People like to give out these “Whatever blogger” awards to each other; I don’t want that, just cash, fame, and cheap, vacant women. And skin that doesn’t dry out like sandpaper in the desert, as I strongly, and without any other option, embrace the middle ages of life. But people that do (rightfully) win these awards often have to tell people 5 (7?) (10?–hell, I can’t remember) things about themselves. So, we’ll imagine that scenario and get to it–here’s 7 things about me:
1. I’m the funniest person I know, among people who couldn’t tell a joke to save their souls. I don’t completely butcher one-liners, but, if you and I were waiting for a bus, and I were to try to tell you a long-winded joke that I’d heard, only the thought of how much you love your family and friends would keep you from jumping out in front of the truck that was in front of the bus. Actual comedians can have you rolling in the aisles from the beginning of the joke.
2. Like a lot of people, I crack myself up with my own stupid private jokes. On the rare occasions that I don’t have the little storm cloud over my head when I’m driving to work, I can just have my private little laugh by imagining myself saying to a friend at work, in a bad Japanese accent, “Oh…..you…..velly….gay…..ferrow!” At a factory where I worked for, forever, we would have Japanese people come though once in a while, either selling us components or buying our displays, and I always wanted to just walk up and stand beside them and whatever hotshot from our company was showing them around, just stand there a second till they realized I was there, then suddenly, dramatically look up “to the sky”, point and say “Rook!!… Godzirra!!!” Japanese are students of culture and have a good sense of humor (so I’ve heard), so they would have laughed and the wet noodle from the factory would have had me fired.
3. After 27 and a half years, I got fired from that company for swearing. Actually, it was because the little wienie-ass who was my supervisor at that time wrote me up instead of telling me, “Geez, Kevin, you were a raging horse’s ass there.” So I gave him 27 years of bile, and it took them 10 days to decide to fire me. The next day I got hired at another factory in town, which was a place that I would describe as
hell on Earth a place I would rather not work at again. That was only for a few months; now I’m in retail, which doesn’t pay real well, but is much more relaxing. I still have nightmares where someone (that I wouldn’t hire to swab out a toilet) is yelling at me, and also yelling at his best, most experienced employees, “What are you resting for?–get over and help them!!” Yeah, it was like that.
4. I like Family Guy–like the little golf pro, or is it groundskeeper, on that show says: “Yeah, I like Family Guy–big whoop, wanna fight about it?” (He got run over by a tank later, if you remember.) (Remember this theme.)
5. I’m one of the most politically incorrect people I know (that isn’t an out-and-out racist, misogynist, homophobe piece of crap that is), but I once was called in to the President’s office, of the factory where I worked for 27 years, and asked to quit, because I had written a “suggestion”, during the days of South African apartheid and boycotting of S. African businesses, that we not brag about selling things to South Africa. I worded it so diplomatically; it was a “Problem Observed/Solution” format: In the “Problem” part, I stated that, in the breakroom newsletter, we mentioned that we had sold stuff to a company there, then in the “Solution” part: “First of all, whose bright idea was this?”, etc. So a reactionary, defensive prick would’ve taken offense. (This by itself doesn’t make me a wonderful person.) Oh, yeah, by the way, I’m laughing so hard I can barely type here–I told him that I had bills, so I needed the job. Like I had bills back then compared to now.
6. I’d rather hear Martina McBride’s Christmas album than anything by Kiss. I even like the “duet” between her and Dean Martin that’s called “Baby It’s Cold Outside”, that my young friend Kim from work calls “The Date-Rape Song” (listen to it and tell me she’s wrong). Big whoop, wanna fight about it? Kiss sucks, but Gene Simmons is cool. Oh, by the way, not all of the songs on her album are great, just the ones that are.
7. I don’t know if I saved a life, or several lives, or prevented a huge horrible accident, but I did the right thing once when I was driving on the interstate. I liked to take my sandwiches, at lunchtime, and drive on the “superslab” (as old Vinny from work used to call it) to the next exit, then come back, just listening to music. I won’t tell you what else I did, but it didn’t involve having my hand down my pants, so we’re OK. Anyway, one time, just as I was making the interstate happy by entering it and heading back north, after crossing over the overpass, I saw a car do a U-turn in the southbound lane and head back north, in the passing lane of the 2 southbound lanes. I could see that it was an older lady driving. It was a summer day, high noon, perfect weather. I kept pace with her, in my passing lane, honking my horn, flashing my lights at the people who were directly in her path, and yelling at her that “You’re going the wrong way!” If you believe that things happen for a reason, maybe it was good that I liked to go interstate-cruising, because after a few miles, and at least one really pissed-off trucker, she realized what was happening, pulled through the emergency lane in the median, pulled over in front of me on the shoulder, we got out and hugged, she thanked me, and we went on our way. She went the right way on the divided highway at the top of the off-ramp at my town. I always wonder what happened to her. I suppose Alzheimer’s eventually took her. When I got back to work 7 minutes late, all I got was a head-shake from a buddy of mine. I’m glad I was there.
8. Okay, there’s more than 7–big whoop, wanna fight about it? I can’t stand people that hurt other people, especially institutions, or countries, but, if I lived back then and they held my kid ransom, I’d let the Nazis win.
9. Among my many faults, I’ve never had a fistfight. I’d do my dumb best to protect someone that was being threatened, if it came down to that, but fighting is just plain stupid. When I see 2 guys fighting, they might as well be kissing, for as awkward as it looks to me.
10. Not that I ever look at that stuff, but I don’t get the whole thing in internet porn where they have the “models” dress up in schoolgirl uniforms. That seems like adults liking kids somehow, even though the model is obviously, thankfully, an adult. I make a HUGE exception, however, for that chick who played Lucy Liu’s bodyguard on “Kill Bill”. I don’t know; maybe it was that nasty weapon she had, or maybe I’d like to remove all sharp objects from the trailer and have her say (very drunkenly): “It is you who have penetrated me.”
11. Unless they’re as cool as Robert Redford seems to be, I think that obscenely rich people (not comfortably off people, don’t get me wrong) are about as disgusting, and worthy of life, as serial killers. They’re just creepy.
12. I make great oatmeal/chocolate chip cookies from my mom’s old recipe (will publish it here, with her comments, someday)–the secret is to take ’em out raw.
13. I think that anyone over 18 who enjoys winter, especially snow, should be put in a camp. Snow, unless it’s falling on mountains or pine trees or on pine trees by babbling brooks in the mountains, is just bland and white. White, white, everywhere, like a Lutheran potluck dinner in South Dakota. And death on the roads, and shoveling, and cold, cold, cold.
14. I don’t know if there’s a picture, but there’s a memory, of when I was 18 and working in the Black Hills, sitting around the campfire with a tequila bottle and a joint coming from each direction. Of course I just passed them on, but I have heard that smoking wacky crap at high altitudes, in the fresh air, with young, fresh-faced, attractive, intoxicated people around you, is, well, sorta fun.
15. I can’t understand why he had to go to a public park to find it, whether “it” was man or woman, but one of my all-time favorite guilty pleasure songs, one of the best vocal performances of all time, is by a guy recently in the news for being sick, a song that should have been named “Teacher” but instead was named “One More Try”. Yeah, I know, my guilty pleasure should be something like “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”, but it isn’t–big whoop, wanta fight about it?: (I-hope-this-plays-sorry-about-the-ad-I-just-needed-to-find-a-clean-copy-thanks-for-ruining-my-blackberry-brandy-buzz-youtube-this-sure-as-hell-isn’t-summer-in-the-Black-Hills-in-1974…)