April 26, 2005

One Ringy Dingy.

While I was cleaning today, I was doing a bit of daydreaming, and have decided that I am going to combine my old radio talents with my new telecommunications talents.

I’m going to be a voice that introduces you to voice mail hell.

I want to start recording voice mail system messages for companies. My voice sounds different than most traditional “Mr. Voice” type voices. I won’t scare the pants off you. I won’t sound threatening. I’ll gleefully tell you to press 0 for operator or en español marque trés.

Of course, I can be no replacement for the “Mrs. Telephone” voice that is heard a couple million times a day, nationwide. Her name was Jane Barbe. She passed away from cancer in 2003. Here’s a sample of her work.

Yeah, I could do that too. 🙂

Litter Trained.

I’ve had a recently surge in my domestication over the past 24 hours. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I can no longer tolerate sticking to the kitchen floor while I walk across it or betting on the dust bunnies as we play “Win At The Races” in the computer room.

I suddenly care about these things again.

I have to admit it, I can be lazy. I have a notorious habit of dropping papers and other fine gadgetry where I happen to be standing. “Where’s the title to the Impala?” “Why, it’s right here, next to the iced tea in the ‘fridge, of course.” I think I might I get really crazy and try filing this week!

I don’t know what spurred this interest in happy homemaking. It could be that I went to Wal*Mart last night (a shocker within itself), and faster than Endora can cast a spell, I was suddenly very excited that Wal*Mart carries bags of peeled and cut carrots that zip lock shut! It was like whoosh! “I need to buy these carrots!” Imagine how positively giddy I was when I bought lunch meat from the deli counter and the bags there did the same thing!

It’s like I found a twin and said “Super Domestic Powers, Activate!”

Before going to bed last night, I set the table for breakfast, even though I was the only one home. Before going to work, I set the table for supper. And here it is, my hard earned lunch hour, and I’ve hustled laundry from the washer to the dryer so I can make room for Earl’s suitcase full of dirty clothes! In the middle of the day, no less! Unbelievable.

I have this sudden urge to clean all the toilets. I don’t know why.

Let’s see how long this trend lasts. I hope it’s long enough to get this house clean! It’s time to shape up up up!


I believe in living life to the fullest. Get out there, go balls to the wall and do something, experience all this world has to offer. Enrich yourself. Be it good or bad, just do it.

It’s very rare that I have a regret in life. I’ve left well paying jobs and taken minimum wage gigs. I’ve moved from relatively nice digs to somewhat seedy neighborhoods in the past. Have I ever had a regret about doing it? No. I just dust myself off and move on.

I regret something I did tonight. Or rather, something I didn’t do. I was walking into a local Army-Navy store picking up some new duds. It’s an old Ames store with a little entrance way you’d find on most older department stores. You know, the place populated with a few stray flyers, a wandering shopping cart and some assorted bubblegum machines. There was a man and woman with their son waiting for the brief rain/snow shower to stop before going out to their car. They were your stereotypical white trash family… greasy hair, kid with a dirty face, dad’s gut hanging out under a tattered jacket. As I was walking towards the store, I could see the young boy was fooling around with the gumball machine. The mother was relatively freaking out about it. She was yelling so loud, I could hear here through the closed doors, over the sound of rain and everything.

Then she opened hand slapped the boy across the face. Not once, but twice. Whack. Smack.

The boy just turned away and continued doing whatever he was doing that she found so horribly wrong. He didn’t cry. But he looked very sad. She went back to screaming at the top of her smoke damaged lungs.

It took every ounce in my being not to say something to those parents. It took every ounce of my soul to refrain from saying to the mother, “Hey fuckface, knock it off, he’s a young boy.” It took every ounce of dignity for me not to haul off and slug the woman. I’ve never hit a woman (or anyone for that matter) in my life and she wasn’t worth ruining my record. But I should have done something. I should have said something. I should have called someone. And I regret that I didn’t do anything.

Whomever you are, young man, know that I’ll pray a little harder for you tonight. And whomever you are, you beast of parents, know that I have my eye out for you and your kind.