Why.

There is a fear running rampant through our merry little household. It is a fear that has gripped this tiny bit of existence for the past several years and quite frankly, something has to be done about it.

People are afraid to open the dishwasher.

Now, opening the dishwasher involves a little bit of a commitment. Not only does one have to put dishes into the dishwasher (that’s what they usually do when they open the dishwasher), but one also runs the very insane risk of finding out that the dishes that are currently in the dishwasher are clean.

The horror.

Because of the wild advances in appliance technology (nothing says “welcome to the 21st century” like having to reboot your dishwasher), there’s no escaping the fact that if you open the dishwasher when the dishes inside it are clean, you’re going to make the little “clean” indicator light go out and then the Magic Fairy that flies around the house is going to know that someone opened the dishwasher. Because you see, if the dishes in the dishwasher are clean and the “clean” indicator is off, then the Magic Fairy will know that someone was unwilling to commit the time needed to empty the dishwasher. It’s apparently the Magic Fairy’s job. Though the Magic Fairy will not say anything, audible sighs will probably be heard and their will be an air of guilt about the house until someone confesses to this act of neglect.

Since that “clean” indicator on the front of the dishwasher strikes terror in some occupants of this house, it has been decided (most likely through a secret vote) that it’s easier just to pile the dishes in the sink, on the television, under the couch, in the back bedroom or over the litter box. At no time will a dirty dish approach a dishwasher with the “clean” indicator illuminated, for the aforementioned time obligation involved with opening the dishwasher after it has been rebooted and done it’s thing.

Be very afraid.

So last night I was a little bit stupid and left one of the doors unlocked on the Jeep when I went to the gym. The parking lot outside of the gym is rather dark and since folks hadn’t been out the night before, the lot was populated with a lot of vehicles. I ended up parking farther away from the door than I usually do.

When I came back to the Jeep after a very successful workout, I noticed that my jacket had been moved from the driver’s seat to the passenger’s seat and an ATM slip was sitting on top of it. Since I don’t leave stray papers in the Jeep, I knew that someone had been in my Jeep while I was working out. I looked up on the dash and noticed that they only thing missing was my pair of $20 aviator sunglasses. Whoever made their way into the Jeep didn’t bother to take the case for the sunglasses, the multiple iPod/iPhone chargers in the console, my jacket, Army hat or other hat nor did they take my Apple bluetooth keyboard that I use with my iPad on the road. They only took this pair of $20 aviator sunglasses. Any they were all scratched up and slated for replacement anyway.

I was mad at myself for leaving the door unlocked. I was disappointed in the whole human equation and the idea that someone would break into a vehicle to begin with. But I was dumbfounded by the fact that whoever felt they needed to violate my space was only concerned about looking good in a pair of sunglasses.

There’s a lot of stupid going around these days.

Since everyone is going on and on about being prepared for the storm, I have taken the necessary precautions to make sure that we are fully prepared for this latest round of Armageddon. Which begs the question, how many instances of Armageddon or a “Storm of the Century” can a planet have only 11 years into the current century?

Nevertheless, we are prepared.

So the news and the weather folks and all that sensationalize these things are starting to talk about the possibility of a Perfect Storm that could hit the East Coast of the U.S. in the beginning of next week. Guesstimates right now indicate that the peak of this Perfect Storm would be Tuesday afternoon. The Perfect Storm scenario is the combination of Hurricane Sandy hitting the coast somewhere between Delaware and Maine, a blast of cold air coming down from the Arctic and a front coming in from the west. There is the potential for a lot of wind, rain and/or snow.

This potential has already started whipping some people up. There’s chatter at work about it, money people are saying it’s going to cause $1B in damages and at any moment I expect to see the couple that buys the donuts come careening into the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot in their wood paneled Country Squire (with shutters!) at any moment. I know that tonight I plan on doing three laps around the lawn yelling “Help Me! Help Me!” whilst flailing my arms in the air.

Hysteria is the name of the game and if you’re not being hysterical about the weather then you’re not following the script.

There’s a part of me that thinks that the Mayan Prophecy of 2012 has people a little more on edge than usual, but there’s a more realistic side of me that realizes that people are just getting more hysterical by the minute. I, myself, can be hysterical at a moment’s notice, but that’s only because it adds to the levity of the situation. These folks that run around gathering donuts and buying milk and crying a good 96-150 hours before the possibility of a storm are just plain nuts. You can’t change the weather. You do what you can do and just get through it.

Perhaps a few laps around the house flailing my arms and yelling “Help Me! Help Me!” in a puny voice will convince Mother Nature that I have a sense of humor. If not, we’ll add an extra gallon of milk to the fridge, make sure there’s gas in the snowblower and stock up on a few canned goods to hide in the secret room in the basement.

It’ll give me an excuse to go off my healthy eating habits and eat a Slim Jim by candlelight whilst listening to the wind.

Calm down people.

There have been funny tweets floating around in my head all morning. Well, at least I found the tweets funny:

“I thought the Oompa Loompas were shorter.”

“I liked it better when the Oompa Loompas helped at the candy factory.”

“It was scarier when the Oompa Loompas showed that movie of the chicken during the boat ride.”

The Oompa Loompa I am referring to is, of course, Donald Trump.

Someone should tell Donald that as an autumn, he shouldn’t wear a winter color such as magenta on his lips. I am fully frightened that I even know what that means but not as frightened as I am by the image of a grown man looking like he should have Sunkist splayed across his forehead. I suspect a secret alliance with Anita Bryant.

Donald Trump has been crowing about some big October surprise that he was going spring onto the country at 12:00 ET today. This surprise was going to absolutely turn the direction of the election on its ear and today would mark the beginning of a new chapter of this election cycle that has already, quite frankly, dragged on way too long.

Internet reports are a little varied, but it is now after 12:00 ET and apparently Donald Trump is going to donate $5M to a charity of President Obama’s choice if the president shows his college papers. Loosely translated, it means, “you’re black and I can’t still get over it”, but that could just be my personal spin on the situation.

There was a rumor that Donald was going to reveal that President and Mrs. Obama had once considered divorce. Big friggin’ woo. I’m sure most couples have considered divorce once during a time of yelling and the like. Personally, I never have. Murder? Possibly. Divorce? Not an option. But anyways, big deal, they’re married today and quite frankly it’s not anyone’s damn business what goes on with their personal relationship.

I think someone needs to go back to rowing the boat down the scary river after laying off the magenta on the lips.

The truth of the matter is that there are two factors that can be squarely blamed for the absurdity of American politics today. First of all, reality television has trained the sheep that everything is now a mindless competition. Who can stuff the dead carcass fastest? Who can make the prettiest cupcake? Who can play ukelele through unfortunate gaseous incidents after a visit to Taco Bell? I’m surprised that the first Presidential debate didn’t involve eating bugs, jumping over an oak tree stump that’s floating down a fake river and then being dropped through a hole in the floor if the candidate’s response went over their time allotment. Why wasn’t Candy Crowley spinning a wheel of bonus rounds? The American populace has been trained to enjoy watching their brothers and sisters suffer. That’s what the sheep want. Screw Little Bo Peep. It’s not “who said the most intelligent things”, it’s “who beat the other one in the most demonstrative way possible.” I’d bet you that the debate viewing numbers would have skyrocketed if the sheep could have watched Obama get sprayed in the face with Rust-Oleum if he stumbled on too many words in a row or if there was a risk of fire around Romney whenever he smiled/grimaced in a creepy way. There’d even be prayer circles hoping for this sort of thing because it could be justified by Leviticus 76:5 part 3 paragraph B or whatever.

The second factor that contributes to this mess lies squarely with the internet. Fueled by reality shows and their ilk, people now think that because they can share their thoughts with the world via the tubes that carry information from one city to another, they’re relevant. Please. Most people, including me, are nothing. They just think they’re something because in school they received a trophy for remembering to breathe while chasing a ball in the wrong direction on a football field. What I write here is designed to do nothing but entertain myself. I rarely take myself seriously. But the fact of the matter is, I could write some pretty outlandish crap here, post a few links, throw up a few photos and then make myself look serious in a headshot and folks would take my writings as gospel. Throw up some ads, write a few sensationalist headlines and voila, rich man making money off the sheep. These are the same people that enjoy watching that Honey Boo Boo thing, give a damn about Snooki and get off watching Kirstie Alley swing herself around on a stage like she’s trying to close her own barn door. The internet has provided an unbridled vehicle of drek and self-importance and Donald Trump (the rich Oompa Loompa) is taking square advantage of it. People will lap it up. Cable news channels will repeat it over and over and over and then it will become a Big Thing™ when in fact it’s a Nothing™.

I’m hoping that nothing will come of this latest revelation from the one that clearly has way too much time on his hands. Let’s hope that my faith in the sheep will be restored in some small way.

In the meantime, stay away from the magenta.

I just had the oddest retail experience at our local Kmart. I’m sorry, it’s actually a Big K, though I don’t know by it’s called that as the pharmacy, garden shop and cafe have been mercilessly ripped out of the place and to add to the deserted ambiance, there is a swath of empty aisles along the back of the store.

But I digress.

There was only one checkout open. Behind the check stand of register 7 stood no cashier, instead, plopped onto a stool was Albert. He seemed a friendly sort, though I think he had been screwed down to the stool. Because Kmart, I’m sorry Big K, does not have automated belts on their registers, he beckoned to me to slide the items down. He did not use the built in scanner designed for maximum efficiency and cashier comfort, instead he opted to use the gun usually reserved for the likes of kitty litter and lumber.

When asked my phone number so I could add the order to the rewards program, though I have no idea what the rewards are, he broke out into hilarious laughter when I gave him my Google voice number, a number based in Buffalo. Apparently my name, combined with Buffalo is fall down but not off the stool hilarious. He asked how it was in Buffalo. Apparently he’s never left the stool to go there.

As he gunned my order he just slid the items down to the bagging area and then asked me to bag it myself, lest he get off the stool.

I was kind of in a state of shock with his level of customer service. But, he did remember two important things: 1. He asked me if I wanted to put this on my Sears charge (I replied, absolutely not until Mr. Roebuck is reestablished with the company) and 2. TYFSAK, “Thank you for shopping at Kmart”.

I miss when the savings were amazing at Ames.

When I was younger I would get excited about this time of the year because of the impending arrival of a double edition of TV Guide. This particular edition of TV Guide was not just a listing of what was scheduled to be on the tube for that week with a few random articles interspersed here and there, no, this double edition featured a full listing and description of all the new television shows planned for the new fall season that would begin in mid September. These exciting listings would include full color photos of the cast of the new show. I would feel much excitement about these new shows and pick out the ones that I would want to watch, assuring that they wouldn’t have a conflict with the other shows I enjoyed.

I guess I was easy to please.

There are several shows that I remember being excited about as a kid. Here are a couple that I remember being excited about but they didn’t last for very long:

1. “Mr. Merlin”. I remember this show with Clark Brandon as the apprentice of Merlin the Wizard. I think Elaine Joyce might have been in it too. I remembered Clark from one of the last episodes of “Wonder Woman”. I found him obnoxious only because he got to do the cool television stuff with cool people. It was pure jealousy.

2. “The Powers of Matthew Star”. Another supernatural show with a lead character that I found obnoxious only as fueled by my jealousy.

3. “We Got It Made”. This one wasn’t supernatural, but it was worth remembering because the apartment on the show had the same painting of a boat that my grandparents had hanging over their television. Teri Copley as the gorgeous maid did nothing for me, but the smart guy, Matt McCoy certain did. He fit into my mid teen fantasies quiet nicely.

Looking back on these shows they seem quite ridiculous, but then when I compare those shows to what I’ve recently seen on today’s television, they seem like works of art. Earl and I ended up watching some piece of drek on TruTV the other night that had something to do with repossessed cars. I think the only plot of the show was to piss off the female guard, who was a big woman that seemed to growl and beat on people. I’m a little embarrassed by the fact that I watched it long enough to figure out what was going on but I’m really embarrassed by the fact that this is what passes for entertainment on American television now. I found reality shows mildly entertaining in the early 00s, now I can’t stand to watch them. I can feel my IQ drifting downwards every time I see someone do something stupid in glorious 46″ HDTV.

There’s a part of me that would really like to cut the cord to DirecTV and just rely on downloaded shows. We have all the pieces and parts necessary to do it. I have the entire second season of “Happy Endings” ready to go at a moment’s notice, but there’s two issues with this approach: 1. We can’t watch live football off the internet and 2. Earl likes to click the clicker and find something to watch.

I have been passing time watching old episodes of “Maude”, “Eight Is Enough” and “The Little House on the Prairie”. I’m finding much more entertainment by downloading these shows instead of watching what’s being thrown all over the airwaves and cable today.

I can’t think of one show that I’m excited about with the arrival of the new season in September. I don’t know what’s new or what’s coming back. I’ve heard about “American Idol” but I gave up on that seasons ago. I lost interest in “Private Practice” when Shonda Rhimes decided to exploit gay men in the military through a ridiculously timed episode about a man being raped by his commanding officer (stereotypes get ratings!) “Modern Family” has become hugely predictable and quite frankly I don’t know what else is on. I had heard something about a revival of “Bewitched” but I don’t think it’s going to happen. GOOD! Oh, I heard about a revival of “The Munsters” but I don’t know what’s going on with that.

I’m not motivated enough about it to care.

As Earl and I were driving home from Buffalo yesterday (and Earl was doing to driving), I noticed a couple of roadside advertisements for barbecues. The affairs looked to be local fundraisers of some sort, the type of gathering to raise money for a church or a fire department or a marching band or something. I think local gatherings like this are a good thing.

Two of these gathering were being advertised with plywood cut-outs of the type of barbecue in question; for example, a pork BBQ was being advertised on the side of a giant plywood pig, who was pink and had a face and a squiggly tail and everything. The expression on the pig’s face was one that lacked amusement. The second BBQ, a chicken barbecue, had a dancing hen as the spokesperson. I don’t know if Ed McMahon awarded her first prize in the spokesmodel category, but apparently we were to believe that she was so happy to be the meal that she was dancing her way to the chopping block.

These kinds of advertisements bother me.

Now, I know where meat comes from. I grew up on a farm and I can vividly recall chasing a cow or bull that had busted out of the fence in the morning and then seeing them hanging in the barn that evening. I’m seriously not proud of the fact that I eat meat and if all forces were in alignment, I would probably be eating barbecued vegetables most of the time. I like a good barbecue, but it’s not the meat that I like, it’s the flavor from the sauces and cooking methods that appeal to me.

I guess I think it’s kind of weird to have your food depicted as dancing its way to your plate. If we showed what happens when said animal stops dancing then folks probably wouldn’t contribute to the community fundraiser being advertised. I don’t know why we can just write “PORK BARBECUE” in a nice, blocked lettering. It’s kind of like the signs with the swervy cars on them, why can’t it just say “SLIPPERY WHEN WET”?

I wonder what dancing tofu looks like.