Ghost Rider Trailer
Okay, this officially looks like it is going to ROCK! It is now on my list of "TO SEE" movies.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Friday, July 28, 2006
My conversion to Sci Fi
In case I haven't covered this before (I am too damn lazy to scan all the archives to see if I have already mentioned this stuff), Wifey is a big fan of Sci-Fi. Me, not so much. As a kid I was into Star Wars, but that became more of a cultural thing. I watched Star Trek reruns and the early episodes of TNG with my Dad, but that is pretty much the extent of it. But one thing is a universal fact, and that is a well written show transcends labels. I am coming around to the idea that the new Battlestar Gallactica is such a show. Wifey and Larry the Upstairs Neighbor have been watching it from the beginning and have forced me to sit and watch a few episodes with them. And it is pretty good. I am not addicted to it like I am to Deadwood and the Sopranos, but it is a damn good show. Plus, watching it has benefits, like Tricia Helfer (I think that is right). she plays a Cylon, which are the bad guys. But these aren't the silver robots with KITT's red eyeball light but lacking KITT's ultra cool St. Elsewhere doctor/Boy Meets World teacher voice (making KITT the clear winner in that debate) that were on that 70's version of the show. No, they have improved the model quite a bit. So while I debate how I am going to find the time to catch up on however many seasons of this show I am behind on, I leave you with a couple of compelling reasons to tune in when it comes back on.
Happy Weekend Everybody!
BSR
Happy Weekend Everybody!
BSR
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
A gentle prodding to wake the beast
I just checked on Wifey's blog, and there are two things that stick out to me.
One, she hasn't updated it in almost 2 weeks. Two posts and now nothing. Is this a forgotten child?
Two, and much more important to me, I checked out her profile and it says that she is a male. Now I have inspected her pretty thoroughly, and if she is a he, I will be damned if I can figure out where she/he is hiding it. And if this is a surgical thing, while that would make me more than a little non-plussed, I cannot say for certain that I would bounce her/him out on their ass. But if it IS a case of "snip snip make a tunnel for spelunking", I would like to know why I have had to wear all that stupid protection.
And in a note completely unrelated to anything except that I made a casual reference to rubbers, did you know that the technical term for when you get your teeth cleaned is a "prophylaxis"? It is called a "prophy" for short. But the fact that teeth cleaning and a sperm collecting device are spelled ALMOST exactly the same is, to me, very funny.
One, she hasn't updated it in almost 2 weeks. Two posts and now nothing. Is this a forgotten child?
Two, and much more important to me, I checked out her profile and it says that she is a male. Now I have inspected her pretty thoroughly, and if she is a he, I will be damned if I can figure out where she/he is hiding it. And if this is a surgical thing, while that would make me more than a little non-plussed, I cannot say for certain that I would bounce her/him out on their ass. But if it IS a case of "snip snip make a tunnel for spelunking", I would like to know why I have had to wear all that stupid protection.
And in a note completely unrelated to anything except that I made a casual reference to rubbers, did you know that the technical term for when you get your teeth cleaned is a "prophylaxis"? It is called a "prophy" for short. But the fact that teeth cleaning and a sperm collecting device are spelled ALMOST exactly the same is, to me, very funny.
How I made an impression on a young child's life
I started a new diet last week. Last Thursday to be exact, so it has been one week. Also, I am doing a body cleanse and I have greatly intensified my intake of vitamins, minerals, and herbal supplements. Why am I telling you this? You shall see soon enough.
I would like to say for the record that I am aware that NOBODY makes doodie that smells good. It isn't the purpose of it to be pleasant to the olfactory nerves. When a substance is concentrated waste product, it should not remind one of sunshine and lollipops. Okay, maybe lollipops, depending on what you had for lunch.
But I digress. Kinda. To tie all of this up, thanks to the new diet and the supplements, I have been making more doodie than in the past, and it is noticeably more odiferous (even to me, which is saying something because it is a scientific fact that it never smells as bad to you as it does to everyone else). Because in Moleville there is a one person bathroom (unlike the rest of the floors which have the standard two stalls and at least one SRO), and because it has no exhaust and because it causes everyone who walks past to smell (and usually comment on it), I have been going upstairs to the multiple person bathroom where there is more room for the smell to dissipate and where there are little spritzer machines that pump potpourri into the air every 12 minutes on a rotating schedule. I like to use the handicap stall, mainly because I find it luxuriously spacious. It is probably as big as the bathroom at the house.
During a visit to the condo toilet this afternoon, while perusing an article I had printed off of CBS.com (I like to read articles that would normally take too long to read at my desk while "working"), I heard a youngster enter. Of course I could not see the child from my seat, but from hearing his voice I would suppose that he was 8-10 years old. Well, first he made a comment about how it smelled bad in the bathroom. But as he started to tinkle (I always felt like that was an underused euphemism), he said "Oh man, I'm gonna throw up!". And THEN, I was able to help set the boy on the straight and narrow. Following his declaration of the imminent possibility of regurgitation, he started saying repeatedly "Help me Jesus! Help me God! Help me Jesus! Help me Lord!" in no particular order. I am proud to say that he did not vomit (at least not audibly), and I am sure that the first breath of air he took in once he left the bathroom was the sweetest breath he had ever taken. And if I helped lead that boy to the Lord, well, than I am doing God's work, one stinky doodie at a time.
I would like to say for the record that I am aware that NOBODY makes doodie that smells good. It isn't the purpose of it to be pleasant to the olfactory nerves. When a substance is concentrated waste product, it should not remind one of sunshine and lollipops. Okay, maybe lollipops, depending on what you had for lunch.
But I digress. Kinda. To tie all of this up, thanks to the new diet and the supplements, I have been making more doodie than in the past, and it is noticeably more odiferous (even to me, which is saying something because it is a scientific fact that it never smells as bad to you as it does to everyone else). Because in Moleville there is a one person bathroom (unlike the rest of the floors which have the standard two stalls and at least one SRO), and because it has no exhaust and because it causes everyone who walks past to smell (and usually comment on it), I have been going upstairs to the multiple person bathroom where there is more room for the smell to dissipate and where there are little spritzer machines that pump potpourri into the air every 12 minutes on a rotating schedule. I like to use the handicap stall, mainly because I find it luxuriously spacious. It is probably as big as the bathroom at the house.
During a visit to the condo toilet this afternoon, while perusing an article I had printed off of CBS.com (I like to read articles that would normally take too long to read at my desk while "working"), I heard a youngster enter. Of course I could not see the child from my seat, but from hearing his voice I would suppose that he was 8-10 years old. Well, first he made a comment about how it smelled bad in the bathroom. But as he started to tinkle (I always felt like that was an underused euphemism), he said "Oh man, I'm gonna throw up!". And THEN, I was able to help set the boy on the straight and narrow. Following his declaration of the imminent possibility of regurgitation, he started saying repeatedly "Help me Jesus! Help me God! Help me Jesus! Help me Lord!" in no particular order. I am proud to say that he did not vomit (at least not audibly), and I am sure that the first breath of air he took in once he left the bathroom was the sweetest breath he had ever taken. And if I helped lead that boy to the Lord, well, than I am doing God's work, one stinky doodie at a time.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
If the World Were Perfect
I have been sitting here thinking about it (because working at work is for those stOOpid conformists. And I am SOOO original, with my blogs and my neat and tidy haircut and my Nike shoes and...), and I think I have discovered what would be the ideal place to live. That would be the world of Saved By The Bell. A world where guys with mullets loaded with Soul-Glo score hot chicks who will grow up to lick stripper poles and rub ice on their nipples. A world where you can go to the (very clean and open and well lit) local diner every day after school and eat burgers and fries and never worry about gaining weight or high choleserol. A world where a guy like Mr. Belding can grow up to be Principal. Hell, even Screech had a girlfriend for a while (if I remember correctly. But that bitch Lisa Turtle, she never deserved his devotion. I have never forgiven her or Zach for hooking up near the end of the series. Also, to me the College Years is like Rocky V and Batman and Robin. They never happened. You cannot convince me otherwise).
Have I given this too much thought?
BSR
Have I given this too much thought?
BSR
Quich hit and apology
Hey everybody. It is currently a little before 9:15 am here in Baltimore. Make note of the time. Why? Because I am running an impromptu experiment. I am waiting to see how long it will be until the Hens see the news story about Mo'Nique beign kicked off of an airplane ( http://et.tv.yahoo.com/newslink/15285/ ), and after that, how long they will cluck on and on about it. As an added bonus, I am setting the over/under for the amount of cluck time that revolves around her weight to be 75%. I feel like I might be setting the bar too high, but I have faith in them.
Also, I do apologize for the Ron White video not playing directly off of the page here. I didn't see the "won't allow embedding" when I was posting it. Mea culpa!
Be back as soon as the game plays out!
BSR
Also, I do apologize for the Ron White video not playing directly off of the page here. I didn't see the "won't allow embedding" when I was posting it. Mea culpa!
Be back as soon as the game plays out!
BSR
Friday, July 21, 2006
CATS-A-POPPIN!!!!!
3 sites that rule with cats as their theme:
http://www.catsthatlooklikehitler.com/
http://www.stuffonmycat.com/
http://www.mycathatesyou.com/
Enjoy!
BSR
http://www.catsthatlooklikehitler.com/
http://www.stuffonmycat.com/
http://www.mycathatesyou.com/
Enjoy!
BSR
My NEW sister site
Yes, because I don't have enough in my life. 2 jobs, a comedy troupe, and a house that was just re-finainced. And in case I hadn't mentioned it lately, I got married less than a year ago, and I am trying to create a brand new life with the person who I plan on spending the rest of my life with. And I have a blog, where I usually go from mad posts on anything (or my latest kick, pulling crap off of YouTube), or posting nothing at all. So what do I do? I start ANOTHER DAMN BLOG!!!!! But this one is a little different. Go check out
http://spamaliscious.blogspot.com/
and see what you think. Have a great weekend!
BSR
http://spamaliscious.blogspot.com/
and see what you think. Have a great weekend!
BSR
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Dont Jack and wake.
I know, it sounds kinda dirty. Well for once it isn't. Nor am I referring to the sour mash whiskey (JD in NOT bourbon, TYVM). I am referring to the radio station Jack-FM. Many cities are getting stations like this, the "IPod Shuffle" of radio. No DJ's, "we play what we want", and a vastly expanded music library compared to starions that focus on one genre, like country or R&B. Jack-FM can follow Garth Brooks with Barry White, and it is okay. Basically it is like soulless college radio. No personality, just a slightly snarky voice guy throwing around mild insults as a bumper to and from commercial breaks. What does this have to do with the title? Read on...
Wifey's sleep habits are by now well known (if you have read this blog at all). Her waking habits have been discussed in detail also. Her inability to wake up to her own alarm clock is fast becoming legend. Well, the other thing that I am pretty sure I have mentioned is that she has a habit of not tuning the station in all the way, so that the noise you hear is that in between station noise. Quite jarring to wake up to. Well, there is something worse. And that something worse is waking up to Jack-FM.
Wit hher propensity for hitting the snooze bar, I was awakened by Bon Jovi, followed 7 minutes later by Prince, and 7 minutes after that it was Faith Hill, and so on for over an hour. The problem is, the more the musical genres changed around, the more disconcerting it was to my internal processing system. You see, one style of music or random repeating noise, I can pretty much ignore, depending on the volume. When it keeps changing around, my mind wants to start processing differing stimuli. It probably goes back to my deejaying days (another reason to dislike Jack. It puts deejays out of work). So I get out of bed earlier than I planned, and my entire day is off to a rocky start. And you know how hard it is to correct things like that.
More news when my brain has adjusted.
BSR
Wifey's sleep habits are by now well known (if you have read this blog at all). Her waking habits have been discussed in detail also. Her inability to wake up to her own alarm clock is fast becoming legend. Well, the other thing that I am pretty sure I have mentioned is that she has a habit of not tuning the station in all the way, so that the noise you hear is that in between station noise. Quite jarring to wake up to. Well, there is something worse. And that something worse is waking up to Jack-FM.
Wit hher propensity for hitting the snooze bar, I was awakened by Bon Jovi, followed 7 minutes later by Prince, and 7 minutes after that it was Faith Hill, and so on for over an hour. The problem is, the more the musical genres changed around, the more disconcerting it was to my internal processing system. You see, one style of music or random repeating noise, I can pretty much ignore, depending on the volume. When it keeps changing around, my mind wants to start processing differing stimuli. It probably goes back to my deejaying days (another reason to dislike Jack. It puts deejays out of work). So I get out of bed earlier than I planned, and my entire day is off to a rocky start. And you know how hard it is to correct things like that.
More news when my brain has adjusted.
BSR
YouTube crazy takes me to triple digits
Yup, I went on another YouTube rampage, this time pulling a bunch of Animaniacs with a couple of Tiny Toons thrown in for good measure. And that last one (the first one you see) was my 100th post. WHOOPEE!!!!!!!
I see you are as excited as I am. Thank you.
BSR
BTW - once again you will have to go into the archives to check all the posts. Too many for just one page it seems.
I see you are as excited as I am. Thank you.
BSR
BTW - once again you will have to go into the archives to check all the posts. Too many for just one page it seems.
Animaniacs - The Great Wakkorotti The Summer Concert
THis NEVER gets old. Same bit every time, and it always makes me smile if not laugh out loud. And if it inspires a new generation to try and belch the alphabet in one belch, or maybe expand into Shakespeare, and to record said attempts, well, all the better.
Yes, I did those things. My cousin could go from "A" to "Z" and halfway back again on a couple cans of lukewarm Pepsi. And we had our tape recorder keepign every moment for the ages. What I wouldn't give to be able to hear those tapes now.
THis NEVER gets old. Same bit every time, and it always makes me smile if not laugh out loud. And if it inspires a new generation to try and belch the alphabet in one belch, or maybe expand into Shakespeare, and to record said attempts, well, all the better.
Yes, I did those things. My cousin could go from "A" to "Z" and halfway back again on a couple cans of lukewarm Pepsi. And we had our tape recorder keepign every moment for the ages. What I wouldn't give to be able to hear those tapes now.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Don't stop until you get enough!
Okay, I went a little crazy on the posting of videos. You will actually have to go into the July 2006 Archives just to see what I put up today. Toodles!!!!
BSR
BSR
Friday, July 14, 2006
A Public Service Announcement
This is important to all those who like to read forums. And like to reply on them. A classic bit of interweb bitchiness that has been lost in the shuffle.
Now, would you please continue reading as I (momentarily) turn my blog into a San Francisco coffee-house/beatnik poetry room circa 1968. A longing for a childhood memory. And for a dessert treat.
Don't worry, it will change back as soon as you are done reading it.
Now, would you please continue reading as I (momentarily) turn my blog into a San Francisco coffee-house/beatnik poetry room circa 1968. A longing for a childhood memory. And for a dessert treat.
Don't worry, it will change back as soon as you are done reading it.
A little sidebar. I just did a spellcheck on this post, because for some unknown reason, my brain decided that I couldn't spell "momentarily" correctly. I was right, but it was one of those things where the word didn't look right when I was reading it, and I filled myself with doubt until I had to resort to the aforementioned spellcheck. Now for the Alanis Morrissette version of irony...
the spellchecker for blogger.com doesn't recognize the word "blog". It wants to change it to "block".
It IS like rain on your wedding day.
BSR
I want
A snowball. An Egg Custard snowball with a big heaping scoop of marsmallow on top of it. A BIG snowball. At least Big Gulp sized.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Medical Assistance and the cobwebs growing under my butt
I know I have talked ad nauseum about the tedium of calling insurance companies to challenge denied claims, and since we are the only major office that takes Medical Assistance, and we do out-patient surgery for special needs patients, we have a LOT of young children who come through our doors. I also know that I have bemoaned having to call Mequon Wisconson and Salt Lake City Utah on more than one occassion, being that those two citied host the companies that hold more than 90% of the dental Medical Assistance (from now on, Medical Assistance will be referred to as MA, the usual shorthand). Well the other 10% have what is referred to as "straight MA", run by the state. And no matter how bad the corporations that litter the Midwest with my "Please Call Back" messages, nothing they can do can touch the ineptitude and attitude held by state municipal employees.
Now before I go any further, let me say that if you do not live in Maryland, there is always the chance that the state employees where YOU live are pleasant, hard working people who actually have a soul. But I would lay odds against it.
Anyway, straight MA patients are processed through the Dept of Health and Mental Hygiene. Apparently the employees of said august department are not screened to see if they have either of those qualities. I guess those who can, do...
I have currently spent approximately 90 minutes trying to reach someone in said department in order to question why two patients claims were denied. Because the number I have used for the last 1 1/2 years is no longer valid, and they didn't feel it was necessary to inform anyone that the contact number had changed, I have been calling every available number I could find to reach a human who could either help me or steer me in the right direction in order to get help. One of the Hens (Wonder Woman to be exact) gave me a number to call. From there it has been the equivalent of phone Lambada: the forbidden dance of speaking to a person. On the rare occasion that I did speak to a human, it became obvious that they were not who I needed to speak to. How obvious was it? As soon as I explained my situation (and on more than one call BEFORE I finished), I was told in no uncertain terms that they were not who I needed to speak with. On three seperate occasions they hung up on me after saying that, or as it was on ONE of those calls, before they even finished speaking. They were so anxious to get back to whatever they were doing (I imagine it involved torturing animals that PETA had rescued from product testing, than dining on their raw entrails) that they ACTUALLY CUT THEMSELVES OFF!!!!!!! That was amazing.
So now I have to pee and I am suffering from a rather severe case of bus-butt. I actually just got off of the phone with MA, a nice man named Kevin (telling point, he actually had to look for the information to help me because he usually doesn't answer the phones. His clerks do it for him, but they are at lunch. So the likelyhood is that if I had called about 10 minutes later I would have gotten one of those clerks, and would still be searching in vain for actual help). Kevin was so not used to helping people, City Employee Style, that he even gave me the number of the supervisor at Provider Relationis just in case the first number he gave me wasn't what I needed. If there was an election right now, I would write his name in for Mayor.
Okay, I have exorcised the demon that is MA and released the urine that was Jack's distended bladder. Now I must go and get some lunchtime grubbings, for I am hungry.
Before I go, Wifey has started a blog. It is http://joieimani2000.blogspot.com/ and when I get the chance I will be putting it up as a link over there on the right. It might be interesting to see her side of some of the stories I tell, but always remember one thing. Hers are probably all lies and fabrications and gross misrepresentations of the truth, while mine are even handed and tempered with the love and respect that all men should have for their partners. A feeling that it is a journey being undertaken together, and that is how it must be lived. Wifey? Not so much.
BSR
Now before I go any further, let me say that if you do not live in Maryland, there is always the chance that the state employees where YOU live are pleasant, hard working people who actually have a soul. But I would lay odds against it.
Anyway, straight MA patients are processed through the Dept of Health and Mental Hygiene. Apparently the employees of said august department are not screened to see if they have either of those qualities. I guess those who can, do...
I have currently spent approximately 90 minutes trying to reach someone in said department in order to question why two patients claims were denied. Because the number I have used for the last 1 1/2 years is no longer valid, and they didn't feel it was necessary to inform anyone that the contact number had changed, I have been calling every available number I could find to reach a human who could either help me or steer me in the right direction in order to get help. One of the Hens (Wonder Woman to be exact) gave me a number to call. From there it has been the equivalent of phone Lambada: the forbidden dance of speaking to a person. On the rare occasion that I did speak to a human, it became obvious that they were not who I needed to speak to. How obvious was it? As soon as I explained my situation (and on more than one call BEFORE I finished), I was told in no uncertain terms that they were not who I needed to speak with. On three seperate occasions they hung up on me after saying that, or as it was on ONE of those calls, before they even finished speaking. They were so anxious to get back to whatever they were doing (I imagine it involved torturing animals that PETA had rescued from product testing, than dining on their raw entrails) that they ACTUALLY CUT THEMSELVES OFF!!!!!!! That was amazing.
So now I have to pee and I am suffering from a rather severe case of bus-butt. I actually just got off of the phone with MA, a nice man named Kevin (telling point, he actually had to look for the information to help me because he usually doesn't answer the phones. His clerks do it for him, but they are at lunch. So the likelyhood is that if I had called about 10 minutes later I would have gotten one of those clerks, and would still be searching in vain for actual help). Kevin was so not used to helping people, City Employee Style, that he even gave me the number of the supervisor at Provider Relationis just in case the first number he gave me wasn't what I needed. If there was an election right now, I would write his name in for Mayor.
Okay, I have exorcised the demon that is MA and released the urine that was Jack's distended bladder. Now I must go and get some lunchtime grubbings, for I am hungry.
Before I go, Wifey has started a blog. It is http://joieimani2000.blogspot.com/ and when I get the chance I will be putting it up as a link over there on the right. It might be interesting to see her side of some of the stories I tell, but always remember one thing. Hers are probably all lies and fabrications and gross misrepresentations of the truth, while mine are even handed and tempered with the love and respect that all men should have for their partners. A feeling that it is a journey being undertaken together, and that is how it must be lived. Wifey? Not so much.
BSR
Monday, July 03, 2006
10 Things...
This is yet another in the recent string of movie previews with altered voiceovers and different music, making it look completely different. But it is Freakin' HILARIOUS!
As always, the link is in the title.
Hope you have off from work tomorrow, because I DO!!!!!
BSR
As always, the link is in the title.
Hope you have off from work tomorrow, because I DO!!!!!
BSR
Racial profiling at the Dude Ranch
Well, Wifey's official "Weeklong Birthday Celebration EXTRAVAGANZA" is coming to a close. Wednesday night we got a last minute invite to see the sequel of Pirates of the Caribbean. It is DAMN good. If'n you liked the first one, you will love this one. It is a little long (2+ hours) but it keeps you in the seat. Also, in case you didn't know that there was an extra bit at the end of the credits of the first movie (there is), there is also one at the end of this movie. The credits feel like they take as long as the movie, but it is a damn funny bit. Stick around through the never-ending credits and you will get a treat. Thursday we signed off on the re-fi of the house, so that day was pretty much shot. Friday I worked a double. During these few days, Wifey and Momm-o-in-law continued their tradition (pretty recent, if you consider some of the source material) of watching all of the Star Wars movies (yup, all 6) while eating crabs. Oh yeah, and playing the Star Wars Drinking Game (patent pending). I do not really know the rules, because every time I came home to a drunken wife covered in Old Bay and pork rinds (oh yeah, they have those too. Because there was an off chance that the meal could have been construed as "healthy" in some bizarre way, and you can't have that). They actually started Tuesday night, and continued into Wednesday until I came home from work. I believe there was more on Friday. I KNOW there was more drinking.
Saturday brought the HOLY CRAP SHE MADE IT TO 30 party. It went well. Pops gave me the grill he has had collecting debris for the last 2 years. It was rather interesting trying to clean that puppy out, but we got it done. Some chicken, some burgers and dogs, and after quite a bit of drinking, Larry the Upstairs Neighbor and I tried to grill bacon. Everything went well until we flipped it, and the bacon grease started making its way to the open flame. To put it mildly, after we turned the gas off, it still flamed for a good 5-10 minutes before finally dying out. And the bacon (which we were trying to cook on foil on the grill) looked to the world like ground zero of an atomic blast had permanently cast their ashes on the side of a wall. If you ever saw the filmstrip in school, you know exactly what I mean.
Now we come to Sunday. I took Wifey to go horseback riding yesterday afternoon, because she loves to do it and hadn't been in years. Well, I had dressed as if I was going to join her on the trail, and was prepared to do so, even though I had never been on a horse before. But it seems there are weight restrictions, and the first word in my name ain't "Big" fer nuthin. So I sent her off and prepared to run an errand or two whilst she rode the trails. As I was standing there watching her ride off, a family that had reservations for the next hour came up. They were there early and seemed pretty excited to be going horseback riding. It must be said at this time that the family was (and I can only assume still is) black. And to further set the picture for you, I was wearing blue jeans, tennis shoes, a "Big Daddy" T-shirt (no surprise there to anyone who knows me), and a "Kwik-E-Mart" baseball cap. It is pretty obvious that I am not a ranch-hand. But the entire family immediately came to me telling me they were ready to ride and asking me questions on horse riding protocol and procedure. After getting them to calm down a little, I informed them that I had sent my wife off on a birthday trail ride, and I was just as clueless as to what they should do and whom they should ask as they were. The entire family seemed genuinely upset that I wasn't a cowboy. I am not sure, but I might have ruined their entire trip by not rustlin' up some dogies for them. But as I walked away to my truck (SUV, not F-150), I started to giggle, because I am fairly certain that the only reason they could have figured to come and ask me the questions they were asking me is if they assumed that I worked there, and since my attire was hardly worthy of being in a video on CMT, it leads me to believe that they thought I must work there because I am white. I was PROFILED, and I was found wanting. And that hurts as much as it makes me chortle.
Not really. I am not bothered by it, but it still amuses the hell out of me.
COWBOY UP YOU MOFO'S
BSR
Saturday brought the HOLY CRAP SHE MADE IT TO 30 party. It went well. Pops gave me the grill he has had collecting debris for the last 2 years. It was rather interesting trying to clean that puppy out, but we got it done. Some chicken, some burgers and dogs, and after quite a bit of drinking, Larry the Upstairs Neighbor and I tried to grill bacon. Everything went well until we flipped it, and the bacon grease started making its way to the open flame. To put it mildly, after we turned the gas off, it still flamed for a good 5-10 minutes before finally dying out. And the bacon (which we were trying to cook on foil on the grill) looked to the world like ground zero of an atomic blast had permanently cast their ashes on the side of a wall. If you ever saw the filmstrip in school, you know exactly what I mean.
Now we come to Sunday. I took Wifey to go horseback riding yesterday afternoon, because she loves to do it and hadn't been in years. Well, I had dressed as if I was going to join her on the trail, and was prepared to do so, even though I had never been on a horse before. But it seems there are weight restrictions, and the first word in my name ain't "Big" fer nuthin. So I sent her off and prepared to run an errand or two whilst she rode the trails. As I was standing there watching her ride off, a family that had reservations for the next hour came up. They were there early and seemed pretty excited to be going horseback riding. It must be said at this time that the family was (and I can only assume still is) black. And to further set the picture for you, I was wearing blue jeans, tennis shoes, a "Big Daddy" T-shirt (no surprise there to anyone who knows me), and a "Kwik-E-Mart" baseball cap. It is pretty obvious that I am not a ranch-hand. But the entire family immediately came to me telling me they were ready to ride and asking me questions on horse riding protocol and procedure. After getting them to calm down a little, I informed them that I had sent my wife off on a birthday trail ride, and I was just as clueless as to what they should do and whom they should ask as they were. The entire family seemed genuinely upset that I wasn't a cowboy. I am not sure, but I might have ruined their entire trip by not rustlin' up some dogies for them. But as I walked away to my truck (SUV, not F-150), I started to giggle, because I am fairly certain that the only reason they could have figured to come and ask me the questions they were asking me is if they assumed that I worked there, and since my attire was hardly worthy of being in a video on CMT, it leads me to believe that they thought I must work there because I am white. I was PROFILED, and I was found wanting. And that hurts as much as it makes me chortle.
Not really. I am not bothered by it, but it still amuses the hell out of me.
COWBOY UP YOU MOFO'S
BSR
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