Quick weekend recap... Not a real exciting weekend. This was the first Saturday that I have been home and haven't had to work or a Bama game to go to in quite awhile. I took full advantage by lazing (Is that a word? Well, it is now. I'm submitting it to Merriam-Webster.) around most of the day. I did buy a new CD Saturday night. And wow, looking at the amazon.com price, I got screwed at FYE... FYI. Ended up hanging out with friends Saturday night. A late night Halloween trip to LaGrange was debated for an hour or more, before being decided against. (I was all for it.) Got home at about 3:45 AM. But that was daylight savings time, so in reality, it was only 2:45 :-)

EDIT: My phone just rang. Someone named Desiree showed up on the caller ID. I don't know her, but she sounds quite fetching. At last, 555-BUTT is paying off!

Hope you all have a spooktacular Halloween!!

As is tradition, here is the Seinfeld bit on Halloween, from I'm Telling You For The Last Time. Wonder if it's illegal to post this? Hmm. Probably. Oh well, fits in with the rest of my life:

"So the first time you hear the concept of Halloween, when you're a kid, it's like your brain can't even... What is this?! Who's giving out candy? Someone's giving out candy? Who is giving out this candy.... Everyone that we know is just giving out candy?!!!! I gotta be a part of this. Take me with you. I wanna do it. I'll do anything that they want.... I can wear that! I'll wear anything that I have to wear. I'll do anything I have to do. I will get the candy from these fools that are so stupidly giving it away.

So the first couple of years I made my own costume. They of course, sucked. Ghost. Hobo. No good. So I'm begging the parents, you gotta get me one of the ones from the store. The cardboard box, the cellophane top. So one year, third year, finally got a Superman costume... not surprisingly. Mask included in the set! Remember the rubber band on the back of that mask? That was a quality item there, wasn't it? That was good for about 10 seconds, before it snapped out of that cheap little staple they put it in there with. The thinnest grey rubber in the world. You go to your first house, trick or snap. It broke. I don't believe it.

So I had my Superman Halloween costume. I was physically ready. I was mentally prepared. And I assumed, that when I put this costume on, I would probably look exactly like the Superman I had come to know on television and in the movies. Now you remember these costumes, it's not exactly the super fit That you are hoping for! You look more like you're wearing Superman's pajamas, is what you look like. It's all loose, and flowing. Neck line kinda comes down to about there. And you got that flimsy little ribbon string holding it together in the back. And of course my mother makes me wear my winter coat over the costume anyway... I don't recall Superman ever wearing a jacket.

So you're going out there, you know, and the mask keeps breaking. So the rubber band keeps getting shorter, and keeps making it tighter and tighter on your face. You can't even see. You're trying to breathe through that, remember that little hole? It gets all sweaty in there, and the mask starts slicing into your eyeballs. I can't see, I can't breathe. But you gotta get the candy. Let's keep going. About a half-hour into it, you take the mask off. Bing bong! Yeah, it's me. Gimme the candy. I'm Superman. Look at the pant legs. What's the difference.

Remember those last few Halloweens? Getting a little too old for it. Just kind of going thru the motions. Bing Bong! Come on, lady. Let's go. Halloween, doorbells, candy. Let's pick up the pace here. They come to the door, they always ask you those same stupid questions. What are you supposed to be? I'm supposed to be done by now. You wanna move it along with the Three Musketeers. I got eighteen houses on this block alone. You just hit the bag, we hit the road. That's the routine.

Sometimes they gave you that little white bag, twisted on the top. You know that's gonna be some crap candy. It's gotta have those official Halloween markings on it. Hold it lady, wait a second, what is this? The orange marshmallow shaped like a big peanut? Do me a favor, you keep that one. Yeah, we got all the door-stops we need already. Thank you very much. We're going for name candy only this year."

"I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul. I believe that family is worth more than money or gold. I believe the struggle for financial freedom is unfair. I believe the only ones who disagree are millionaires..."

Sometimes I try to make the letters in the comment verification thing stand for something. Like the other day, I had to type in WWZLG. My translation: When Will Ziggy Look Gay? It's a fun game. Or, just a game. Or, just something odd that I do.

I got another massage yesterday. That's number three, if you're scoring at home. This one was more painful than the other two. I apparently had a knot in my back, and she basically had to push her elbow all the way thru my abdominal cavity to get it. I'm actually a tad sore today. As I was discussing this with a friend, the following exchange took place:

"Was it a deep tissue massage?"
"No, just the one hour full body Swedish massage. Or as they now refer to it, The Bone :-)

OK, so they don't. Yet. But it made for humorous conversation. It also led me to think, what else could/would "The Bone" refer to? Hmm. I'll have to think about that one.

That reminds me of a story. Last year, after a video shoot, we went to dinner at Logan's. Dinner was on the company, so we were all ordering our steaks, burgers, grilled chicken, and what have you. Our crew included this rather corpulent fellow, and when it got around to his turn to order, he chose the 20 oz. porterhouse, the largest and most expensive item on the entire menu. His last name was (not really) Beasley. So everytime we go there now, we joke that we'll have The Beasley.

Speaking of corpulent... (Boy, the segues are flowing like milk and honey in the promised land today.) I get to work this morning and the temperature outside is 33 degrees. But does Big Sweaty have the heat on? No. Apparently, this is his kind of weather. That has led me to the conclusion that he is like a bear. I mean, he's about as large as some bears. He smells like what I would imagine a bear to smell like. Now if he'll just hurry up and hibernate, it shall be a joyful winter for those of us not blessed with multiple chins.

And lastly today, I have made the decision to trade in my truck for the car I've been "test-driving" for the past two weeks. The #1 deciding factor? The car has a CD player and cassette player, so I can listen to my Milli Vanilli cassette and sing along with Rob and Fab, unashamed and unfettered. Now, decisions don't come easy to me, especially rather insignificant ones. For example, a few weeks ago, after I'd lost my sunglasses, I went to buy a new pair. Anyhow, I spent at least thirty minutes looking at and trying on sunglasses. Finally, I was unable to decide between two pair (is it pair or pairs?), so I bought them both. I really need someone to go with me to help make these decisions. Like what to wear. I would love to have a woman to just ask, "Honey, which of these shirts should I wear today?" I have no problem with a woman telling me what to wear. I look forward to it, actually. Saves me thought and effort. How did I get off on this? OK, back to the original topic. I drove my truck for the last time yesterday. I plan to do a blog entry about it, sort of like I did with my old apartment. A lot has been changing in my life recently. New home. New vehicle. New hobby (getting massages). All I need to complete the cycle is a new job. And a new girlfriend. Or a girlfriend.

Hope you all have a great weekend and a spook-tacular Halloween! (Sure, it's beyond corny, but how many times a year do you get to say "spook-tacular?")

"I guess it's been a good year for roses and aggressions, for flowers and freeways. And I guess I'll put a smile on, get a new girlfriend. Yeah, put a new hat on..."

Still upset that I missed/didn't know about Rachel Ray on Letterman last night. Don't know when I'll recover. Kyle just sent me a text message that says "happy hump day." That helps. Somehow :-S

As most of you know, I recently moved. In doing so, I decided to keep a landline (for now), and my number changed. As I mentioned in an earlier post, my new number is 555-BUTT. That's all well and good. Easy to remember, etc. Within a day or two of my new number being connected, I began to receive telemarketing calls. I then went online to sign up for the National Do Not Call list. This had worked quite well at my old place. However, it's been about a month since I signed up here and I'm still getting calls. If I see "private", "unavailable", or a toll free number on the Caller ID, I just don't answer. But anyway, that's really not what this story is about.

Since I've been here, I've also gotten calls and messages from people who seem to be looking for a particular person. I've probably gotten three or four messages for some girl named Chelsea. The first I remember asked if she needed them to come by and pick her up for church. The most recent was last night. Now keep in mind, my answering machine message is me singing the following:

"Believe it or not, Bone isn't at home.
Please leave a message at the beep.
I must be out, or I'd pick up the phone.
Oh, where could I be?
Believe it or not, I'm not hoooooome."

So one would think when someone called and got this message, they would realize fairly quickly something had changed, and this probably wasn't who they were trying to reach. But no, last night some lady says, "Oh, I just love your message. This is (unintelligible) from (insert church name here). I'm just calling to let Chelsea know we've been missing her on Wednesday nights. And I wanted to let her know our service begins tomorrow night at 7:45." I just want to pick up the phone and go, "Yes, this is Chelsea's Dad. She is not allowed to associate with you snake-charming, tongue-speaking fanatics anymore, lest you brainwash her. Don't ever call here again! Goodbye!" :-)

Then, there's this guy with an accent who calls. He's called two or three times and he is nearly yelling every time. His message is something like, (in a middle-Eastern accent) "Mister (can't tell what he says), this is (whomever). Really need to speak with you. It is very urgent matter! Very important that you return my call!" I wonder if whoever had the number before me was a terrorist.

And remember, each time they call, they're getting the singing phone message with my name in it. And besides that, I thought the phone company didn't reassign the same number for like six months after it had been cancelled. I used to work for the phone company, so I almost know they don't. So how does this happen?

Oh, that also reminds me, a few years ago, I got two or three long messages at my old place from what sounded like a little kid. I would guess he was probably 10-12 years old. And again, I had the singing phone machine message even then. But he would go on and on in these long, drawn out messages, alternating between sadness and angry screaming. It would be like, "Pick up the phone, Joey. I know you're there. (screaming) Why won't you talk to me?!?!? Are you mad at me, Joey? Did I make you mad? Pick up the phone!!! I know you can hear me. (almost crying now) Call me, Joey." Geez, it was like one of my ex-girlfriends was calling again. It was hilarious, but sad at the same time.

Anyway, when I was assigned 555-BUTT, I didn't complain. I didn't try to get it changed. No, I embraced the BUTT. I cherished it. And I was fully prepared for booty calls, phone sex solicitors, proctology questions, and the like. But picking up Chelsea for church on Wednesday night? Business calls from Najib Abdul Musabi? Oy vey!

555-BUTT isn't all it's cracked up to be.

"Daylight licked me into shape. I must have been asleep for days. And moving lips to breathe her name, I opened up my eyes..."

Trying to churn out a blog entry before my Unisom kicks in...

After reading my Urinalysis post, J-Mo suggested I post a link to this. I remember seeing this, or something simliar to it, several years ago. I think it goes well with my entry.

Click here to take the Urinal Test.

See? It's not just me. And while I don't agree with all their rules, I love the logic on #5. And ladies, you are encouraged to take the test, as well. Don't worry, it's phallus free.

"So lately, been wondering, who will be there to take my place? When I'm gone, you'll need love, to light the shadows on your face..."

Congratulations to Lass for completing her marathon this weekend. I did my part by sponsoring her for mile #4 :-) And that was integral, I'm sure...

The Agony of Victory?
So, yeah, Bama is 7-0! Saturday's game was nerve-wracking as we squeaked out a 6-3 win over Tennessee, one of our biggest rivals. We made a field goal with 13 seconds left to win. It was maybe the most exciting ending of any game I've been to. However, I've decided that watching a Bama game, for me, is three hours of anxiety, worry, stress, and sometimes depression, and about ten minutes of jubilation. Aren't these things supposed to be fun?

Here's a pic I took of some random fans before the game:


Looks like a fun group :-)

For those who don't know, Tennessee's coach is a rather um, portly, individual, who seems to just get larger and larger every year. So that was a reference to him.

Restaurant Reviews
I've actually eaten at two new establishments in the area in the past few days. Last Thursday, we had dinner at the new JW Steakhouse at Priceville. Mine was good. I just had a cheeseburger. Others had mixed results. It's a bit pricier than the Moulton Steakhouse and Oh Bryan's, as well. Grade: C-

Then tonight, we went to the new Pizza Inn at Somerville. It was delicious. Decatur used to have a Pizza Inn years ago. That's the first one I've been to in a long time. Ran into Lil Bootay's brother there. The only thing was, they have a couple of TV's, so I asked the waitress if I could change the channel. She said OK. It was on Fox, and I wanted to turn to ABC for Monday Night Football. So I pushed the channel button and it wouldn't change. She said, "I think we only have one channel." What the crap? It was Fox. It's not like they were piping in some kind of pizza propaganda. That, I could understand. Grade: A-

Ya Deerty Bone
Discussed Halloween costumes today. Still want to go as Nelly. I think I could pull it off. Gold tooth, band-aid, earrings, bandana, wife-beater, silver chain, etc. However, it would be really sad to dress up and no one know what you were supposed to be. Anyone wanna go as Kelly Rowland? "Bone I... love you... Bone I... need you..." ;-)

Random thoughts
Walking thru the Wal-Mart toy department today, I realized that I think I would still play with toys if it were socially acceptable.

It was cold here today. Temps in the 30's last night. We went from short sleeve weather to winter coat weather basically overnight. We skipped right over long sleeve stage.

Cold weather means hot chocolate. And I love hot chocolate. I've yet to have my first cup this year though.

Still test-driving the car. Longest test-drive in history. Can I common-law take over ownership of this car if I just drive it long enough? I Carfax'd it today. It's been in one accident. The mileage doesn't seem to have been tampered with.

It's my tradition to rent a couple of scary movies around Halloween. I usually end up watching them by myself in the dark.

My favorite scary movie, I think, is the original Psycho.

Saturday I ate a slice of cheese pizza before the game, a hot dog at the game, and a greasy barbecue sandwich on the way home. Healthy!

"I'd love you even if you were bald." Someone said those words to me recently when I was talking about getting a few gray hairs. Kinda sweet, doncha think?

When the skies outside are dark and dreary and cloudy and gray, yet your world still seems brighter than the sun... that's an amazing thing.

"I said what about Breakfast at Tiffany's. She said I think I remember the film, and as I recall I think we both kind of liked it. And I said, well that's the one thing we've got..."

After a one-week hiatus, the J&K Show is back. Episode Seven is online now for your listening enjoyment.

(Click here to listen.)

As always, your comments and feedback are appreciated.

"I didn't go to boarding schools. Preppy girls never looked at me. Why should they? I ain't nobody. Got nothing in my pocket. Beverly Hills, that's where I want to be..."

Picture the following... You find yourself at the airport, with an impending renal requirement. After walking past several gates, you finally see the restrooms. The urinator's oasis. You rush inside. Fortunately, it's not crowded. There are maybe 15 wall stalls, and only a couple are taken. You position yourself at the second stall from the left, four urinals down from your nearest fellow leaker, unzip, and let it go. Ahhhh. Suddenly, without warning, midway through your discharge, your personal space is invaded. Without any thought for common sense and everything that is good and homophobic, someone sets up camp at the far left urinal, right next to you. What the freak?!

This situation happened to me recently. Twice! I had to fight my natural instinct to yell out "What the crap?!" to the offending parties. As a friend of mine said to me when I relayed this story to him, "You can't pee with someone right next to you!" Indeed! Of course, it's much too painful to try and cut off the flow and move, but it was all I could do not to switch stalls in midstream. These events have prompted me to compose this entry.

The rules
There are unspoken rules of men's room etiquette. I don't know how we know them, we just do. Well, most of us anyway. Some are common sense. Some, otherwise. I will now attempt to acquaint you with some of the more important rules and procedures for the very natural process of urinating in a public forum.

Rule #1. Always, ALWAYS leave a buffer zone of at least one urinal between you and the nearest peer. Always. Simple enough? Apparently not for the dysfunctional pee people I encountered. I will allow some leeway on this rule if and only if there is some sort of partition between urinals. But even then, skip a space if at all possible.

Rule #2. If it is impossible to skip at least one urinal, then check for an open stall. Yes, that's right the good old traditional sit-down toilet. Most of these are fully-enclosed, except for perhaps a foot or two of space at the bottom. If no stall is available, then I recommend leaving and coming back at a later time. Although waiting is acceptable, as long as you wait over by the sink. Don't wait directly behind someone who is doing his business. I mean, really, most of us have been in prison at one time or another, and it's just a little uncomfortable, that's all.

Rule #3. Once you're at your station, employ the three 'S' method of public urination (snuggle, straight, silent). Get in close, look straight ahead, and don't speak. No one likes a loosey-goosey-necked urinator. Don't look around. No one likes a long-distance bomber either. Get as close as possible to the porcelain without touching it. And don't make small talk. It's not a social event. It's a bodily function. Besides, you should be more worried about what you would do if someone were to steal your wallet right at this very moment. Because really, this would be the opportune time, don't you think? (That's what I always think about when I am peeing anyway.)

Addendum A. (The Stall Clause). If you're using the toilet... defacating... and you get done. Wait until the restroom is completely clear before exiting and washing up. You've just done that, and we don't want to put a face with the odor, Stinky. Really.

I guess that will do for now.

Examples
Next, let's look at a couple of examples. These are situations that you might very well encounter, and how best to handle them.

Situation 1: There are five urinals and three stalls. Urinals #2 and #5 are occupado. What do you do?

Answer: Since it would be impossible to skip a urinal on each side, check the stalls. If you can't find an open stall, you can pretend to wash your hands until a urinal comes open, or just leave and come back in a little while. If urinals 1 and 5 would have been occupied, you could have safely and properly used urinal 3.

Also, as a side note here, let me say: Beware of the stinky stall surprise. For some reason, people either don't like to flush public toilets, or don't know how. If you encounter this unpleasant stink bomb, exit the stall immediately and find another appropriate location.

Situation 2: There are three urinals. The far left one is occupied. The other two are open.

Answer: This one is easy. Use the far right urinal. For added protection, you might also employ a 30 degree turn, what I like to call the 'privacy turn', away from the other urinals. This works especially well on an end urinal.

Reader questions
Now for some reader questions. Or questions that I made up and attributed to readers. Whichever.

One readers asks: "Bone, what if I enter an empty restroom? Is there a best choice of urinals?"

I'm glad you asked. Really, you're only going to be in there for a short time, hopefully, unless you have some sort of problem. So it doesn't matter so much. Still, to be safe, choose an end urinal. Then, if someone were to violate the one-urinal buffer zone rule, you could still do the 30 degree turn and get a measure of privacy. Also, sometimes the sinks are next to the urinals. If this is the case, choose a urinal away from the sink.

Another reader wants to know, "What about the restrooms that have large tub-like basins to pee into, Bone? What's proper etiquette there?"

Well, I know exactly what you're talking about. And this is pretty much a judgment call. First, I would try to find an unoccupied basin. If there are none, look for a stall. Still no luck? It might be possible to urinate in the same basin as somone else. It really all depends on the basin size. If there's any chance your 'streams' could cross, then you definitely want to avoid that. How awkward would that be. I mean, if you're gonna do that, you might as well hold hands. Even if no one is there, always position yourself near one end of the basin. Similarly with the restrooms that just have streams of water running down the wall into a drain (I hate those), it's a judgment call. A good rule of thumb always is to allow as much distance as possible.

Summary
I hope we can all see from these points that I've tried to make that when a man enters a public restroom, the choice of stalls is not some haphazard, random, close-your-eyes-and-hope-for-the-best-result process. That's OK in the bedroom. But not here. This is much more important.

The renality of it is this: It's a logical process. And it's really not that difficult. With apologies to Janet Jackson, we all live in a urine nation. So let's make the best of it. You can't just go anywhere. However, if you just apply yourself and follow these simple guidelines, you too can engage in proper public urination. And that means a better, safer, more pees-ful world for all of us.

And be looking for my future diatribes, including:
Outdoor urination: When, where, and which bushes are prickly?
High and low urinals: The long and short of it
Proper flushing technique: The kick flush (You can always burn your shoes later)
Proper handwashing: The paper towel first technique
Hand blowers: Your patience is rewarded

Hope you all have a wonderful weekend! Big game this week. Come on, Bama.

"I came along. I wrote a song for you, and all the things you do. And it was called yellow..."

Labels: germophobia, humor, OCD and me, restrooms

She called last night. I was gone. She left a message. She was at her parents'. I called her back when I got home.

Said she had a feeling something wasn't OK with me. May have had a dream or something. We talked for about an hour and a half. Until her phone died around midnight.

She's not dating anyone. I felt relieved. Why?

Turns out she knows my masseuse. They used to work together in the mall years ago. I knew she looked familiar.

I told her about the blog. Who knows if she'll ever visit. Not a big internet person. I actually read her a couple of the entries about her. Said she was going to cry.

It had been over a year since we'd talked. It was good to catch up. Always is. I'm glad and thankful we're still friends.

Neither of us can believe it's been six years. Nor do either of us know where that time has gone. Anyhow, that's all in the past. We're both different people now. I tell myself. Makes things easier.

She's been burned. It would take something amazing to cause her to ever open her heart again...

"I don't know how I'll get her off my mind, but give me time, and I'll think of something. I can't say today that I'm alright, but by tonight, I'll think of something..."

South Park Begins Ninth Season

After reading the previous article, I think it is fairly easy to draw several parallels between their careers and ours. Allow me, if I may:

1. They are two young creative, single, thin guys, in their thirties. We are two young, creative, single, attractive, thin guys, in our thirties.

2. There is two years difference in their ages. There is two years difference in our ages.

3. They consider Eric Cartman a prophet. We consider Eric Cartman a prophet. (Of course, who doesn't.)

4. They thought their show would probably only be on for six episodes. We've done exactly six episodes so far. (Come on people. Really, this is getting quite freaky, doncha think?)

5. They are too busy with their growing entertainment empire for successful relationships with women. We... well... obviously.

Yes, friends. I think we can all see where this is going. Kyle and I are the next Trey Parker & Matt Stone.

Tune in Friday night for another exciting edition of the J&K Show on 89.7 The Owl. Also, be online between 9 and 11 PM Central time for your chance to be IM'd during the show.

The Owl... up all night. Hoot hoot. (Speaking of which. I'm stuck on Pacific time. Must get to sleep...)

"Some people live with the fear of a touch, and the anger of having been a fool. They will not listen to anyone, so nobody tells them a lie..."

I don't know where to begin. (Other than at the "create new post" page on the Blogger dashboard.) How one's life, one's outlook, one's perspective, can change. In a weekend. A day even.

Friday morning, and Thursday night for that matter, I was somewhat of a nervous wreck. I had never flown. It wasn't so much the flying that freaked me out. I was more worried about finding the airport, the terminal, my gate, etc. Once I was seated at the gate, waiting to board, I was fine. Sure, the flight attendant had to caress me with my head in her lap until we got to cruising altitude. (That's a technical aeronautic term (TAT). Don't concern yourself with it.) But really, that was more of a "hot flight attendant" thing than a "Bone's trying to open the cabin door" thing.

I flew American. And I was very pleased. Of course, I have nothing to compare it to, but everyone at the airport and with the airline was very friendly and helpful. When we left DFW for California, the pilot said we would be flying as fast as possible to make up time just in case there might be smaller planes that would slow us down once we neared our destination. And I was thinking we're flying. Why not go as fast as you can all the time? There's no speed limit. It's like one big aerial autobahn. Floor it, man!

Is that a Seinfeld bit? I think it may be, partly. I know this is... "They show you how to use a seat-belt, in case you haven't been in a car since 1965. Oh, you lift up on the buckle, oh!! I was trying to just break the metal apart! I thought that's how it works. I was going to attempt to tear the fabric part of the belt. I thought if I could just get it started..."

So anyhow, I liked the airports. $3 for a 20 ounce Coke. You can't beat that. And DFW had a Dallas Cowboys Pro Shop inside it!! So I got a long-sleeved t-shirt. I wanted to take pictures of the planes outside on the tarmac (again, TAT), but no one else really was. Then I didn't want the security to think I was taking surveillance photos or something for Branch-Davidian East. I love people watching. And listening. Observing. An airport is a great place to do that. Walking through the airport, bag slung over my shoulder, suddenly I could see myself as a world traveler.

A couple of people mentioned that for my first time flying, it would probably be a good idea to fly with someone who had flown before. And that is good advice. But now, having done it alone, there's an even greater sense of accomplishment. The feeling you only have when you do something on your own. I know this probably sounds silly and insignificant to most of you. But for me, this was huge. It's not that I had ever refused to fly anywhere. I just had never had a reason or felt the need or really thought about it. Still, there were these walls, which I had unknowingly set in my mind, that seemed so humongous and insurmountable. But now, after the fact, they seem only like small stepping stones.

Flying is amazing. Looking down on the tops of clouds. Seeing God's creation from this perspective. Going from DFW to California, the pilot said we'll be passing over the Colorado River, Mohave Desert, and other places. I thought to myself, it's like a real-life maps.google.com up here! Hope we don't zoom in though.

I think I will stop there, lest this entry become like the reign of a two-term President, and go on for far too long. I will probably write more about my trip later. Maybe tomorrow.

Monday morning, I was sitting in a French restaurant, at a window table for two, looking out at the Pacific Ocean. Monday night, I was home, piling clothes from my suitcase into the washing machine.

Friday morning, I had never been on a plane. I had never been west of Texas. Today, all I want to do is take plane rides to other places. Oh, and get massages.

Life is amazing, ain't it.

"In the mornin' I'm leavin', makin' my way back to Cleveland, so tonight I hope that I will do just fine. And I don't see how you could ever be, anything but mine..."

"Women were made to love. Money was made to spend. Life is something, buddy, you can never live again..."

While I'm on break, someone suggested that I post something from my archives. Or, no one suggested it. I just decided to do it on my own. This is the story of me installing a new radio in my truck earlier this year. Enjoy...
------------------------
March 20, 2005

The Radio Story

Pseudo live-blogging yesterday's radio installation (with pictures)...

3:42 PM - I arrive at Dad's. I go there because it looks like it might rain and there's no sheltered place to park my truck at my apartment. Well, not legally anyway.

3:44 PM - Dad is out back in the utility shed. He rattles off several instructions, tips, and helpful hints that I need to keep in mind while installing my radio.

3:45 PM - I can't remember any of Dad's instructions, tips, or helpful hints.

3:50 PM - Surrounded by instructions, screwdrivers, and hex wrenches. There's something very comforting about being surrounded by tools.

3:51 PM - Dad walks up and volunteers to help. Whew.

4:01 PM - I wonder to myself what is the worst possible thing that can happen, sort of a worst-case scenario. Could something catch fire? Could I seriously injure myself or anyone else? Could I be electrocuted? Is there anyway my truck won't be running when I get done? Do I smell something burning?

4:27 PM - We have the main dash panel and the old radio removed. It looks like this:


4:28 PM - I think to myself, that wasn't too bad. I should be done by 5:00 or 5:30, at latest. (Edit: Reading back over this on Sunday afternoon, this is really funny. Really, really funny.)

4:29 PM - I randomly remember one time in 9th grade, this nerdy kid brought these vials to school and said they contained the HIV virus, and that we better not open them. We opened them and he told us he was no longer responsible for what happened. We laughed at him. Then later, we secretely wondered if he had been telling the truth. By the way, he's married now. Something is wrong with this picture.

4:31 PM - Dad informs me he has to shower and leave around 5:00. He briefs me on how I should do the wiring.

4:33 PM - I sorta feel like MacGyver, defusing a bomb or something. Of course, he wouldn't need a kit to install a radio, only dental floss, some duct tape, and an old watch battery.

4:45 PM - I have the wiring done. It looks a lot like this, or exactly like this:


4:47 PM - We plug in the radio and test it. It appears to work correctly. For the first time, I notice this statement in the instruction manual: "CAUTION: Before proceeding with the installation, disconnect your vehicle's negative battery cable to prevent any possible electrical system damage." Oops.

4:59 PM - I have a little trouble operating the radio. There's lots of buttons. Dad asks, "Haven't you read the manual?" Well, of course I have... not.

5:07 PM - With me assuring him I can finish up, Dad leaves.

5:08 PM - I think to myself there is no way I'm getting this done tonight and cry aloud, "Why?! Why?! Why?!" That was a recurring theme throughout the afternoon and evening.

5:09 PM - I start to work on the installation kit. It looks a lot like a model car (see picture below). I try and remember if I ever completely and correctly put together a model car. I come to the conclusion that I probably did not, at least not without having some parts left over. Here is the kit:


5:28 PM - It's still pretty early in the going, and I can't find a piece that I need. Piece B1 appears to be missing. Why?! Why?! Why?!?! I figure I must have misplaced it, but it's nowhere to be found. None of the other pieces will fit in its place. For the forty-seventh time this afternoon, I wonder what in the world was I thinking when I decided to do this.

6:05 PM - After looking for B1 without success for over half an hour, I ponder going inside, lying down, and going to sleep for a long, long time. Again I think, there is no way I'm finishing this before morning. But no, I can't give up now. So I make the executive decision to go back to Wal-Mart and see if I can exchange the kit. If not, I figure I'll just buy another.

6:14 PM - After putting up the tools, and with the dash of my truck basically in my lap, I drive to Wal-Mart. Customer service tells me I have to go to the automotive department and get them to OK my exchange. I ask the girl in the automotive department if I can open the new kit to make sure all the pieces are there. They are.

6:30 PM - I have the new kit and I'm on my way. It is now very dark here in Nowhere, USA.

6:31 PM - Note to self: Wal-Mart has hired a high number of attractive female workers. It's no wonder some companies are so successful.

6:35 PM - I sorta feel like Batman. This has nothing to do with the radio thing. I just always sorta feel like Batman.

6:49 PM - Back at "the shop" and now having surpassed the three-hour mark, I think about all the NCAA tournament games I am missing right now.

6:53 PM - The thought crosses my mind that half the population of Kenya could have already run a marathon in less time than it has already taken me to install this radio.

7:01 PM - While still working on the kit, I get a call from my sister. She asks if I want her husband to come over and help me. No thanks, I say. I think I've got it. For the first time in a long time, things are looking up. Seriously. Perhaps my plans for the night won't be shot after all. Oh, that's right, I had no plans for the night.

7:05 PM - The entire time I'm working on the kit, I'm thinking to myself, "This isn't right. This isn't going to fit."

7:24 PM - The kit is finished. At least, I think it is. I discard all the unused parts and pieces. Now it's time to mount this baby in the truck and see if I can reattach the dash panel.

7:35 PM - The radio is installed and appears to be working. I start on the dash panel.

7:50 PM - Success!! The dash panel is back in place, and the radio still appears to be working:


7:51 PM - This must be how Edison felt when he invented the... whatever it was he invented.

7:52 PM - Huh, turns out I didn't need the hex wrench set after all... or a bunch of these parts. Watch for my next instructional feature, "Crossword Puzzles Made Easy." It's OK to have spaces left over.

7:58 PM - I leave and drive home with my new Sony radio/CD player blasting the Spin Doctors. Later I decide to head to Decatur and hang out so that I can listen to my CD player some more. Life is good.

"If you want to call me baby, just go ahead now..."

Dear blog readers,

Sorry about the lack of posts lately. My mind has been elsewhere. Preoccupied. Troubled. I clicked 'create a new post' tonight and stared at the screen (and chatted) for most of an hour without typing anything. It has just been that way lately. I start trying to think of something to write, but without fail, my mind quickly goes back to mulling over the same things. It has carried over into my everyday life, too. I find myself not having anything to say to anyone, at work, on the phone. Even with friends, my mind drifts off and I find myself mostly silent. Also haven't had much desire to read or comment on blogs lately. I hate this. Anyway, I just wanted you to know. Hopefully, things will be back to normal soon. Think I'm gonna take a Unisom and go to bed...

Bone

"Got a good reason, for taking the easy way out..."

I was tagged (again) by Lass (so blame her). At least it's easy and non-time-consuming...

The Rules:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same.

My 23rd post was entitled Foooooooooood! Apparently, someone was going to cook for me.

The fifth sentence of said entry was as follows: "As for the way to a woman's heart, well, obviously, I have no idea."

I'm such a jokester sometimes. Wow, my blog was really bad then. At least this particular entry. Hmm, I'll have to tag five of you lucky, lucky readers:

1. Carnealian
2. Lindsy
3. Dea
4. Kerry
5. Xinh
(Yes, I have to number them so that I can keep track. And yes, the more you play, the more I'll tag you.)

Enjoy! Don't forget, the Killers are on Leno tonight.

"Now they're going to bed, and my stomach is sick. And it's all in my head, but she's touching his chest now. Hee takes off her dress now. Let me go..."

OK, another edition of the JK Show is up.

(Click here to listen)

Two in-studio guests this week, one newbie and one returning from last week. Yes ladies, the Playboy is back. As always, appreciate your feedback and comments. What better way to spend twenty minutes of your life?... OK, don't answer that ;-)

"And I'm sorry but it's not a mistake. And I'm runnin' but you're getting away..."

OK, due to the fact that I have received nearly a hundred searches for the picture of Prothro's injury this week, I thought I would post it. However, due to the graphic nature, I did it so you will only see the pic if you click on the "view" button.

This was our star receiver Tyrone Prothro (not Tommy Prothro, as one search had it), breaking his leg in the 4th quarter of Saturday's game:



So... yeah. Warned ya.

[+/-]view/done

Has it really come down to this? Blogging email jokes? Sad. Pathetic, really. Well, at least I'm not cluttering up your email inbox with this. Except for a handful of you, who so foolishly gave me your email addresses ;-) (K, we should have tried the zoo one a few years ago at the Atlanta Zoo, rather than trying to pick up the two hotties with the line, "So did you enjoy the Giant Pandas?")

How to maintain a healthy level of (in)sanity:

At lunch time, sit in your parked car with sunglasses on and point a hair dryer
at passing cars. See if they slow down.

Page yourself over the intercom. Don't disguise your voice.

Everytime someone asks you to do something, ask if they want fries with that.

Put your garbage can on your desk and label it "In."

In the memo field of all your checks, write "for smuggling diamonds."

Finish all your sentences with, "In accordance with the prophecy."

dont use any punctuation

or capitalization

As often as possible, skip rather than walk.

Order a diet water with a serious face whenever you go out to eat.

Specify that your drive-thru order is "to go."

Sing along at the opera.

Go to a poetry recital and ask why the poems don't rhyme.

Put mosquito netting around your work area and play tropical sounds all day.

Have your co-workers address you by your wrestling name, Rock Bottom.

When the money comes out of the ATM, scream, "I won! I won!"

When leaving the zoo, starting running towards the parking lot, yelling "Run
for your lives!! They're loose!!"

Tell your children over dinner, "Due to the poor economy, we're going to have
to let one of you go."

"And now you crossed that line, you can't come back. Tell me how does it feel now. It's too late, too much to forget about. Can't stop now. Tell me how does it feel..."

Little Mary Phagan, she went to town one day
She went to the pencil factory, she went to get her pay
She left her home at eleven, she kissed her mother goodbye
Not one time did the poor child think that she was goin' to die...

Have you ever heard of this song? (complete lyrics here)
Well, my Mom and grandma used to sing that song to me when I was little. And each time they'd sing it, I'd always hope that this time, Mary would get away and make it home. I actually never knew the whole story until I was older. I guess maybe it's one of those southern things, but it's still interesting to read, to me anyway.

What brought that up is that it was mentioned last night at dinner. We went to O'Charley's for Mom's birthday. (Yes, I know, they had screwed me twice and I hadn't been there in nearly two years, but that's where she wanted to go. It actually turned out to be decent.) I decided to surprise Mom by inviting some of her siblings to dinner with us. So it ended up being Mom, my sister and her husband, two of Mom's sisters, one of Mom's brothers, his wife, their two kids, and me. So ten of us in all.

Almost anytime any of my Mom's family is together, talk will eventually turn to things from their past, from my past. Much of it is repetitive, but I still love to remember it, and to hear them tell it. And occasionally, someone will mention something that I hadn't heard before, and I learn something new, about my family, my heritage. I don't get to see my aunts and uncles and cousins as much as I did when I was a kid. I guess everyone gets busier, and life gets in the way sometimes. But I have learned to cherish those times more now. I was looking at my aunt last night. When I was little, I always thought she was one of the prettiest women in the world. She's 53 now. Still looks about 40. But everyone is getting older. Myself included.

Another story that got brought up is a game my grandma used to play. Living out in the country, with no stores nearby, and no toys around, we pretty much created our own fun. Fishing in the pond, or skating on it in our shoes when it froze over, exploring in the woods, throwing rocks, etc. Anyhow, sometimes she'd play this game which would pacify us for long periods of time. You'd sit in her lap and she'd pat you on the back, singing: "Jicama, Jicama, (pronouncing it Hick-uh-muh Jick-uh-muh) honey cups, how many fingers do I hold up?" And you'd guess a number between 1 and 5. And she'd say something like, "Four you said and two it was. Jicama, Jicama, honey cups, how many fingers do I hold up?" And it would go on. Until you remembered something fun you could be doing outside. Or until she got a phone call from some family member. Her phone kept her in contact with everyone. And I remember everytime I would think I had her guessed right, she'd pull out the ol' "One you said and NONE it was." Argh! Such a trickster was she. I miss her.

Mom had come by to pick me up last night because she was test driving a Jeep Grand Cherokee. On the way home, she told me, "I didn't know all them were gonna be there. That was a surprise. I never get to see them anymore. I liked that as much as anything."

Me too.

"Remember when the days were long, and rolled beneath a deep blue sky. Didn't have a care in the world, with Mommy and Daddy standing by..."

I wonder what it takes to become a blimp pilot. What even makes a kid want to do that? Are they sitting there watching the story of the Hindenburg on The History Channel one day, thinking to themselves, "If I had been piloting it, that never would have happened." Or maybe they're just airplane pilots who weren't very good. "Here, why don't you try this larger, much slower craft? All you have to do is just wait for us to cut the strings and pretty much just not hit anything." And what about the job prospects? They can't be very good. I mean, how many blimps are normally in the air at any given time? Like two?"

Quickly recapping my weekend...
Friday: Went running. Shot pool at The Brick. Then recorded the show. I feel like it was probably our best show. I've been really pleased with the past two. Didn't care for Episode 3 all that much. Thanks for all your feedback.

Saturday: The Bama game was AWESOME! We just kept scoring and it was just unbelievable. Bryant-Denny was louder than I've ever heard it. Most everyone stood the entire game. Oh, the big sweaty guy who was stinking last week starting turning around talking to me and high-fiving me during the game. (Football games are the only setting where high-fives are still socially acceptable, by the way. Please. Don't do them anywhere else, for the love of Pete.) So my sister was laughing at me. I guess I've made a new friend. There was a downside to the game, as we lost our best receiver, Tyrone Prothro, for the season, to a gruesome leg/ankle injury in the 4th quarter. Anyhow, we're ranked #7 in the new AP Poll. Everyone is so excited.

Sunday: Ate at Fire Mountain for the first time for lunch. It's pretty much the same thing as Ryan's. Not a big buffet fan. (However, I am a Buffett fan.) Did laundry and unpacked a couple more boxes. TBS had a Seinfeld marathon, so I saw no reason to leave home the rest of the day.

Today, I test drove a car at lunch. It's almost exactly what I've been looking for, so Bone might have a new ride before long. Still have to negotiate though ;-)

Today is also my Mom's birthday. And while I hope to goodness she doesn't read my blog, I'll still say Happy Birthday, Mom! Without you, well obviously, there'd be no Bone, no blog, etc. So really, you guys should thank her, too ;-) Or blame her. Whatever the case may be.

Last but not... eh, whatever. One of my ex-girlfriends (the few, the proud) has started a blog. She was asking me the other day how to get comments, so stop by and welcome her to the blog world. But don't ask her anything about me. She knows enough to be dangerous :-P

"I'll never know 'til it's over, if I'm right or wrong loving you. But I'd rather be sorry for something I've done, than for something that I didn't do..."

...of the show is up. We had our first two in-studio guests ever this week.

Click here to listen. And as always, let me know what you think.

Also, to make things easier, we've created the screen name JeffandKyleShow on AOL Instant Messenger and Yahoo Messenger that we'll use during the show. So add that to your buddy lists. You can also use the email address JeffandKyleShow@yahoo.com.

"Heard it from a friend who, heard it from a friend who, heard it from another you've been messin' around..."