Good Day Sacramento...yes, I have accepted your invitation to change the station!

Have you ever found yourself saying (to yourself or any person standing conveniently close to you), “How the heck did that person get on television?”

I say that to myself, or to any person in close proximity, all the time. “How in the world did that person get his or her charged coupled electrons splayed all over my expensive plasma television screen?” Yes, I know...I turned it on! But, it blows me away! To be fair, let’s include radio and film in that opening statement.

Now, I am not talking about good looks or bad looks here - although there is certainly enough aesthetic ugliness broadcast on T.V. and projected on gigantic theater screens to last us a lifetime. I am talking about just plain untalented, unfunny, uneducated, and unbelievely unappealing, unable-to-put-together-a-proper-sentence people. They have somehow convinced a power-to-be that we, the viewing public, would enjoy watching or listening to them in our homes.

Specifically, I need to focus on news...more specifically morning news “anchors”...in this diatribe of disgust. If I didn’t fine tune it to this genre, the blog administration people would run out of megabytes on their server with this post alone. The movies will get their own Hansen Rant at a later date.

A little history...

I spent fifteen years in radio broadcasting as a morning show announcer, DJ, program director, music director, and chief cook and bottle washer. I did it all for quite a while. Initially, working part time at the shittiest, fly-by-night A.M. and F.M. radio stations. I labored long hours in the morning, the afternoon, and late at night playing the dumbest music and running the nastiest local commercials on the planet. I was subjected to criticism and ridicule from the most vile of so-called program directors you will ever meet. Program directors at tiny radio stations who made Howard Stern’s Pig Vomit guy in Private Parts (played by Paul Giamatti BTW) look like your kindly Uncle Marvin. These small town station guardians of talent scrutinized my on-air work with a fine-toothed comb...all the while, conducting theirselves on the air without any regard for their own rules and regulations. Do what I say, not what I do! I recall one particular scathing critique session at a small, tobacco-smelling, hind-tit A.M. station in San Luis Obispo with a P.D. calling himself Rockin’ Ron. This was in 1976...I was 26. Rockin’ Ron was a tall, scroungy, goateed creep with shoulder length black hair. He always wore the same dirty jeans, Levy jacket, beat up cowboy boots, and some sort of record company (freebie) t-shirt for Boston, or Foreigner, or Peter Frampton. It went as follows:

Rockin’ Ron: “What the f*** do you think you’re doing?" (takes a big swig from a 16 ounce Colt 45 sitting on his desk).
Me: “Ummm...what do you mean?” (my eyes now averted to the five empty Colt 45 cans in the trash can next to his desk. He had just finished his four-hour program).
Rockin’ Ron: “I listened to your entire radio show last Sunday...and I didn’t hear one f***ing set of “the basics!”
Me: (face reddened with a combination of fear and growing anger) “Ummm...I thought I did”.
Rockin’ Ron: (takes the second, and last, big swig from the 16 ounce Colt 45) “Do you want this f***ing job?”
Me: (eyes momentarily averted to the empty Colt 45 can crashing into the trash can) “Ummm...yes!” (I really meant to say NO, but was too scared).
Rockin’ Ron: “Then take these six flash cards with you on your show today...and I don’t want to hear one single f***ing word other than what is written on these cards!”
Me: “O.K.”
Rockin’ Ron: (lets out a huge belch, the smell wafting across his desk, making my eyes instantly start watering). “Get out!”

I slowly and sheepishly backed out of his tiny office located in a storage closet near the studio. I could hear Rockin’ Ron fumbling around in the grocery bag that was sitting on his desk...the pop of the next Colt 45 can could be heard from two rooms away.

The six flash cards read: Time, Temperature, Artist, Song Title, Your Name, Call Letters. These were, and should still be, the Basics of radio on-air prattle.

Rockin’ Ron, despite his crassness and holier-than-thou attitude, taught me some valuable lessons about broadcasting. “Hansen,” he quipped, “if you can’t smoothly and effortlessly do the basics...then you can’t ad lib, be funny, or anything else on the air”. And Rockin’ Ron was right! He went on, “And, never say in a paragraph what you can say in a sentence”. On-air economics was of the essence in those days....and still should be today.

For the most part, our local morning T.V. show “anchors” either have not come from radio...or, in some cases, forgotten what they learned in those paying-your-dues days. They continue to blather on and on (seemingly) without any regard for the listener or the viewer. It is just one big verbal orgy of endless cackling, clucking, fumbling, giggling, and blathering about nothing. And to make things worse, most of them speak in a mind-boggling X-Gen velocity laced with “dudes”, and “likes”, and “ya’ knows”, and “whatevers”. It’s exasperating to watch at times. I thank the big broadcast guy in the sky when they finally go to the teleprompter and start reading a story lead-in. If we’re lucky, some of them have at least mastered the reading part...though not always. When they can’t even get through a short script without stuttering or stammering...it’s time for us to bail. Or, simply change the station.

Yes, I realize I have the right to change the station. These malingering morning misguided (so-called) journalists continually remind us of our right to turn them off if we don’t like it. What a brilliant rationalization. “If you don’t like it...piss off!”

At least most of the local evening news anchors in Sacramento were apparently (and rightly) hired because they had the ability to read well and to look pretty. They do what they were hired to do...be an attractive talking head. Unfortunately, even these high-paid puppets stray into unfamiliar territory on occassion...ad libbing and improvisation. No...no...no! Don’t do that! Don’t try to fly...your wings are not equipped for flight. You will crash to the earth like Icarus. In fact, you have no wings at all! Read...read...read! And that’s it.

And as for the morning T.V. talk show folk with no talent or ability for such off-the-cuff broadcast frivolity...get a radio job for while, or on weekends. Or, how about this...stop jerking each other off while watching your airchecks. You ain’t all that!

The biggest shame-on-you of all? The higher-ups who allow this to happen. What are they thinking?

There is some degree of merit to having high energy "personalities" on the air...the counter to the alternative of feigned sincerity from the other guys. But, there must be some sort of medium ground to all of this. How about some guidance from the producers? But maybe they need to spend some (more) time in radio as well.

The cluelessness runs throughout the hierarchy of...Good Day Sacramento!

Oh what the heck...I’m making New Years resolutions

Me: “What are your New Years resolutions?”
Them: “Oh, I don’t do that?”
Me: “Do what?”
Them: “Make New Years resolutions”.
Me: “Why not?”
Them: “I just don’t dammit! Stop invading my space. It’s none of anyone’s business but mine!”
Me (running away and shouting over my shoulder): “Sorry! I can recommend a good therapist if you’re interested. Crazy bastard!”.

Them is any number of people I have asked that question in the past 40 years or so. It seems most everyone you ask don’t make New Years resolutions. Or do they?

I think, more accurately, most people really don’t like to talk about their resolutions. I know there are resolutions being made...they're just not being talked about on a one-to-one basis. After all, there are those surveys we have already been seeing on the news and the morning talk shows. So they must be revealing them to someone, somewhere.

It probably has something to do with them not wanting to look silly later on in the new year. You know, when at least half of their New Year’s promises have gone up in smoke...poof! Like when you run into Sally in June and you don’t recognize her because she has gained so much weight since New Years. Or Dan, whose resolution was to get that big promotion at work...and he is now unemployed. Or maybe Rita. One of her resolutions was to give up sex, stop being so promiscuous, and start going to church...and you just saw her on the Maury Show waiting for the results of a paternity test from the UPS guy.

We are simply afraid to fail. If we don’t set goals or make resolutions, then we won’t set ourselves up for failure. New Years resolutions are simply stated goals...no more, no less. And January 1st is just a date on the calendar, albeit a well-known date that is perfect for realigning one’s life. A date to adjust those goals if needed, the ones you made last August or last January.

There is nothing wrong with that! There is nothing shameful about changing, adjusting, realigning, or customizing your life’s goals and plans. It is perfectly normal. And, it is not failing if you don’t realize every one of them to the level you expected.

My New Years resolutions are simple and basic: Lose weight, make more money, be a more loving and caring husband, father, son, and friend, and to stop slouching. That last one is very important for me. It will help with my self-esteem. Standing up straight(er) and walking proud can really do wonders for some of us...or cause people to think you are an arrogant asshole.

So when someone tells you, “I don’t make resolutions”...they are probably lying to you. Don’t take it personal, they are simply revealing their insecurity.

Me: “Resolve away with reckless abandon. Quantity is better than quality here. The more you resolve, the more chances you have for success! Take those leaps of faith and follow your heart. Free your spirit. Quit your job and do what you have only dreamed of. I know of what I speak fellow traveler!”
Them: (running away and shouting over their shoulder): “Who asked you anyway? Crazy bastard!”

Dexter

Dexter is not for everybody. Dexter is our favorite show right now. Dexter is one of the most original shows to come along in a quite a while.

For the last 12 Sundays, we have been glued to our television set at 7:00 pm (10:00 for the Pacific feed) even more so than we were for The Sopranos, Six Feet Under, or even Deadwood.

I think Dexter filled that Sunday night void for most of us, the void that happened with the ending of Six Feet Under a couple of years ago. Not to mention that weak season of Sopranos that ended with, not a bang, but with a whimper. Of course, the Sopranos returns in a couple of months with the final season, we are still committed to that dysfunctional New Jersey family. Deadwood also returns soon...being enthralled with the graphic bizarreness of this HBO series as well.

I stumbled upon Dexter just after it premiered. Got sucked in, then watched the first episode on demand. The premise of this hot Showtime series is really off-the-wall. The lead character, Dexter Morgan (played perfectly by Six Feet Under alumnus Michael C. Hall), is a serial killer. That is how the show marquees itself. In the character’s own words, “I’m Dexter. I’m a serial killer”. So why would you watch something that showcases itself in this manner? Well, if you are very religious, very sensitive, or very much one of those “morality types”...then stay away, it’s not for you...as so many other cable series are (not).

You see, Dexter Morgan is also a police forensic blood splatter expert, an adopted orphan, and a survivor from a gruesome childhood incident. This incident involved him being made to watch his mother being killed by a serial killer...with a chain saw. A caring police officer took him in, adopted him, and helped him deal with the obvious issues that might ensue from such an experience. Basically, his adopted father taught him how to deal with his tendencies to become a serial killer himself...by channeling that “energy” to a kind of vigilantism. Dexter “takes out” other serial killers who have gotten away with murder.

Due to his father’s police background and knowledge of forensics, he taught Dexter how to live this bizarre existence and not get caught. And, Dexter becomes a forensic expert himself (his day job), specifically, a blood spatter expert called in to consult and investigate the most heinous of crimes in the Miami area.

There are a number of side plots going on, including his struggle to have a “normal” relationship with a woman, his relationship with his adopted sister (who is also a police detective), and himself being pursued by a Miami serial killer. Any more details here would be considered “spoilers”...watch the show!

My daughter Jenifer and son-in-law Roth just spent two days with us for the holidays. Jen is a Sopranos, Six Feet Under, cable series “junky” (I say this with much affection). She had never seen Dexter as they do not have Showtime at home. In two days, she watched all 12 episodes on demand. The 12th episode was the season finale. It premiers again in March. I think she is hooked!

There are some gruesome scenes, but not gratuitous. Dexter is more of a murder mystery/ character study piece that also provides some great dark humor at times...thanks to Hall's sarcastic dialogue and smirky delivery. It has a great ensemble cast, most of which are not “name” actors...except for Michael C. Hall. All the characters seem to fit perfectly in this continuing story. All adding to the magnetism that draws you back week after week.

One big difference that Dexter offers over the last couple seasons of The Sopranos (for example) is that something happens interesting in every episode. Dexter “does away” with at least one bad guy (or girl) in every episode. Is this a perverted attraction for us Dexter fans? Perhaps.

It returns to Showtime in March with all new episodes. The producers do a good job of the usual, “Previously on Dexter...” promos. It makes it possible to join up with this Dexter fascination at any point in the season. But if you can watch it On Demand from the beginning, it will be much more affective...it really is a good show. It doesn’t come on until 10:00 pm, so keeping the little kids away should not be a problem...it ain’t for them! BTW...the 10:00 pm slot was a good move by the Showtime people. The Sopranos has held down the top Sunday 9:00 pm slot for a long time. There is no need to give up seeing the top dog of cable series season finale when it returns in early '07.

Dexter will win some Emmys and it will win Golden Globe awards (if you follow such things).

Tune in and get drawn in. And watch Dexter Morgan chop up really bad people into neat little pieces and toss them in the Atlantic ocean.

He was much scarier to me than clowns were

I still retain a vivid memory from my early childhood about clowns.

I was never really scared of clowns, at least not in person. But somewhere around my 4th year, my parents took me to the movies to see The Greatest Show On Earth. I think it was at the Pantages Theatre in Hollywood. In that flick, Jimmy Stewart played a clown. He actually was a doctor in exile, hiding behind the clown personna and makeup in the circus that Charleton Heston ran. In at least one scene, they showed a closeup of Stewart in the clown makeup that he never removed the whole movie. That image projected onto a fifty foot movie screen was etched in my four year old mind...and, I remember that it scared me shitless! My Dad had to take me out into the lobby to calm me down. I don't know if we ever returned to the theatre.

The only other time I was that frightened at that age was in the 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea "ride" at Disneyland. For those unitiated with early Disneyland fair, it was a walk-through exhibit of sorts, with diaramas from scenes in the move...including the giant squid part...a life-size squid viewed through the big Nautilus porthole. I lost it there as well! 'Nuff said?

And that brings us to Christmas and Santa. I don't think I was ever comfortable sitting on that guy's lap. Check him out in this photo of me from maybe 1955. He's scary! He was also smelly, grumpy, grabby, and impatient. But, it was the tradition and I did it.

I really had no desire to sit on this old fart's boney lap and tell him what I wanted for Christmas. I'm pretty sure I believed in the whole Santa Claus deception...but I definetly never bought into these guys being the actual Santa Claus. In fact, I distinctly recall my parents telling me that these were Santa's Helpers, not the real Santa Claus. I must have asked my mom and dad about seeing his real (black) hair under the cheap, fake beard. Or questioned why Santa smelled like that bottle of liquid my dad kept above the cupboards...or worse, like an old ashtray!

Look at my face in that photo. Stark, raving, fear. When is this thing going to be over? Why do they make me do these embarassing, undignified rituals? I don't care about the candy cane in my hand.

I'm pretty sure that I will get all the stuff I asked for regardless of whether or not I sit on this "clown's" lap. Can I get down now?

The annual retail circle jerk

Well...I think it’s all over. But not quite.

As I lay in bed very early this morning, covers pulled over my head, one squinty eye exposed searching for the digital time that is projected on our ceiling...I asked myself, “Please tell me that it is the day after Christmas!” The bad gifts, the no gifts, the fattening food, the goofy decorations, the Johnny Mathis song, the emotions, the greed...it is done.

Another yuletide season has come to an end. And even though the main onslaught of retail madness is over...it really isn’t yet. Many of the large department stores, including the one in which Loretta works, open at 5:00 this morning for one last Biggest Sale of the Year. I suppose they can say that it is the Biggest Sale of the Year because this year will end in a few days. Then they can start saying it again for the Big New Years Sales.

I don’t recall any news stories concerning the level of retails sales this season versus last...or whether or not this sector’s cash registers rang more than the predictions predicted. Chances are, they didn’t. It all started out with a bang several weeks ago, then fizzled out a bit as Christmas drew near. It always happens that way...some years worse than others. “Disappointing sales” is the usual catch phrase about now.

But what exactly does “worse” or “disappointing sales” mean to retailers? Here is how it works. To put it simply, the corporate circle jerks begin high up in the chain of command. Predictions of sales start in the boardrooms. Fancy-suited corporate weasels brought their colorful little Powerpoint programs and video extravaganzas to the board meetings last year about this time. Yes, over a year ago! The charts and graphs have red bars, and black lines, and blue arrows...smiling white-toothed, big-titted models shown shopping, dancing, and spending. All arrows and trend icons pointing in a direction that will placate the nervous CEOs and other company officers who wish to keep their high powered (and high paid) jobs. No one wants flat lines in retail! Only the “realistic” prognosticators paint flat lines, or, God forbid, downward-pointing arrows. The people who predict things like this - the realistic ones - are usually so-called independent folk who don’t work for the company.

By the way, the corporate restaurant industry works the same way. The environment in which I spent over 15 lovely years in (lower) middle management at the store level.

So, the corporate jerk-off sessions continue on down the line. The boardroom horseshit slides downhill. We all know that shit flows downhill, don’t we? The same goes for this stinky slurry of misguided information. From the brains, and mouths, and computers, and wet dreams of the fancy-suited weasels comes the sales predictions, now passed down to the division vice presidents, to the department heads, to the regional directors, to the district managers, to the store managers, to the assistant managers, etc. Again, this all happens at least a year in advance. Let’s not forget to throw in “marketing department” somewhere between the V.P.s and the store managers...these poor slobs need to sugarcoat all this good news in the form of multicolored, multi-media packages that will actually carry all this shit downhill....the fanciest of which goes to the investors for their corporate masturbation sessions. The most drab and ill-conceived presentations go to the stores and the hapless management types who are tasked to implement this dribble at the store level.

Fast forward to the end of the business year, sometimes in January, sometimes in July...it doesn’t matter. The corporate emails will start flying everywhere. Emails from the home office blasting store managers for not reaching their goals, for not “buying into the program”, or “turning in less than stellar numbers”, for “not following through”. These will be followed by requests for updated business plans and written excuses with the “whys” and the “wherefores”.

The landslide of corporate boardroom sewage will flow. The meetings will convene. The call to attend home office get-togethers will commence. The decisions will be made. The guillotines will be readied. The hooded executioners (district managers) will be dispatched to their appropriate locations. The blades will fall...heads will roll. The orders will be carried out with swift and reckless abandon. Select store managers and assistant managers will assume their positions. The lambs and goats will be sacrificed. The corporate fancy-suited weasels will adjust their numbers. And the fiscal year will come to a close. Fresh meat will be brought in from other kingdoms...all enthusiastic, hopeful management types with dreams of upward pointing arrows and bonus checks floating in their heads. The exhaulted rulers will strike a match and fire up one of the Cuban cigars they received from another higher-up, tear off a drumstick, sit back in their velvet throne, and breath a sigh of relief that another year has finally ended. The purge is underway. Another game is afoot.

And middle and lower management will only be able to sit and wait the arrival of a hooded individual knocking at their door. Their only hope? That their boss will have the courtesy to give them a “reach-around” when dishing out the results of a less-than-expected retail season.

'Twas the night before Christmas...

Today is the night before Christmas.

Loretta and I have a full list of things to do...probably a good thing to stay busy. The alternative is lying around and being depressed. She is off today, and I am just...”off” as per usual.

Beginning at 8:00am, we’ll head out for breakfast somewhere, probably Perkos, one of our monthly “date” routines. My breakfast will be so gluttonous that I will not need to eat again for three days. BTW...Last night we had Panda Express takeout. I have been getting the 2-item entree. But recently (in my over-eating stupor) I have opted for the extra-item for $1.25 more. The nice Asian lady who runs the joint diligently asks us every time we go there:

Asian lady: (in her best inaudible and undeciferable pidgeon English) "You want add extra item for $1.25?"

Me: (Like I'm getting a deal) "Yeah, sure...why not? I'll have the sweet and sour pork". (All along knowing that if I got the 3-item entree, it would cost the same as adding $1.25 to the 2-item entree)

So when we got home, we noticed that they actually put another item in the bag. Now, I have to eat a 4-item entree...and they don't even have such an option! Yes...I had to eat it...waste not, want not. I'm still stuffed this morning (is that possible with Chinese food?)...and my stomach is making those gurgling sounds. Must be the King Pao Chicken! I digress...

Then to Gottschalks so she can pick up a few last minute items for gift giving.

We’ll venture to Winco for some grocery shopping...gotta stock up a bit for Jen and Roth’s visit come Tuesday.

Loretta is planning to “fluff” the pillows in the guest accomodations. This means washing the sheets, vacuuming, then cleaning the guest bathroom, etc.

Lunch? Probably nothing today, we’ll be grazing on appetizers and having a cocktail or two later on this afternoon. (Remember my gluttonous breakfast?)

We have an engagement photo shoot next door about 1:00. Our neighbor’s son is getting married in March and we are doing the wedding (in Napa).

Around 3:00, we’ll drop in to Sue & Gene’s place (yes, we’ve been invited) for a little holiday cheer and some appetizers. Plus, we have to drop off some prints I did for them.

Tonight, for dinner...instead of going out like we usually do, we’ve decided to stay home and make a nice dinner for ourselves. That means I will be doing the cooking while Loretta takes a nap on the couch in front of the TV. I’m not sure what I will be fixing yet. We’re having Prime Rib at Sue & Gene’s tomorrow, so no beef tonight!

Later, we’ll both hit the couch and break out the cell phones and start calling our families and friends...an annual Xmas Eve tradition for us the past 8 years.

We haven’t seen It’s A Wonderful Life for a few years, might be time to experience that tear-jerker again. Of course, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles sits in my DVD library ready for this time of year. I know it really is a Thanksgiving flick, but fun to watch around Xmas as well.

Around 10:00, I’ll wake up Loretta, “Honey, let’s go to bed”. We’ll stumble around turning out the lights and checking the doors. And that will be it for us on Xmas Eve.

We'll watch the news in bed. All that "Santa has been reported on radar shit" just doesn't do much for me anymore. Me...Kim...Kris...circa 1959.

I won’t elaborate on what this night was like for me when I was a kid, I’ve already done that here recently to some extent. But I will say this. It was always filled with relatives, good food, and gift opening. Yes, our family opened presents on the night before christmas. The rule was pretty simple. My Dad would remind me and my two sisters as we started getting whiny late in the afternoon:

Us: “Dad...when can we start opening presents?”

Dad: “I’m not gonna tell you again...when it gets dark!”

Us: “That’s not fair. The neighbors already did it, and they’re out playing with their stuff.” (The Dudgeons next door opening all their presents around 1:30 or so. I was so jealous.)

Dad: “If you keep whining about it, we won’t open any tonight. Most families open their presents on Christmas Day!”

Us: (with terrorized facial expressions) “NOOOOOOO! We’ll be patient.”

Sister Kim: "What's patient mean?"

Me: "It means that Mom and Dad are being means to us! Shut up!"

Dad: “Fine. It won’t be long. Go play with something you got last year”.

Us: “Yeah...right. All that stuff is yucky!”

Dad: (in his thoughts) “Swine kids!”

Us: (two minutes later) “Can we open just one now?”

Of course, he did allow us just one “early” present on this day. Mom and Dad would pick out one gift they knew would keep us busy for a while. Heaven forbid it was a sweater, or socks, or something stupid like that. There would be hell to pay for getting an article of clothing for that one early present.

Yup...the afternoon leading up to Xmas Eve was filled with anxiety for me. But a good anxiety. Unfortunately, the Jack Daniel's thing didn't come along until years later.

And to all...a good night.

A Christmas Greeting...

...from Skip & Loretta.

Pa-pa-pa...ooh-ma-mah mow...

I have not given anyone the one-fingered salute from behind the wheel in quite a while. In fact, I really can’t recall when the last time was that someone got “the bird” from me. For the most part, I’ve pretty much given up that practice. In today’s sad society, flipping off another driver might get you a response from the barrel of a nine millimeter. I was going to say “especially in Modesto”...but that just wouldn’t be fair...it could happen anywhere now.

But that is not to say that some people don’t deserve getting “the bird”, they most certainly do. And this time of year seems to bring out the worst in people’s driving. They are so bad now, I am having “bad driver anxiety” about even getting in a car the next two days (before Christmas).

So, in lieu of giving anyone the finger (and getting myself shot) - here are a few examples, in my experiences, that would warrant such an action. All of these have actually occurred recently, within a few short miles of the safety of my living room. Also, please keep in mind that honking the horn just prior to extending the middle digit is advised. C’mon, you want them to see it don’t you? What good is flipping some off if they don’t see it? Remember the tree in the forest thing?

1. Drivers running a red light. Yes, my Number One pet peeve right now...busting through an intersection where the light has already turned red. Of course, the odds of this jerk seeing you flipping him or her off are high.

2. Someone stealing the parking space you have been waiting for. This could apply in a mall parking lot or streetside.

3. Someone behind you honking when the light turns green. This would require the over-the- shoulder flip off...or, as an alternative, the bird-into-the-rear-view-mirror technique.

4. An aggressive driver tailgating you, especially on the freeway at 70 miles per hour. Over the shoulder or mirror flip...or, better yet, wait until they are passing you on the right. Roll down the passenger window and extend your arm toward them while screaming the appropriate obscenity.

5. Lane drifters. You must use your first here.

6. Not using the turn signals.

7. Pedestrians crossing in the middle of the street (not using the crosswalk) and expecting you to stop. Of course, you must stop...it’s the law. I still may employ the bird in this instance from time to time. If the pedestrian is packing a “9”, you may be out of range by the time they pull it out.

8. Badly smoking cars.

9. Rumbling, boom-box woofer stereo systems. Use extreme discretion here...keep in mind the odds of the driver having a firearm are pretty good.

10. Any vehicle traveling 20 mph under the speed limit. Use discretion here, as the driver may have Alzheimer's or dementia and doesn’t know where he or she is at the moment. Flipping off these people may shove them over the edge and cause an accident...with you!

This is only the Top 10. There are many more.

As a public service, here are descriptions of the two main bird styles. The first one is the Classic Style...most often used now by females. The middle finger is only slightly above the others, exposing only the last knuckle, the other fingers are only slightly bent. Keep your hand lose and relaxed, thumb straight and pointing up. It is a bit dainty looking and the more polite of the two.

The second one is the more aggressive approach...the Macho Style. Fully extend your middle digit while squeezing your fist tightly. All three sections of your middle finger must be visible above the other knuckles. Extend your thumb out to the side if you really want to make the point. The clenched fist with the white knuckles indicates more anger and really shows that you mean it! No messin' around here.

My father had his own style of flipping the bird from cars. He would actually employ the Classic Style with his arm stuck out the window and pointing up. Then, he would rotate his hand from side to side a few times moving it in an upward motion, thus demonstrating the “screwing” motion the bird refers to. It was quite effective...very theatrical. Dad never used the horn though...flipping someone off was more therapeutical than editorial for him...as it is for me.

I don’t recommend giving anyone the finger these days. As indicated earlier, today’s society has changed so much since those good old days when receiving the bird was almost expected when you screwed up while driving. Hell, when my Dad got that salute from someone else, he would just smile and wave at them (instead of flipping it back). You may want to do that in today’s world...it really does piss them off even more!

I must tell you that I have replaced giving out the three fingered salute with something else...something that is very therapeutic for me. I mouth the words and shake my head from side with a very visible smirk on my face. It’s just for my own satisfaction...most drivers never see it.

What words am I mouthing? Why, Merry Christmas...of course!

Thanks Modesto P.D...at least one of you should be ashamed of yourself!

If you are one of those do-gooder, George W loving, ass-kissing conservatives who thinks that government and all law enforcement types can do no wrong...don't read this! Or, if you are one those aforementioned individuals and you read it anyway...you can kiss my ass.

Fact: I may be apolitical now (if there is such a thing). But I was raised in a Democrat-like family in the 50s and 60s. I would not now consider myself a Democrat or a Republican, but I do view myself as somewhat of a liberal. I was not a hippy in the 60s, though if I could go back in time...I would move to Haight-Ashbury and do that whole time period over - hang out with women who don't shave under their arms, smoke pot every day, and play my guitar on the street...different than what I actually did back then. Well, two out of three was the reality for a while (all my girlfriends shaved under their arms). I hated cops in those days as much as I hated all authority figures. Afterall, it was the Woodstock generation. I ended up in the service and did my best to do the right thing - all along totally disagreeing with that Vietnam fiasco (where I ended up spending some of my Navy tour).

Today, I would like to thank the Modesto police officer who saw fit to write us a ticket for an expired registration while the car was parked in the mall parking lot (where Loretta works). This little stocking stuffer will cost us $99. The DMV renewal on the Jeep will be paid today ($258). And so our city, our country, and the world will now be safer from tyranny, crime, and terrorism. That little flourescent sticker will be proudly displayed on our back license plate...and we will all be able to sleep better at night due to the diligence of one time-wasting dumbass public servant.

In the meantime...I wonder how many shitstain small-time criminals were breaking into other cars in the Gottschalks parking lot while our officer was writing our ticket? I wonder how many other non-tax-paying skidmark drivers were perusing the parking lot devoid of a license, registration, insurance, or legal documents for residing in the U.S.

No, I am not exempt from obeying the law, ie, keeping my registration up to date. I screwed up! But is this utilization of time by law enforcement prudent, especially this time of year? Would it not be better time management to prioritize patrol time? Or at least wait until after the holidays to write an expired registration ticket on a near-new, clean, Jeep Grand Cherokee? I am quite sure there were many fine examples of vehicles in that parking lot that looked like the rental car in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles...after the fire! Do they harass the owners of those pieces of shit? Hell, if the cops looked in the trunks of some of those cars in this town, they might find several dead bodies of missing people...or at least several dozen illegal aliens.

If the cops in this town actually did their job the entire time they were "clocked in", they might even solve a crime or two! What a concept! But writing frigging expired registration tickets in a mall parking lot at Xmas time is just plain unadulterated bullshit.

Bah...humbug!

I totally support our law enforcement community. I am glad they are there. I am a law-abiding citizen who doesn't speed, has never had a moving violation, always uses his turn signals, and never runs red lights. Where are you guys when jackassess are running red lights at every intersection...at every turn of the lights? Where are you clowns when this deadly practice is happening...a bad habit that could easily cause loss of life? I know where you are? You are patroling the mall parking lot and writing registration tickets. You are sitting somewhere on your cell phone talking to your girlfriend (the one your wife doesn't know about). You're eating donuts!

I'm not completely convinced that we need more officers on the street. I am convinced that they ones we do have need to be managed better. They need to be in the right places, doing the right things...the important things. And the main thing is protecting and serving...emphasize protecting.

If it was one of those Community Service non-police officers who wrote our ticket...shame on you as well. You people are worthless as tits on a bull anyway. If we are going to be paying someone to patrol around in an expensive car with a radio, let's pay them more, train them to be a real cop, give them a gun, and the authority to catch bad guys!

Away to the window I flew like a flash...tore open the window, and threw up on the sash.

We don't have a sash on our windows. But I do feel like throwing up right about now. I'll try to make it to the bathroom.

Modesto P.D....I truly hope you stay safe this holiday season. But at least one of you should be ashamed of yourself!

And to all...a good night.

I'm not a history buff...but...Jefferson was "right"...

We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with inherent and unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, & the Pursuit of Happiness.

We, as Americans, all have certain unalienable rights. These rights were layed out in the U.S. Constitution in 1789, and a short time later redefined in The Bill of Rights. A few years before you may remember a little document called the Declaration of Independence, these rights were stated here as well...a precursor to the Constitution.

The D.of I. was drafted and written by Thomas Jefferson in 1776. Then sent on to Ben Franklin and John Adams for editing, then to congress for ratification in 1789.

We saw the latest Will Smith flick the other day, The Pursuit of Happyness. And, yes, that is how happiness is mis-spelled in the title - from a little scene where Smith’s character (Chris Gardner) sees that passage written on a wall near his son’s daycare center. He reminds the six year old of the correct spelling.

The short take on the movie, The Pursuit of Happyness, is Garner’s struggle to earn money to support his family, find a better career, and be happy. The flick is a gentle, sweet, feel-good piece that really does address this right stated in the Declaration of Independence. But it also points out one detail that we may overlook. Garner, surviving one disappointmet after after the other, realizes that his right to the pursuit of happiness is just that...the right to the pursuit. The Declaration of Indepence did not say we all have the right to be happy.

Without spoiling the ending of the movie, let me at least say that it has a happy ending. It is based on a true story. And you do go away with a renewed faith that this unalienable right is an important one. Of course, Life & Liberty are pretty essential was well. We Americans all have those two, we take them for granted. But not all of us are happy. You see, whether you want them or not, you got them...Life & Liberty. But happiness is fleeting - you have the choice to be happy, the choice to pursue it anyway.

As I sit this early morning and, well, "mourn" the passing of a big job opportunity yesterday...I have to remind myself of Thomas Jefferson’s words. Maybe it was appropriate that I received the bad news about the job five minutes after we got home from the seeing this movie. There was a message on the phone. “Hey, Skip. I don’t want you to think it had anything to do with you...but we have decided not to fill that position until after the third quarter”. (I assumed he wasn’t referring to a football game that would be ending in a couple of hours). “Again, please don’t feel that it has anything to do with what you did. The powers-to-be have made the decision to hold off for a while”. Some consolation I suppose. He could have said, “Thanks for your interest, but we have decided to hire another candidate whose skills and qualifications were better than yours, asshole!".

I thank my lucky stars anyway. I had Loretta standing next to me during my return call, “Don’t worry honey. Something will happen after Christmas. It’s not the best time of year for this”. And she’s right.

The dictionary defines the word pursue: To follow in an effort to overtake or capture; to strive to gain or accomplish; to proceed along the course of. Wow, that's a strong definition compared to what I thought it meant...overtake, capture, accomplish, gain. I just thought it meant chase!

There ya’ go! Or more specifically, here I go! The pursuit is still on. Next!

Godzilla...now there was a monster movie.

The other day I was watching (for the umpteenth time) Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith on cable. This is the 6th Star Wars movie, but technically the 3rd episode in the George Lucas’ epic space saga of good and evil. Why would I watch this on cable when I own the DVDs? No comment at this point in time - too much time on my hands perhaps?

I had a recurring revelation, a minor epiphany of sorts. Yoda was jumping and spinning around the room, careening off the walls with his miniature Yoda-sized light sabre fighting Lord Sidious - looking like some character in an old Heckle & Jeckle cartoon. He was doing things that Yoda shouldn’t be able to do, considering he is an 800 year old hobbit. Even if he was the ultimate, uber-Jedi Knight...it just wasn’t right! It was the realization that I was watching a state of the art cartoon. This has occured to me before many times, like when I was watching one of the later Alien movies, or that Narnia flick, or War of the Worlds. The bottom line is that it is not credible any longer. Anything and everything can be imaged in a movie now. Making the incredible credible has become commonplace, and now...incredible!

Worse yet, even so-called scary movies are not scary any more. There indeed have been some creepy ones of late, ie, The Ring, The Grudge. But this recent genre are remakes of Japanese horror flicks. Sure, there are some special effects. But for the most part, they appeal to some of our most primitive fears: ghosts for one. The other is the devil.

I also remember as a child seeing the “original” War of the Worlds at the drive-in with my parents. It came out in 1953, I think this particular showing (at the Van Nuys drive-in) was around 1956 or so. It scared me shitless! This version starred Gene Barry (the guy who played Bat Masterson and on Burke’s Law) and Ann Robinson. Barry was Dr. Clayton Forrester, Robinson’s character was Sylvia Van Buren. Both of these actors, by the way, had minute cameo roles near the end of the 2005 Spielberg production (the grandparents standing in the doorway in Boston).

I recall sitting in the back of our ‘53 Oldsmobile and leaning my arms on the front seat to watch the movie...peering out from hands clenched over my eyes, watching the alien invaders through little slits formed by my fingers. By today’s standards, the special effects were primitive, but no less frightening to a six year old boy. For 1953, it was pretty spectacular - and scary. War of the Worlds won the Oscar in 1954 for Best Effects/Special Effects.

The 1953 version offered the Martians coming to earth inside giant meteors, crash landing outside all the big cities. A hatch slowly unscrews to reveal a shiny, glowing nozzle of sorts. This nozzle thing lights up even more and starts spitting out a death ray, microwaving everyone to ash. It is attached to a three-pointed spaceship that hovers above the ground, not those goofy looking three-legged cartoon robots that Speilberg came up with!

Spielberg did pay homage to the original in several instances. The most notable of which was the farmhouse. The two main characters in the original version take refuge in a remote country farmhouse (Tim Robbins was added to the Speilberg script). The Martian probe slinks its way down in to the basement area and Barry hacks off the mechanical head with an axe...eventually taking it to the nearby “institute” for study. While in the farmhouse, they make some contact with the living inhabitants of the spaceships. But instead of stupid looking, digital Disney characters (ala Speilberg’s version), we only get short glimpses in shadow form. Then one fleeting dimly-lit look straight into the face of the three-eyed, two-legged Martian hiding his eyes from the flashlight beam. The little monster reveals itself by placing its three-digit, suction cup fingers on the girl’s shoulder...one of my all-time best scariest movie moments. Of course, the Martians all die off from germs. At least the 2005 WOTW left that in. They also left in the opening and closing narratives...Morgan Freeman in 2005, Sir Cedric Hardwick in 1953...very nice touch.

The 1953 WOTW was a spooky, scary, exciting movie. Maybe it’s the “spooky” parts that I remember most. Maybe that is why some of these Japanese horror flicks are so disturbing. Even the original Japanese version of The Ring (called Ring-U) is creepier than the later attempt (although the new ones are all directed by the original Japanese director). That Samara chick crawling out of the television is classic. And...there’s the Naomi Watts factor! Bingo.

Hell...the 1956 Godzilla, King of Monsters was actually scary compared to the remake in 1998. That lumbering, Tokyo-destroying, 400 foot T-Rex played by a guy in a ill-fitting rubber suit was scary back then. Did you know that Raymond Burr was in that? Yup, he was.

These days, I listen to snot-nosed media types refer to the old sci-fi and monster movies as "B" movies. Well, those genres were always relagated to that status. But if Frankenstein's Monster was a "B" movie, then Monster in Law (J-Lo and Jane Fonda) should be an "F" movie! Insert any number of modern flicks in this "F" category, ie, ones with Jennifer Aniston, Jenifer Lopez,
Ashton Kutcher, or Adam Sandler as examples. They are not funny...they are not entertaining...the actors aren't talented. Maybe someday, some of these types will have the opportunity to star in a Japanese-directed horror flick...then at least they would be scary!

A Child’s Perception of Time and Space

The little boy knew this particular trip would be a long one. His mother and father had been planning it for a long time. It was a vacation back to where most everyone in the family was born...South Dakota. It would take three long days of driving across the country from California to get there.

He and his two little sisters shared the back seat of the station wagon, as well as the “way back” section for naps. The “wayback” was behind the back seat, on a trip like this filled with luggage, a grocery bag of snacks, and a blanket or two. At nine years old, he could still curl up beside the suitcases and sleep.

Route 66 stretched out across the desert in front of them, endless miles of two-lane highway back then. Sand, suaro cacti, billboards inviting travelers to visit the "World's Largest Ball of Twine", and an occasional jack rabbit. Sometimes it divided into two lanes each way. There was always at least one billboard that read, “Your tax dollars at work. Route 66 Improvement Project 175.. To be completed in 1961”. Albuquerque would be the first stop for the night.

They would drive until sunset, then start looking for a motel. The roads in those days still passed through the middle of towns. Not like today with the giant interstates located several miles outside of the towns. The kids would start looking and pointing and suggesting, “There, Dad...there’s a good one! Let’s stay there”. The father would mumble something under his breath and tell the children to “pipe down”, then keep driving, looking for a motel with a “Vacancy” sign.

The little boy just hoped the motel had a swimming pool. It was summer, it had been a long hot drive through the desert. He loved to swim.

The motels lined the highway in the New Mexico town. They were only one-story structures then, layed out in a U-shape with the swimming pool in the middle of the parking lot.

They found a suitable one, a motel with a “Vacancy” sign and a swimming pool. The family stayed there for the night. The little boy’s father went out to bring back dinner, usually hamburgers and fries and cokes from a nearby Tastee Freeze. The children went swimming for a while until dinner returned.

The next morning, they got up early, and went to breakfast at a local cafe. It wasn’t a fancy place, just a roadside diner with a sign that read Bill's Cafe, or Route 66 Diner, or just Good Food. The pancakes the little boy had weren’t very good, not at all like his Mom would make at home. They were kind of cold and kind of stiff, the syrup didn’t taste the same either.

The little boy, his two sisters, mother, and father all piled back in the station wagon and continued their long trip to South Dakota. They would try to drive 500 miles today.

The next evening, as the sun began to lay low over the Nebraska prairie, they started to look for that night’s lodging once again. From the back seat, the little boy tapped his mother on the shoulder and said, “Mom...wherever we stay tonight, let’s not eat breakfast in the same cafe we did yesterday...their pancakes were yucky!”

Reefer Madness...

I have seen worse. By no means is our refrigerator the messiest. In fact, Loretta and I routinely dive in head first and so some Spring cleaning regardless of the calendar date,

Earlier this morning, I said to my loving wife, "Honey, we have to leave about 10:00am. It's 8:00am now, so I have two hours to clean out the reefer". Well, 15 minutes later (with Loretta's help), it was done! I have no idea why I thought it would take 2 hours. It is a chore I have successfully completed many times over. Truthfully, I actually enjoy it. Throwing out old crap from the refrigerator is somewhat of a liberating experience...a rebirth if you will...a purge...a cleansing.

What did I toss? Without any remorse...I threw out the following items: moldy, sliced Swiss cheese...two large leeks (once destined for leek and potato soup)...two broccoli crowns (well-intentioned swing toward eating more veggies)...one really nasty looking yellow crook necked squash...a quarter head of iceberg lettuce now brown on the outside...a half full quart of buttermilk now 30 days past the expiration date...two half-used jars of roasted red bells (may have been OK, but I wasn't up for popping the top and sticking my nose in)...a really old jar of capers...a little plastic container of diced green chiles...an open 1/2 liter Diet Pepsi long since gone flat...and an assortment of plastic containers with contents of unknown origin.

We wiped off the shelves, returned all the "good" stuff...and now I'm ready to restock! Yes, there was a plan to this reefer madness. It is time to head back to the Sonoma Diet book and start up the "plan" once again. I know it is not the best time of year to adjust one's dietary habits, but I always seem to choose this time of year. Why not? We have not been inundated with invites to holiday gatherings, so neither one of us has packed it on (no worse than any other time of the year). But yours truly, especially, has layered on a few pounds from late summer when we were fully ensconced in that Sonoma Diet thing. And one of the challenges of this diet is that it forces you to eat a lot of fresh fruits and vegetables. Hence, the pantry and the freezer are somewhat void of substance. But, one must plan the meals and not let all that fresh stuff sit around for very long...they do indeed turn into science experiments in no time flat.

The bottom line is that we have already implemented one of our perrenial pledges...the new year's resolution to eat better...and to eat less. We are already back on that illustrious wagon.

Onward. But, I still need to use that slab of breakfast sausage I thawed out the other day. I don't want to be wasteful you know!

Check it out. What a neat reefer, huh?

I suppose I should've taken a shot or two before for contrast. That pack of moldy sliced Swiss cheese was quite striking... from a strictly photographic standpoint!

You bet your life...he was funny.

Groucho Marx. There are many more classic Marx lines, but here are just a few...

Who are you going to believe, me or your own eyes?

I have nothing but respect for you, and not much of that.

Room service? Send up a larger room.

Those are my principles. If you don't like them I have others.

He may look like an idiot and talk like an idiot but don't let that fool you. He really is an idiot.

I never forget a face, but in your case I'll be glad to make an exception.

You know I could rent you out as a decoy for duck hunters?

You've got the brain of a four-year-old boy, and I'll bet he was glad to get rid of it.

A man's only as old as the woman he feels.

Military intelligence is a contradiction in terms.

One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got into my pajamas I'll never know.

I must say that I find television very educational. The minute somebody turns it on, I go to the library and read a book.

I have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it.

If I held you any closer I would be on the other side of you.

I must confess, I was born at a very early age.

I don't care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members.

I was married by a judge. I should have asked for a jury.

Either he's dead or my watch has stopped.

Remember men, we're fighting for this woman's honor; which is probably more than she ever did.

Women should be obscene and not heard.

Why was I with her? She reminds me of you. In fact, she reminds me more of you than you do!

Behind every successful man is a woman, behind her is his wife.

Marry me and I'll never look at another horse!

I married your mother because I wanted children, imagine my disappointment when you came along.

Whatever it is I'm against it.

A woman is an occasional pleasure but a cigar is always a smoke.

Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read.

Quote me as saying I was mis-quoted.

And one of my favorite Groucho retorts:

High society lady (in a huff): "I've never been so insulted!"

Groucho (looking at his watch): "Well...it's still early".

Compared to those days...it's amazing what the networks try to pass off as comedy these days.

I may be wrong, but...

This is my latest bitch session. The term "bitch" here referring to a complaint...not a female canine gender or that other use of the word so prevalent in urban society.

I may be wrong, but...

1. ...shouldn't every driver be required to use their turn signals, have a drivers license, and not be allowed to run red lights?

2. ...what are restaurant owners thinking when they entrust the total well-being of their business to hostesses who's only concern about their job is when they can go home?

3. ...when someone goes to prison for a heinous crime, is it supposed to be a pleasant experience?

4. ...shouldn't it be illegal for auto dealerships to charge $200 for a $6 part and $100 to tell you about it?

5. ...Paris Hilton...what's the point? (This particular item list is endless btw)

6. ...Letterman just signed a new contract extension...c'mon CBS, he isn't funny any more.

7. ...I never understood Jay Leno getting the tonight show...taking Johnny Carson's place?

8. ...shouldn't it be illegal to make modern consumer electronics equipment disposable? Cases in point: plasma televisions, DVD players, and computers.

9. ...aren't we about done with this Iraq mistake?

10. ...is The Dog Whisperer making a fortune teaching us dumb-ass humans how not to screw up our dogs? (I enjoy the show btw)

11. ...Hillary Clinton will be the first female US president...possibly as soon as '08.

12. ...is Scarlett Johanssen incredibly appealing...or just weird looking?

13. ...shouldn't it be a law that stores can't put out any Xmas stuff at least until after Labor Day?

14. ...putting a breathalizer on the starter of a car (for drunk drivers) is a stupid idea? "Here honey, blow in this for me so I can start the car. And when we get home, remember to suck...blow is just an expression at home!"

15. ...would a big old fence stretched across the US/Mexican border really work? They'll just come in through the gate.

16. ...should 700 pound people in tiny electric cars be allowed to eat at Hometown Buffet?

17. ...shouldn't there be a law requiring people (men especially) to wash their hands after going to the restroom in a public place?

18. ...shouldn't people you know acknowledge receipt of your emails (let alone answer them)?

19. ...paying for air at a gas station is supposed to be illegal, isn't it?

20. ...shouldn't the most modest motel provide a bath towel bigger than a dish rag?

If anyone reading this would like to contribute...have at it. I'm sure there are thousands more.

What was I thinking when I ate that...?

I'm not even sure why I mention this topic in this venue. But I've seen much more stupid posts on sillier topics by other people. I think I was prompted to write this partly due to the fact that my previous post alluded to Freud's anal stage of human psychological development, and, the temporary condition I find myself in this morning.

Admittedly so, Skip Hansen is a very "regular" guy. Not only am I "regular", meaning average looks, intelligence, and social stature...I am very "regular" in the regularity department. I do not have now, nor have ever had, a problem with "going" on a regular basis.

In the "afternoon" stage of one's life, one might expect to have digestive issues. As for me...not as yet. I have always been as "regular" as the 10:15 from Tulsa. Right on time...at least twice a day. I have known people who just can't "go", at least not without some sort of outside stimulation being introduced to their system. In fact, I knew someone a long time ago who didn't (or couldn't) go but once or twice a week! I believe her doctor made it clear that she needed to address this problem as it is not a healthy condition. For lack of better way of saying this, "Ya' gotta get that shit outta there! It ain't good for ya'!"

Like I said, I've never had much of a problem in this area, save for an occasional case of culinary bad judgement. Although I think nerves has been the cause in some instances. There is nothing like a good case of dysentery-like diarrhea to make you forget about what is making you nervous.

The strange thing is, I spent a good deal of time in the South Pacific when I was in my early-20s...my Navy tours. Vietnam, Philippines, Thailand, Taiwan...I was there. And I don't remember ever having any kind of digestive or stomach distress once. And I ate (and drank) crap in town, off base...in shit hole bars and restaurants I wouldn't even go in today. God knows what kinds of "bugs" were introduced to my system. Geeze, I even drank the water in town. And to top it off, that was in between flying 14 hour patrol flights to and from, in and around a combat zone...was I not nervous doing that? I never got sick when I was overseas.

I did, however, get very sick for several weeks while I was training in friggin' Millington, Tennesse. Millington (just outside Memphis) was home to a huge Naval airborne technical school. I was hurting for a while in that sewer of a place. But overseas? Nada!

I think it may have been partly due to the fact that the Navy pumps you full of antibiotics and other preventatives before you head over there. There is one lovely little injected cocktail called "GG", gammagobulin. They stick a huge syringe in each cheek...right out of the refrigerator I might add...and pump about a million cc's of this cold stuff into you. It feels like a couple of golf balls under your ass skin for about an hour to two. Maybe that humiliation helped stem the gastric distress tide.

Like I said, I do not have now, nor have ever had, a chronic digestive disorder. No spastic colon, no chronic gastritis, no irritable bowel syndrome. But in the past few years I do get what I like to call the What The Hell Was I Thinking When I Ate That Squirts? Or, the Pepperoni and Beer Syndrome.

I guess I really shouldn't complain since it doesn't happen every time I choose to abuse my system with pizza and beer...just once in a while. My poor wife Loretta can't even look at that stuff any more. In fact, if she even sees a picture of a green chile, she has to run to the bathroom!

So, at 5:00am, I got up and headed to the "library", several times. Now, at 7:00am, it's all good. I'm done. And the good thing about this morning's minor explosion? I found a really interesting recipe in Bon Appetit for Shrimp, Chicken, and Andouille Gumbo! I wonder how my system would welcome that concoction?

All in all, I think it was well worth the temporary discomfort I experienced...it usually is. I haven't eaten pepperoni pizza for months...and won't again for quite a while!

I may be a narcissistic manic depressed anal retentive nihilist...

I removed dipolar from the title considering it would make it redundant...and there are enough personal issues lingering in the title of this blog.

I just took a self evaluation quiz on a web page about Manic Depression a few minutes ago. Fortunately, for me and my wife Loretta, I failed the test! In other words, it appears as though I am not dipolar...just a bit fucked up and slightly deluded in my view of the world. Many years ago a marriage counselor described manic depression to me. He indicated that, in its simplest form, it is when a person goes through extreme highs and lows in short amounts of time. This particular shrink...he was foreign but I don't recall from where...said everyone had good days and bad days, highs and lows. But manic depressed people, often times described as dipolar, go through extreme highs (almost uncontrolled elation and a feeling of well being) and extreme lows (sometimes spending days in bed, or sleeping a lot so as not face the world). Geeze, it would be nice to stay in bed for a few days...and sleep more than a few hours. Anyway, I guess I can rule out dipolar as a self diagnosis...although I do know quite a few people who are indeed dipolar. In some cases, their condition is pretty close to schizophrenic I might add. They shall remain anonymous for fear of reprisal!

I used to think I was somewhat Anal Retentive. Let's rule out that weirdness considering I have been accused of being a slob on more than one occasion. Anal retentives super organize their closets and sock drawers, fold their dirty clothes before placing them in the hamper, and are paranoid about touching "public" things. Wait...that last item mentioned is all about me now! Oh, thank goodness for Purel.

It was Freud who coined the phrase anal retentive in referrence to behavior later in life that resulted from things that may have happened to you during your anal stage. He went on to describe one of the characteristics exhibited during this stage is when one derives great pleasure from having a bowel movement. Hence, a person with anal retentive tendancies has issues with letting go, so to speak. The term is often used in reference to a person seen as overly worried about small details...they are uptight or distressed over ordinarily minor problems, and unable to adopt a philosophical attitude toward mistakes. That smells of my personality sometimes, but again, I'm a friggin' slob. But then, I do truly enjoy taking a big, lengthy, extended dump on a daily basis...sometimes more often. I may still be in my anal stage...is that bad?

Narcissistic? The term narcissistic is often use to describe vanity, conceit, egotism or simple selfishness. Apparently a young Greek named Narcissus refused to accept the advances of a young lady, he preferred admiring his own reflection. His punishment by the Greek gods (this is a Greek myth by the way)? Being turned into the flower Narcissus. Back to me, quoting a Seinfeldism, "...I don't like me!" Most therapists agree that a certain amount of narcissism is a healthy thing in a balanced well being. Where do you find that stuff, can you buy it at Costco?

Nihilism is a philosophical position, often associated with Friedrich Nietsche, which argues that the world, and especially past and current human existence, is without objective meaning, purpose, comprehensible truth, or essential value. Describing nihilism in one sentence isn't really possible. But a nihilistic person basically thinks everyone and everything is screwed up! Well known nihilists included Adolf Hitler and Dr. Evil. Got the picture? We may be on to something here regarding my personality! But considering how sentimental I am, I may not fit this profile either. Instead, I'll make up my own self-description.

Skip Hansen is a bummed out, burned out, sentimental, day dreaming under-achiever, who dwells in the past, but has an unwavering hope for the future. I will call this philosophy Neobeatleism. The theme song for Neobeatleism is actually of medley of All You Need Is Love, Imagine, and Because. Oh the hell with it, let's make this medley the entire Beatle catalog!

Help!