July 3: On the Hour and When it Breaks

Is this thing on? Can you hear me? Did you say "Donna?" Hi, Donna. Are you there? Donna must have given up. Next caller on a cell phone, are you there?

I love talk radio. I wake up to the gardening channel and I don't garden. I fall asleep to Coast to Coast AM and I'm not a conspiracy theorist. I'll listen to everything from Rush Limbaugh (even though I can't stand him) to Laura Schlessinger. I love hearing callers call in and give their opinions on the Cleveland Browns' Offensive Line and I don't know anything about football. Gardening, conspiracies, politics, therapy, sports, open lines, headline news, and love song requests. I love Dr. Dean Edell and Dr. Dog. I love Leo Laporte the Tech Guy and Bruce Asakawa. Art Bell and George Noory are brilliant. Jim Rome is ridiculous, but I still listen when I can. I love it all.

There was a show that I used to listen to when I lived in California called The Third Shift. I hated the show, but for some reason, I still tuned in every single night. It was two guys (John and Jeff) that talked about the day's headlines and they would have listeners call in and voice their opinions. They would do segments called "Stupid and Worthless Trivia" and they would find lists for everything. "The top ten most used online passwords," "The top ten most common dog names." One night I won a Third Shift tee shirt by knowing that "Password" was the most used online password. Stupid and worthless, right?

The funniest thing about the show was that the hosts had a name for listeners like me. I was a part of the 22 Percent Club. According to John and Jeff, 22 percent of their listeners hated the show, but still tuned in. Where they got that figure, I don't know but I was definitely a part of it. Why would anyone be proud of having 22 percent of his audience hate his show? Sometimes they would have listeners call in and admit to being a part of this club. The listener would then go on about why they didn't like the show only to be berated by John. This was why I didn't like the program.

John was a pompous assh*le that had to always be right. If a listener didn't agree with him, John would literally sit there and put down the caller for being intellectually inferior to him. He even did it to his co-host on numerous occasions. Jeff would sit there like the wimp that he was and take it. He would throw out a few little jokes to ease the tension, but he took it nevertheless. And for some reason, I still tuned in every single night.

The Third Shift would infuriate me sometimes, but it was interesting. It was talk radio and I had to listen. I love the Padres pregame show, postgame show, and play-by-play. I feel like the hosts of each are family and listening to them is relaxing. I love listening to four hour blocks of conservative radicals bash the current administration and then hear about the troubles of teen mothers for another four hours. I love hearing the same new bulletins every half hour, on the hour and when it breaks. I love hearing a host scold a caller for having the radio turned on. There's something hilarious when a caller that doesn't know how to respond after being on hold for an hour and a half. Talk radio. I love it.

July 2: For Your Convenience

You'll never guess what I saw yesterday while at the grocery store. Go ahead. Guess! Give up? I was walking past the dairy wall at the back of the store looking for eggs. In front of the milk display I witnessed an obese woman sitting in an electric shopping cart. You know the carts I'm talking about, don't you? Twist the handlebar forward and the cart crawls at a snail's pace. Twist the handle back and you roll in reverse. On the front of the cart is a little basket to place things in.

What's wrong with that, you ask. A handicapped woman needing a little assistance with her chores. So what? I'll tell you what's wrong with it. I would be willing to bet that this woman isn't handicapped at all. What's her disability? Not being able to say no to candy?

Look, maybe she is handicapped and this post is just an extremely ignorant and insensitive assumption, but my theory is that this lady is too lazy to push a cart so she rides one instead. You know that little basket I was telling you about? Notice how small it is. These carts are for people who can't walk but need to buy a few groceries. They're not for people who eat super-sized Big Mac meals for appetizers. If these carts were intended for our jolly friends, I don't think they would be electric; they would be diesel-powered. They would have two or three baskets instead of the one and I guarantee the little buggies would have more than the lone wheel at the front, but I digress.

The whale of this tale sat there with her basket overflowing before slamming the handlebar into gear. The cart groaned under the beast's weight and made a wide turn away from the milk and straight into the aisle's end display of fun-sized chips. Her front-right bumper clipped the display, but the handlebar didn't let up. The cart kept crawling, the bumper kept pulling/pushing, and the professionally shined floor was instantly covered with salty snack packs.

As the people passed and stared, I did the same. I grabbed my eggs and made my way to the checkouts. If I thought this lady was truly disabled, I might have helped, but because I was so confident of her refusal to walk I left her sitting there with a dumbfounded look on her porky face.

I didn't follow her to her car to see if she had the blue placard and I didn't ask her to stand up. For all I know, she could have been handicapped but this post wouldn't have been nearly as entertaining if she was, now would it?

July 1: Going Bananas

When you give an incompetent twenty-something an extra day off, exciting things happen. He'll remember the five bananas that he was too lazy to eat and stuffed into the freezer months ago. He'll get the idea to attempt a banana nut bread with his free afternoon and then come to the conclusion that people would want to read about it.

Google "banana nut bread" and you'll get hundreds of recipes. Our subject today found the recipe with the most gold star ratings and followed (sort of) the directions. He made a list of items he needed to purchase which included: sugar, flour, chopped pecans, and eggs. The recipe called for buttermilk, but suggested trying sour milk. Intrigued, our protagonist Googled "how to make sour milk" and found that it was as simple as adding vinegar to 2% (or richer) milk. "I have those things," he thought to himself as Jack Johnson strummed through his computer's speakers. Our friend only drinks 1% milk, but he didn't think the extra percent would make much of a difference.

With his list in tow, he grabbed the keys to his car and made his way to the local grocery store. He grabbed a red hand basket and began his search for the coveted ingredients. In the process, he witnessed an obese woman crash her motorized cart into a shelf of potato chips. As the individually-wrapped snacks fell to the ground and the fat woman looked around helplessly embarrassed he made a mental note to write a blog about the scene.

After using the self checkout, he got back into his vehicle and drove home. He carefully placed his purchases on the counter, washed his hands, and began his preparations. Preheat oven to 350. Check. In a large mixing bowl, mash bananas with a masher. He didn't own a "masher," so he used a fork instead. Check. Mix ingredients with bananas by hand and add one cup of pecans. 2 cups of sugar, 1/2 teaspoon of salt, 2 1/4 cups of flour, 3/4 cups vegetable oil (Does corn oil count? Corn is a vegetable, right?), 3 large eggs (He never was any good at at cracking an egg without smashing it. He didn't think he saw any shells), 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract (Does this stuff ever go bad? He had his extract for quite some time), 1 1/3 teaspoon of baking soda (He didn't have a 1/3 teaspoon so he put 1/4 and a little extra), and 1/4 cup of buttermilk [sour milk]. Check. Because of his cheapness, he had purchased the smallest bag of chopped pecans which resulted in just more than half a cup. Check.

Proud of himself for making it this far, he washed his hands once more and began squeezing, kneading, and molding the smorgasbord of ingredients through his fingers. Because the bananas were frozen to begin with, they were still very cold which led our storied idiot to quickly change mixing methods. He withdrew a whisk from the nearest drawer and proceeded to stir the solidifying mess. As he held the bowl under his left arm and stirred with this right, he felt like a professional cook. A Julia Childs or Curtis Stone, if you will.

Because he didn't actually own a loaf pan, he was forced to divide the dough between two shallow, glass pans. He greased the pans and placed them side by side in the oven before setting the oven's timer to one hour; just like the recipe told him to.

As the hour ticked away, he sat down at his computer, turned up the volume on the music and proceeded to write a blog in the third person on the events of the afternoon. The aroma of bananas and pecans filled the room as he typed away. Just as he was finishing the post, he went to check on the status of his hard work. He opened the oven door and slowly submerged a knife into the bread before retrieving it. A lack of remnants on the utensil told him that the loaf was done. He then pulled both pans from the center rack, placed them on the stove top, and turned the oven off.

June 30: Halfway Through

Today marks the end of June. June is the sixth month of the year. Today marks the halfway point in my quest to write one entry a day for an entire year.

I think I've had a pretty good run so far. It has been a lot more difficult than I could have ever imagined but I'm pretty impressed that I've been able to maintain the goal as long as I have. Some of the posts have been insightful pieces on the way I think. Others have been made up stories that have caught readers off guard. I've done imaginative entries that I thought were hilarious only to receive zero comments. I've published posts that I thought were throw-aways and received a lot of feedback.

Over the course of the sixth months, I've gained twenty followers to my blog. That's twenty more than I ever thought possible. Having someone inform me that they read a recent post never gets old. Sometimes I'll receive a comment from the most unlikely of people and those are the most fun. I hope to have twenty more followers by the end of the year.

Taking part in a project like this is interesting because sometimes someone will tell me that the first post they read was one of my worst entries. The likelihood of them coming back to read more is pretty slim which is discouraging because every once in a while I have a good one in there. Because I write a post every day, it's very easy for a good post to get lost amongst the bad ones. I'm over-saturating my blog with entries, but I guess that comes with territory.

Six months worth of daily posts. Some of them are good and most of them are bad, but I'm proud of myself for staying strong this far in. Thank you to all of my followers and readers and I hope to keep you entertained for the next six months.

June 29: Lazy

Why is it so difficult to keep my room clean? Every time I move into a new place I tell myself that things will be different. I won't leave dishes in the sink. I'll throw away empty Gatorade bottles. When I do a load of laundry, I'll fold the clothes and put them away immediately. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Flash forward eight months from signing my latest lease and here I sit in a cluttered apartment. I have a pile of clean clothes that are always in my way. When I want to watch TV, I have to move them off of the couch and when I want to go to bed, I have to throw them back to their original resting place. Why don't I just fold them and put them away? Why am I so lazy?

I have dishes in the sink with water in them. The funny thing is that I have a dishwasher. Why is it so difficult to rinse a dish and put it in the washer? Oh, that's right! Because the dishwasher is full of clean dishes that I haven't put away yet.

I have papers on my coffee table, dining room table, desk and floor. I even have papers on top of my dresser and more on my kitchen counter. Are they important papers? No. They're weekly grocery ads, Clear high-speed internet offers, Netflix free trials, and other various forms of junk mail that I'm too lazy to take out to the trash.

I've only dusted my room once since I moved in and vacuumed maybe five times. I have so little to do on a daily basis, but I can't muster up the small amount of energy it takes to tidy the place up. I don't even do anything when I'm here. I sit and read baseball rumors all day. That's it. I'm not even looking for a job or doing anything productive at all. Why am I so lazy?

Speaking of lazy, I don't even want to bother with coming up with a decent ending to this post.

June 28: Baby Park

The turtle in the cloud descends with his horizontal traffic light. The left lights up red and then goes out before the middle light glows red. Finally, and as the engines around me flex their muscles with anticipation, the last light shines. With a final wave of his tiny green hand, I slam my foot on the accelerator propelling my small, blue cart into a small burst of energy. The race is on.

My racing partner's hands grip tightly on my shoulders as I approach the line of four spinning mystery boxes. My head start gives me a slight advantage, but it doesn't take long for the rest of the group to catch up to me. I grab the nearest mystery box and and hand it back to my partner while keeping my foot pressed firmly on the gas pedal. He takes the prize as we slide around the first turn. The contents of the box are still being revealed while we lean hard into the turn causing a blue flame to send us into another burst of speed. Three mushrooms. Perfect.

I use the first mushroom at the climax of the burst of speed from the turn. I'm sent flying into a small hyper speed. I'm in first place, but not by much. I can hear the growl of Bowser behind me and the high-pitched barks of Donkey Kong just behind him as I lean into another turn. I narrowly miss crashing into the corner when the blue flame returns sending me through another burst. I use my second and third mushrooms upon crossing the starting line which signals the completion of the first of seven laps.

My adrenaline is pumping. The grip on my shoulders is painful. Objects are flying all around us. We barely escape a giant, spiked turtle shell sent courtesy of Bowser. I hear Donkey Kong's bark again as he hurls a banana peel in our direction. It lands perfectly in front of us and doesn't allow me any time to avoid it. My cart's right front tire hits it and we spin out of control. My partner flies off the back of the racer and grabs the bumper in desperation. I don't have time to wait for him to climb back on so I floor the accelerator once again and drag him as he struggles to climb aboard.

We've lost ground, but we're still in third place behind Bowser and Donkey Kong. We're five laps in so we'll have to focus and make every turn just right to get that burst of energy we so desperately need. I grab another mystery box, hand it to my wing man and lean into the next turn. A red shell. Nice. I tell my friend to wait to throw it until we've made the next turn so I can aim us for a double mystery box. Wait for it. Wait for it. Now! He throws the shell with all of his might and we watch as it seeks its target. Direct hit!

I grab for the double mystery box as we race past the commotion of spinning, yelling, and screeching. Second place. I take one of the boxes and hand the other one back. Final lap. My partner's box is nothing more than a red faux mystery box so he drops it immediately. We are within striking distance of a first place finish. My box contains the illusive blue turtle shell!

This is the moment we've been waiting for. With my foot on the pedal, I stand in my seat and tap my partner's hand. In one, smooth movement, I leap to my left and out of the driver's seat. My partner leans down from the right, grabs the steering wheel and slides into position. He's now driving and I'm holding on for my life with the blue shell ready for takeoff.

I let go and watch it spread its angelic wings and soar toward Bowser in front of us who is within grasp of claiming first place. The shell makes contact and sends an explosive ring around its target. Bowser and his partner, Baby Mario spin out of control; but so do we. I forgot about that ring of destruction and we got sucked into it. As the world flies around us, I watch helplessly as Donkey Kong and Princess Peach race through the finish. We stop spinning shortly after Bowser does and he claims second. We finish in third.

Baby Park is my turf. I own that course. A stupid mistake cost me a title and now Donkey Kong and Princess Peach get to strut their stuff in the award ceremony. Every one is cheering for DK and that annoying little hussy and it's me they should be acknowledging! I'm the real winner. I deserve that gold cup.

June 27: Afraid

What's your biggest fear? Jerry Seinfeld does a funny routine in which he talks about the number one fear in America being that of public speaking. He lets the audience know that speaking in front of a crowd is more terrifying to most people than dying. He finishes his joke by explaining that when people go to a funeral, they would rather be in the casket than giving the eulogy.

I don't have a fear of speaking in front others and I certainly am not afraid of dying. I am, however, terrified of getting a DWI or DUI. I still don't quite know the difference, but I know way too many people that have one or the other and sometimes more than one. I've heard horror stories of getting pulled over for a broken tail light only to have the night end with a trip to jail. I've heard stories of people totaling their cars and ruining their weekends only to be slapped with the charge as the icing on the cake.

It's so easy to get one and I just think that would be one of the worst things that could happen to me. Not only would I have it on my record, but I've heard that you have to pay thousands of dollars in fines and attend classes and so much more. My friends go to bars all the time after work and drink to be social, but I'm so afraid of getting a DUI that I sometimes stay at home.

There have been times where I drove home that I probably shouldn't have, but a lot of people I know make a habit of doing it. I don't know how they can do it time and time again without being afraid at all; not only of getting caught, but hurting someone else too!

Some people are afraid of death. More people are afraid of getting up in front of a crowd, but I'm afraid of getting a DUI with one or two beers in my system. It's not about not being able to maneuver the vehicle anymore. It's about catching a cop on a bad night.