense pain I have ever experienced. While the other guy stood laughing to the point of tears, I rolled around on the court, hands over nuts, (a bit too late for protecting them now) breathless, preparing to meet my maker and give him a good shot to the nards. In retrospect I can laugh about it and use it in my own self deprecation to obtain a chuckle.

Hot August Death

It's a hot August night, reminiscent of a marathon 10 night concert in L.A. from which melodic sounds of Neil Diamond's immortal performance created musical perfection. A screech from a pair of alley cats tussling over a discarded scrap of Mackerel cuts an incision through the din of the city.


A single bead of sweat makes it's way down the temple of a robust, balding man in a dingy white wife beater, as he takes another slow drag from the stump of a cigarette perched between his index finger and thumb. The tattered nylon lawn chair that squats on his stoop groans under his weight as he shifts from right ass cheek to left. A vacant brown bottle lies on it's side, devoid of the amber liquid it once held, while a slight breeze investigates the area and coaxes the bottle into mobility. It quickly surrenders, rattling forward. Suddenly weary of this activity, the breeze moves on, the bottle falls still.

The man flicks the cottony, tar-stained butt of the cigarette towards the sidewalk. It comes to rest near a black ant passing by who wonders, as chicken little did, why the sky is falling. Unconcerned, he continues his quest to find a morsel of food to take back to the colony. The man considers striking up another cig only to have his thought interrupted by the shrill voice of his wife in his head. "Those things are going to kill you some day." The tobacco demands of him, "just one more, I promise I won't tell her." He shakes his head, places the cigarette in his mouth, and strikes the lighter. Instantly, deep within the confines of his thoracic cavity his heart insists on proving the wife's point, it goes into a spasm. The lighter drops from his hand as he clutches his chest in pain, the cigarette still dangling from his lip. He reaches down to pick up the lighter, determined to finish what he started. With the need to prove the point now, the cardio muscles clamp down even tighter as he bends. The inertia from his lean combined with another simultaneous spasm of his heart propels him forward out of the chair and onto the stoop, narrowly avoiding a fall down the steps. He winces in pain as he gasps for air, his lungs have now decided to get in on the act. You see they too have a vendetta for the years of pollutants forced upon them relentlessly. He makes a feeble attempt to call out for assistance, but his lungs won't cooperate, slowly they deflate themselves squeezing the last bit of carbon dioxide out of the grey bubbles that comprise their structure. Even should his lungs be willing to complete their task, it would not matter, for his companion sits in her flower patterned house coat in front of the television, the volume turned up due to deafness that inflicts her ears.

Lying on the stoop, dying on the stoop, he never planned to go like this, he had high hopes for his life, he had plans. Reflections of his life pass through his thoughts. He finds it interesting how they always said that this is what happens when you begin the journey to the great beyond, and suddenly here he lies, his life literally flashing before his eyes. So many wrong turns, so many opportunities passed on, leaving him here. 56 years old and dying in the heat of an August night. Just as Neil's concerts wouldn't soon be forgotten in the minds of some, he too will have those who recall him with fondness. His wife, his daughter who only comes to visit occasionally out of obligation. The occasional friend who would stop by to share a beer and talk about how things used to be. These are the people who will be affected by his demise. These are those who will say I remembered him when. But now here he lies, his years of gluttony and inactivity evident in the lump of fat and flesh that is his stomach, exposed from under his shirt, lying on the cement of a stoop that has seen better days just as he had.

One last gasp, hoping to raise the call of someone who isn't listening, he inhales with every fiber of his stricken being, but to no avail. One last thump in his chest and the blood ceases to run the course it was pre-destined to follow through the highways of his body, thus sustaining life.


A passerby sees the now inanimate lump of flesh lying in the hot darkness of the city and he calls out "are you ok?" No reply, not a sound nor a movement. Reluctant, yet driven by the nature of humans to help another, he cautiously approaches the slumped body, making a quick determination that things are not right and he begins to dial 911 at the same time knocking on a door to solicit help.

The wife shuffles to the door, yelling out "I told you not to lock the door behind you!" As she opens the portal she sees the stranger and the source of her irritation now lying lifeless on the stoop. Her demeanor immediately shifts to an emotion long since dead in her. No! No no no no, she exclaims. Dropping to her knees, sobbing she begins pounding on his chest exclaiming "why" as she reaches into the depths of her grey matter desperately trying to recall how to perform CPR. The stranger notes to her "the ambulance is on it's way" but she fails to hear anything but her own sobs.

In the distance a siren whines. The melodic sounds of Neil Diamond echo through the night air coming from the television in the flat that she must now inhabit alone.

Rich I Am

In honor of the new "improved" 4 day work week and having to drag my ass to work by 7 am I composed a poem, I hope you like.



It's 6 am and time to wake,
get ready for work, with haste I should make.
Stumble out of bed and into the shower,
pause at the mirror a moment to glower.
Water turned on and naked I get,
shower curtain closed and suddenly I'm wet.

I do not feel happy as a clam,
I do not like this 6 am
I do not like it Rich I am.



Out of the shower my teeth I do brush,
the Wife is still sleeping, try to keep it hush hush.
Deodorant and gel, tousled hair is a mess,
off to the closet for now I get dressed.

Frankly Scarlett I don't give a damn,
I do not like this 6 am,
I do not like it Rich I am.



Iron my clothes and button my pants,
I look at my pillow and think, no I can't.
Just a few more minutes is all it would take,
but it is of no use, I'm already awake.

I am a very tired man,
I do not like this 6 am
I do not like it Rich I am.



Garage door opens and car door slams,
it's off to the office without my green eggs and ham.
No coffee, no caffeine not even a drop,
speeding onto the freeway watch out there's a cop.


I should have had some toast with jam,
I do not like this 6 am
I do not like it Rich I am.



It's ok I've made it and it's only day two,
the halls are all vacant, now what should I do?
7 am and not even a peep,
I'm like a Shepard without any sheep.


A baby sheep is called a lamb,
My workers do not like this 7 am
They do not like it Rich I am.



Alas I will blog, there's a thing I enjoy,
like a slinky on Christmas, fun for girl or for boy.
Coffee now brewed and it's starting to kick in,
don't tell my mom she may think it's a sin!


Caffeine is measured in milligrams,
I do not like this 7 am
I do not like it Rich I am.



Only 9 and a half more long hours to work,
under my breath there's a mutter, the Guv is a jerk!
Sure on Friday my tune it may change,
but come Monday morning it will all be the same.


I think this schedule is a sham
I do not like this 6 am
I do not like it Rich I am.

TGIF

This is the end. The last Friday I have to work. Governor Jon M. Huntsman in his infinite wisdom has signed into law that employees of the Great State of Utah will beginning Monday August 4th, 2008 commence a four day work week. Sure we have to now put in 10 hour days to get the hours, God forbid we actually show how progressive we can be by actually pioneering a shorter work week by cutting back the number of hours worked. Everybody knows that government employees don't ever work 40 hours anyway right?

So the reason that you may detect a hint of sarcasm in my writing is that our Division rushed into this proposal by the Guv without fully thinking things through. Hey no skin off my nose, for me it works. Ok granted I am the last person that wants to be in my office by 7 am. I am just not a morning person. (thanks for that mom, why couldn't I get THAT from my father?) Regardless, this new schedule works to my advantage. But several of my compatriots have bigger issues with the new schedule.

You see, people don't stop abusing their children just because the government shuts down. The Guv thinks that this is going to have all sorts of benefits for the workers at the same time saving the State beau coup bucks. Sure in theory it all sounds good, but me, a peon, a virtual nobody, can see all sorts of flaws in the plan. Hell I read the initial proposal and noted right away that there were going to be certain divisions that could be exempt from this. My thoughts were that we would be one of them. Did we ask for this? No! We jumped in with both feet, the train was barreling down and we jumped in front of it. Now we start on Monday and our Division's plan hasn't even been approved by our Department. Some of the things that the Guv has listed in his reasons why this is a good thing are as follows.

Spend more time with your families because you are off on Fridays! Yeah, well in another month the kids will be back in school, sorry, no benefit there. Reduced commuting obligations thereby reducing the impact on the environment? Riiiight, we are all going to sit at home and absolutely go no where. In fact we will probably drive more releasing more emissions into the precious atmosphere. Take that Al Gore.
Offices will be closed thus reducing energy consumption? Ok I'll buy that, but the reality is that those savings are going to minuscule because the fact of the matter is that business must go on, there is still a mandate by statute that says we have deadlines to investigate abuse allegations. This is going to necessitate workers coming into the offices, accessing databases and doing business anyway, not to mention the projected overtime costs because these things occur at intervals that can not be planned for earlier in the week to flex your time to compensate.

I am sure it will all work out. Hell I hope it does, like I said it works for me. I don't have to worry about child care or getting my kids off to school. With any change comes growing pains. It will take some time, there will be some adjustments to be made. In the end, the crown jewel of this whole thing is that about the time we work out all of the kinks, guess what? This is only in effect for 1 year! That's right. 1 year, make all the necessary adjustments and I bet you that all of the headaches and glitches that haven't been thought through will cause him to pull the plug on the deal. Nice, thanks Guv. Even better we could get lucky and he could get defeated in re-election and the new Guv will come in and change everything anyway just like our boy Johnny did. Yep I love working for the government.

1000 Words or Bust

They say a picture paints a thousand words. I have decided to see if this is true. I found this picture on the Internet. I'm not sure whom to give credit to, and if I borrowed it from you I apologize and thank you.

As I stare at this picture, I laugh at the comical element of this proverbial "fat cat" and wonder what he may be thinking. The first thing I think of is the fact that he looks like he just smoked a big ol' fattie blunt and is wondering where the Cheetos are hiding. "Why are you pointing that device at me laughing man? Quit screwing around and pass me the Cheetos man. God I am so wasted. Why is there no hair on my belly? Seriously man where are the Cheetos? Wow I have gloves on my hands. Check this out, mittens. Hey that rhymes with kittens. I used to be a kitten once. Whoa, my belly is so fat, maybe I ate a kitten. Dude, where's Bootsy? Bootsy? Oh God I ate Bootsy. Damn I could really use some Cheetos."

"Why am I sitting like this? I want to cross my legs but I can't. Check it, this is insane, I am wearing boots. He he he he, waiiiit a minute. I'm Bootsy. I didn't eat Bootsy, that would be impossible. I can't eat myself. I can lick myself. Watch this, uuuggghhhh, uuuggghhhhhhh, ok maybe I can't lick myself. What happened to you man? You used to be top cat. You were buff, you were suave. The ladies all wanted you. Now you're just a fat, stoned mess. Did you know cat nip is a gate way drug? Just try it they said, it's totally awesome they said. It's all natural. Drugs. Man I am really hungry. I think I saw some Ding Dongs up on the shelf. Mmmmm Ding Dongs. Are you still here with that contraption? Who are you looking at? Are you looking at me?"

"See this hand right here,the one between my legs? I'm gonna scratch myself with it. Where am I going to scratch? Figure it out man, right between the legs. You know what they say, if you have an itch, scratch it. Man, I have a dicky do. You know a dicky do, when your belly sticks out further than your dicky do. Damn I'm fat. I'm going to start exercising tomorrow. Turn over a new leaf. No more smokin' up, no more bags of Cheetos. Hell who am I kidding? Look at my face. I'm not going to stop. Are you looking at me? Take the picture already. Do you see this nose? This nose. Don't you just love how it is outlined from the rest of my face?"

"Did you know I am part tiger? Check out my stripes man. Tigers have stripes, I have stripes, ipso facto, I'm part tiger. Shear Khan was a tiger, he was a bad ass tiger. If I was Shear Khan I would have eaten that punk ass Mowgli. Tie a stick of fire onto my tail. Please, I would have knocked his punk ass down with one fell swoop of my massive paw and then just devoured his scrawny ass before he could be tyin' some fire stick to my tail. Wait. Dude! Did I eat Mowgli? Is that why I am so fat? Dude I AM Shear Khan." (571 for those of you who are counting).

I am now more than half way through 1000 words and quite frankly I think I may just be rambling hoping that I some how get to 1000. I mean seriously, a stoned, talking cat? Although come on, he does look stoned doesn't he? And fat, quite Jabba-esque don't you think? Yeah there is no way I am going to hit 1000. I am not even really inclined to continue trying.
Perhaps it is that I am not fully inspired by this particular picture. Perhaps I am not the word-smith that I thought I was. Maybe I don't see all the beauty that this pudgy little feline has to offer the world apart from a pretty stellar stoned face look. What about what's on the inside of this rotund mammal. His heart, what is it saying? "Damn I wish this beast would lose some weight so I can take a break from the responsibility of transporting all this THC to his brain so he can get his stone on." His lungs, are they laden with scorch marks from inhaling the smoke? Is his stomach really full of junk food from his constant state of munchiness? I wonder how much this portly fellow weighs. Is he sitting in front of that vent across the way so he can cool down with the nice cross breeze that wafts through providing a welcome respite from the no doubtingly increased body temperature that he experiences from the additional layers of cat blubber that he carries. For all we know this guy is just sitting there after suffering a massive coronary infarction while the owners are away and now rigormortis has set in. Maybe just maybe this is some backwoods family whose sick idea of cool is to stuff animals in funny poses after they die.

Regardless of what is really going on with our friend in the picture, did it live up to the haughty task of aspiring to create a thousand word blog on my part? Did it fall short like a geriatric Casanova hoping to satiate his proclivity for romance yet having the inability to create arousal without pharmaceutical assistance. 1000 words is not a task that one should undertake lightly. It can easily turn into non-sensical blabber that can leave the reader thinking that the writer should have stopped at word one. And for all of you haters out there that are going to count each and every word, pointing out that hyphenated words should only count as one word or that Jabba-esque isn't really a word (1000) and you had the nerve to use it twice. Well to you I say "Suck It" I did it with twenty five words to spare!

Me? Serious?

Sometimes I amaze myself. I like to think of myself as a fairly easy going non-serious kind of fellow. When I write my blog I am usually trying to figure out ways to make people laugh or keep it light. I have developed this desire to blog and yet when I sit down to do it I don't always come up with something witty and then abandon the process hoping that perhaps something will happen during the day to inspire me to write. Invariably I just get bogged down in my day to day grind at work and yet another day passes without a column.
Today however the grind has produced a more serious, contemplative mood in me and I have decided to explore this for a change. The last couple of days at work have been quite stressful. I won't elaborate on the fine details, but suffice it to say that the work load for the people I supervise is sharply increasing as is my frustration with "administrative protocol".
Working for a government agency has it's benefits to be sure, but more often than not it comes with a myriad of headaches that people in the general public refer to as "red tape".
Now as I previously stated, I am not by any means a serious individual and I would hardly describe myself as passionate on any given day. However today is one of those days that I have discovered something in myself that has probably always been there, but my self inventory has revealed what I would label as passion.
It comes on the heels of yet another conflict with a "higher power", the court system. I have kind of always viewed my job as just that, a job. I don't know that I became a social worker because of some idealistic principles to which I adhere or that these were ingrained in me by my parents. The job just kind of fell into my lap.
I think perhaps I have embraced these idealistic principles by virtue of doing the job, and this is who I have become. You see today I found myself arguing with not only the judge in this case, but my own legal counsel. I felt a driving need to get this attorney to represent to the court what I feel is in the best interest of some children that have been removed from their parents home and custody. I felt like I had "passion" for not only this situation but the aforementioned struggle to get through the red tape that I actually represent through my job. As I look at the definition of passion in the dictionary I am not certain that it completely fits what I have experienced lately. It describes either "boundless enthusiasm" or an "abandoned display of emotion". Regardless, I felt something, call it what you will. I enjoy fighting the good fight. I feel like I have purpose in my direction.
On the other end of the scale I have a lot of apathy about a great many things. I don't see myself taking up any big political causes. I care about the environment as long as it is convenient for me. I still resent that the city I live in has forced me to recycle AND they are charging me to do it, I mean what is that all about? I enjoy driving my big SUV. I don't like paying for it, but I enjoy it none the less. I think there are a lot of atrocities in the world that get my attention, however I am content to let other people worry about those things. Is that so wrong? Am I a horrible person because I have become a bit myopic in my crusade?
After all I think I am doing my part. I am helping the little guy in my own way. I am fighting for things that others may not recognize as important. But by gum I am going to keep doing those things and whether or not it makes a big difference in the world remains to be seen. Maybe I am passionate. Maybe, just maybe I am more than what I traditionally believe about myself.