Before I begin, thank you to my friend Mary G. for pointing out that she couldn't comment on my last blog. Turns out, I had the settings set for registered users only. Now changed to anyone. So, feel free to rip this blog to shreds. I can take it. Just one thing...does the IT term "trojan" mean anything to you? Just sayin'.
Now, on to the main points. I am a proud generalist and lover of randomness. I say this because my mind, at present, is swimming with thoughts of baseball, football, relationships, foliage, God, my jobs, money, family, and the presidential race. Oh, and my car too, which has gone "Hyde" on me after 2 years of benign "Jekyllness".
In other words, I'm about as scattered as I've ever been. Therefore, it's beyond my capability at the moment to write about one subject and to follow its train of thought. (I really need to stay away from Diet Mountain Dew) At times like this, I revel in my generalist and random tendencies. On the former, I'm a Jack-of-all-trades, master of none. Actually, the "all-trades" part is severely exaggerated. I'm a Jack-of-limited-trades, to be honest. But still, I prefer this to being a specialist. Tunnel vision scares me. I don't want to be the go-to guy for a subject and risk being clueless on everything else. I know too many people like that.
Randomness is another trait I value. When someone is talking to me in a random style, assuming he/she isn't doing so intentionally, I know we're both being open minded and we're not locked into a certain point of view, or trying to win any arguments. Our bond of randomness grows.
Speaking of which, what great weather we're having, huh?
See? Isn't that adorable?
And speaking of random, here are some random thoughts:
1: There are enough songs on George Harrison's All Things Must Pass to make it one of the 5 greatest single albums of all time. Alas, it was a triple album loaded with filler. Sorry, George. Just sayin'.
2: It's always a good day when the Yankees and/or when the Dallas Cowboys lose.
3: There are some musicians who are so beloved by the critics that they could probably release albums of them gargling mouthwash and the critics would still rave. 2 examples: Emmylou Harris and Bruce Springsteen. (2 musicians who I am fans of, by the way)
4: The 3 points above make me sound really, really, old. Guilty as charged.
5: Unless the last name is Kennedy or Adams, Massachusetts politicians are clueless about how to run a campaign.
6: I don't understand the term "cross-section". Whenever I heard it in 10th grade biology, I knew I was going to flunk the test.
7: I'm a registered independent who generally leans Democrat, but I think Ryan's Medicare plan, although not perfect, is an excellent starting point. Obama has lied about it and has lost my vote. Admittedly, I live in a safely blue state and would probably vote Obama if I lived in a swing state. Right now, I vote for Gary Johnson and if he's not on the ballot, I write him in.
8: Speaking of which (I'm suddenly going linear), the electoral college is a sad joke that should be eliminated via amendment. The sooner, the better.
9: My son and his generation are very familiar with, and generally fans of, classic rock. Yet, when I was growing up, I didn't know a thing about my parents' music.
10: I really need to upgrade my wardrobe.
11: 99.9% of Americans praise veterans. For most of that group, although heartfelt, it's words without deeds. So, when you see a veteran, say "Thank you for your service." Or, if they just returned from Afghanistan or Iraq, try "Welcome home." If you happen to see them in, say, a convenience store, offer to buy them a cup of coffee, soda, whatever. Just as a token of thanks. If you've got a free morning or afternoon, volunteer at a VA Hospital or any other group that works with veterans. Your skills are needed, believe me.
12: If you take the word "parties" (as in political) and add an "a", you get an anagram of the word "parasite".
13: Getting campaign advice from Sarah Palin (as Mitt Romney did over the weekend) is like getting singing advice from Roseanne Barr.
14: Every time I read something and I see the phrase "He thought to himself...etc." I go out of my zone. Who ELSE does someone think to? It always stops me.
So I'm thinking to myself, this is a good place to stop.
Enjoy the spectacular weather (if you're in New England) y'all.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Sunday, September 16, 2012
9/11 + 11
When I first started this blog a couple of months ago, I imagined a weekly blog of generally funny stuff. Interestingly, I'm finding myself approaching this somewhat schizophrenically. Funny one week (or trying to be) and reflective the next.
So...I'm feeling the latter. I saw the remembrances last Tuesday and thought it was handled perfectly. The list was read alphabetically, by two people who lost someone in the attacks. When the list came to the names of these first two people, members whose last name began with "A", each person read a brief memory of the one they loved. The remembrances continued from an adjacent podium, in the same manner. I watched A-Z and cried my eyes out.
I did not know anyone who lost anyone in the attacks. The worst obvious effect on me, a native New Yorker, is the loss of the iconic skyline. And that's not insignificant. It doesn't measure anywhere near the tangible losses felt by so many. But I have so many memories of seeing that skyline looking east from the NJ Turnpike, or even better, looking west from Brooklyn. I was atop the WTC in, I think, 1974. The view was intoxicating. I looked at that skyline when I'd hit the city after having driven 13 hours when I was on break from graduate school in South Carolina and I always got a second wind. I'd see the skyline and I imagined a lot of noise, great food, constant commotion, and a cacophony of accents, mostly New York accents. In short, I imagined the soul of the city I grew up in.
I have a love/hate relationship with New York. Always have. I love the rush of "New York"ness I get when I arrive at Grand Central Station from my home in Connecticut. I go up the escalator. I see the clock in the center of the station. I step out of the station on to 42nd Street and, as I always do by tradition, go to the nearest hot dog stand and order a knish. Extra mustard. I revel in everything New York. I love my Mets and despise the Yankees and wear my baseball emotions on my sleeve. And I feel especially grateful that I grew up in the Bronx and Queens. But I hate the mania of the city. That's why I keep my distance.
I do whatever I need to do...maybe go to Central Park. Take in a museum. Grab a bite at any deli. After 3 hours, I'm ready to head back. I've had enough. Nothing negative...just exhausted. New York can do that to me. It's a city of sensory overload, always defeating my capacity to take it all in.
I don't have any special 9/11 stories. I know where I was (at work). I know I was worried about my son and stepsons, all in middle school. I took the proper precautions. Like everyone, I was devastated and royally pissed off. I never have felt, before or since, more American. The terrorist bastards didn't just attack my country. They attacked my city. They took away my skyline.
I supported the way President Bush responded. Essentially saying, "Give us the terrorists or we'll get them ourselves." Even when people like Jerry Falwell blamed feminists and other people who scared the sanctimonious daylights out of him, I didn't blame him. I thought that was just him venting. We were all out of our minds with anger.
That's why I find it hard to believe, 11 years later, that we could be so divided as a nation. If I was a terrorist, I'd clap my hands with joy every time we personally attack each other, be it verbally or otherwise. I'd say, "This is exactly what we wanted. I don't have to lift a finger or plan another suicide bombing. The stupid infidel Americans are doing our work for us."
I'm extremely analytical by nature. When something goes wrong, I take some pride in being one of the few people who tries to put myself in the mind of those who commit the offense. I tried to imagine what kind of monsters could perpetuate such an attack. I failed. I shifted my energies to try to understand how one American could so badly disparage a fellow countryman or woman. How our past president, who tried to defend our country, could be portrayed as an idiot. (Although I still stand by belief that the war in Iraq WAS tragically idiotic). Or that our current president is some combination of a socialist, Muslim, and an alien.
I try to imagine what motivates people like Rush Limbaugh, or Bill Maher, to show such sustained meanness. I have a theory, and a pretty good one. It's called money and/or fame. The more outrageous I become, the more you'll listen to me. And the richer you'll make me. My method is to become a human train wreck. You'll watch me just like you'll watch the ruins of a train wreck. Except even better, I'll recreate the wreck on a daily basis. And you'll listen. Before long, you'll see the world as I do, as a place of good and evil, with nothing in between. No shades of gray. Just the world wrapped up in one tidy, monochromatic package. I just simplified the world for you. Naturally, you're thankful because you don't have to do the arduous work of seeing inside people, getting to know them. These so-called Americans, be they on the right or left, are now your enemies.
Back to my own persona...I work Friday mornings at my local VA Hospital, helping veterans find their way, geographically, in a rather large hospital complex. My inner question, which I never verbalize is, "Is this what you fought for? Is this what you put your life on the line for?" I may just approach my veteran friends one day with this question.
I decided a year ago to go back to school to become a psychotherapist, via becoming an LCSW (licensed clinical social worker). I did this primarily to help veterans and to use my natural skills of empathy along with my musical ability as my primary tools. Because if I was a veteran, it would be hard enough to adjust to life stateside. But I should NOT have to witness the people I fought for fighting like pre-adolescents.
I always thought a good way to remember 9/11 is to call the day "National Unity Day." We don't have to take the day off. That's not our style, although I personally think it would be the right thing to do. But is it too much to ask of everyone to remember where they were on that fateful morning and to look at our fellow Americans as fellow countrymen and women, and not the enemy?
So...I'm feeling the latter. I saw the remembrances last Tuesday and thought it was handled perfectly. The list was read alphabetically, by two people who lost someone in the attacks. When the list came to the names of these first two people, members whose last name began with "A", each person read a brief memory of the one they loved. The remembrances continued from an adjacent podium, in the same manner. I watched A-Z and cried my eyes out.
I did not know anyone who lost anyone in the attacks. The worst obvious effect on me, a native New Yorker, is the loss of the iconic skyline. And that's not insignificant. It doesn't measure anywhere near the tangible losses felt by so many. But I have so many memories of seeing that skyline looking east from the NJ Turnpike, or even better, looking west from Brooklyn. I was atop the WTC in, I think, 1974. The view was intoxicating. I looked at that skyline when I'd hit the city after having driven 13 hours when I was on break from graduate school in South Carolina and I always got a second wind. I'd see the skyline and I imagined a lot of noise, great food, constant commotion, and a cacophony of accents, mostly New York accents. In short, I imagined the soul of the city I grew up in.
I have a love/hate relationship with New York. Always have. I love the rush of "New York"ness I get when I arrive at Grand Central Station from my home in Connecticut. I go up the escalator. I see the clock in the center of the station. I step out of the station on to 42nd Street and, as I always do by tradition, go to the nearest hot dog stand and order a knish. Extra mustard. I revel in everything New York. I love my Mets and despise the Yankees and wear my baseball emotions on my sleeve. And I feel especially grateful that I grew up in the Bronx and Queens. But I hate the mania of the city. That's why I keep my distance.
I do whatever I need to do...maybe go to Central Park. Take in a museum. Grab a bite at any deli. After 3 hours, I'm ready to head back. I've had enough. Nothing negative...just exhausted. New York can do that to me. It's a city of sensory overload, always defeating my capacity to take it all in.
I don't have any special 9/11 stories. I know where I was (at work). I know I was worried about my son and stepsons, all in middle school. I took the proper precautions. Like everyone, I was devastated and royally pissed off. I never have felt, before or since, more American. The terrorist bastards didn't just attack my country. They attacked my city. They took away my skyline.
I supported the way President Bush responded. Essentially saying, "Give us the terrorists or we'll get them ourselves." Even when people like Jerry Falwell blamed feminists and other people who scared the sanctimonious daylights out of him, I didn't blame him. I thought that was just him venting. We were all out of our minds with anger.
That's why I find it hard to believe, 11 years later, that we could be so divided as a nation. If I was a terrorist, I'd clap my hands with joy every time we personally attack each other, be it verbally or otherwise. I'd say, "This is exactly what we wanted. I don't have to lift a finger or plan another suicide bombing. The stupid infidel Americans are doing our work for us."
I'm extremely analytical by nature. When something goes wrong, I take some pride in being one of the few people who tries to put myself in the mind of those who commit the offense. I tried to imagine what kind of monsters could perpetuate such an attack. I failed. I shifted my energies to try to understand how one American could so badly disparage a fellow countryman or woman. How our past president, who tried to defend our country, could be portrayed as an idiot. (Although I still stand by belief that the war in Iraq WAS tragically idiotic). Or that our current president is some combination of a socialist, Muslim, and an alien.
I try to imagine what motivates people like Rush Limbaugh, or Bill Maher, to show such sustained meanness. I have a theory, and a pretty good one. It's called money and/or fame. The more outrageous I become, the more you'll listen to me. And the richer you'll make me. My method is to become a human train wreck. You'll watch me just like you'll watch the ruins of a train wreck. Except even better, I'll recreate the wreck on a daily basis. And you'll listen. Before long, you'll see the world as I do, as a place of good and evil, with nothing in between. No shades of gray. Just the world wrapped up in one tidy, monochromatic package. I just simplified the world for you. Naturally, you're thankful because you don't have to do the arduous work of seeing inside people, getting to know them. These so-called Americans, be they on the right or left, are now your enemies.
Back to my own persona...I work Friday mornings at my local VA Hospital, helping veterans find their way, geographically, in a rather large hospital complex. My inner question, which I never verbalize is, "Is this what you fought for? Is this what you put your life on the line for?" I may just approach my veteran friends one day with this question.
I decided a year ago to go back to school to become a psychotherapist, via becoming an LCSW (licensed clinical social worker). I did this primarily to help veterans and to use my natural skills of empathy along with my musical ability as my primary tools. Because if I was a veteran, it would be hard enough to adjust to life stateside. But I should NOT have to witness the people I fought for fighting like pre-adolescents.
I always thought a good way to remember 9/11 is to call the day "National Unity Day." We don't have to take the day off. That's not our style, although I personally think it would be the right thing to do. But is it too much to ask of everyone to remember where they were on that fateful morning and to look at our fellow Americans as fellow countrymen and women, and not the enemy?
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Conventionally speaking
I've gone from cynical to hopeful in less than a week. All it took was a local fair. But I'll get to that later. For now, some thoughts about our national (way)pasttimes, known as the party circuses. I mean, the conventions.
First, some truth in political background. I'm a registered independent but lean Democrat. In fact, I've never voted for a R president. Not a party thing. In fact, I'd do so today if the party's social fulcrum wasn't in Khomeiniville. I actually hope Olympia Snowe, R from Maine, in particular, runs for prez. She's the coolest politician I can think of. Unfortunately for me, she'd have as much chance of a R nomination as Derek Jeter has of being elected mayor of Boston.
I HAVE voted for Republicans on state and local levels. So as I say, it's not a party thing.
I try to stay open, so I saw both conventions. I even reported on it to my brother and uncle (who are both on my left) and my friend Greg, who's to my right.
Rather than bore anyone with a line by line description, I'll sum up with a few thoughts:
1: Both parties lie. A lot. Someone (Twain?) said "There are lies and there are damned lies." Most of the lies fell into the 1st category. Then again, I've become somewhat desensitized to reacting strongly to the lying. Too many years, I guess.
2: If I was medaling the speeches, the gold would go to Michelle Obama, who gave perhaps the most conversational speech I've ever heard. I noticed that she was the complete opposite of her husband in terms of oratorial style. Rather than the thunder of her husband, her style was more like a gentle, soothing rain after a drought. She spoke haltingly at times, which may be counterintuitive for those who study public speaking. But I thought it made the speech sound someone sitting opposite to me at the kitchen table.
Silver, and perhaps I'm the only one who feels this way, goes to Biden. This, to me, was a blue collar guy speaking passionately about what matters to him. I've always been a Biden fan. I had a co-worker, Tom, from Delaware, telling me why he didn't like Biden. The short version is that they were both on an Amtrak and Tom introduced himself to Biden. Biden was rude and essentially ignored him. He went on to say that a minute later, Biden came back and apologized to him for being rude. Somehow...Tom's takeaway was that Biden was arrogant. Unless there's more to the story, I don't understand why he felt that way. To me, that someone would recognize his behavior and try to make it right spoke volumes to me about Biden as a person.
Bronze goes to Condi Rice. Showing again that we don't have to agree with a speech to appreciate it. Like Biden, Rice spoke just as passionately as Biden and Michelle Obama, yet in a style that somehow managed to be professorial and also warm. I've often wondered in my heart how people of color could be conservative. I understand intellectually how that could be. But it wasn't until I heard Rice, that someone who witnessed discrimination and racial violence first hand could be a part of the inner circle of a conservative president. I see how she felt patronized by Democrats and prefer what she sees as the support of self-reliance by Republicans. Her methods aren't those I share, but my respect for a conservative vision, in its broadest sense, grew exponentially. Her vision wasn't one of turning back the clock. It was, in fact, a quintessentially American vision of justice and equality.
3: Clinton's speech: Yeah, he hit all the right chords. He was in his element. He may, in fact, be the difference maker if Obama wins. All that said, all I remember is the number 47. That's the length of his speech. 47 hours. Oops, I mean minutes.
4: Music: Face it...a bunch of old white guys restoring their scuffling days with classic rock, played by a pretty lame house band just didn't cut it. And don't tell me the RNC was diverse. It wasn't. It was as white as a corpse. Dems were smarter here. Lose the idea of a house band and go straight to the originals. And closing with Brooks and Dunn's Born in America, something that would be presumably more at home at the RNC, was a brilliant choice. Not that anyone noticed it.
All in all, I felt in turns energized, depressed, angered, pensive, open to the RNC but in secret hoping the DNC would kick their asses. In truth, these things have I suspect zero influence on the election.
But this blog isn't about politics. It's about how my hope got restored on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
My friend Donna invited me to the local North Haven fair, mostly to hear this cover band that she liked called Flashback. An apt name, not just for the music, but mainly for how I felt.
Imagine seeing kids petting animals, barkers trying to take your money for a game that you have zero chance of winning, the mixed odors of burgers and the aforementioned animals, with a subtle scent of autumn. A display of (as my family might say), "tchochkes" (crap clothing). Some of it sounds good. Some of it not so much. But there's one universal thing you notice at these fairs. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE is smiling. America's in trouble? That's what the polls say. That's the vibe I get during the week. Do you feel like we're in trouble? Check out your local fair. If you're lucky enough to live in an area where fall weather is starting to kick in, that'll double your encouragement. I suspect intellectually that other countries have similar festivals. But I wonder if the heart is the same.
Songs and books have been written about trying to find America. Kerouac, Paul Simon, Tom Waits, Steinbeck. All have their approaches. But I submit that the heart of America is at your local fair. It's the antidote to this election season.
Flashback indeed.
First, some truth in political background. I'm a registered independent but lean Democrat. In fact, I've never voted for a R president. Not a party thing. In fact, I'd do so today if the party's social fulcrum wasn't in Khomeiniville. I actually hope Olympia Snowe, R from Maine, in particular, runs for prez. She's the coolest politician I can think of. Unfortunately for me, she'd have as much chance of a R nomination as Derek Jeter has of being elected mayor of Boston.
I HAVE voted for Republicans on state and local levels. So as I say, it's not a party thing.
I try to stay open, so I saw both conventions. I even reported on it to my brother and uncle (who are both on my left) and my friend Greg, who's to my right.
Rather than bore anyone with a line by line description, I'll sum up with a few thoughts:
1: Both parties lie. A lot. Someone (Twain?) said "There are lies and there are damned lies." Most of the lies fell into the 1st category. Then again, I've become somewhat desensitized to reacting strongly to the lying. Too many years, I guess.
2: If I was medaling the speeches, the gold would go to Michelle Obama, who gave perhaps the most conversational speech I've ever heard. I noticed that she was the complete opposite of her husband in terms of oratorial style. Rather than the thunder of her husband, her style was more like a gentle, soothing rain after a drought. She spoke haltingly at times, which may be counterintuitive for those who study public speaking. But I thought it made the speech sound someone sitting opposite to me at the kitchen table.
Silver, and perhaps I'm the only one who feels this way, goes to Biden. This, to me, was a blue collar guy speaking passionately about what matters to him. I've always been a Biden fan. I had a co-worker, Tom, from Delaware, telling me why he didn't like Biden. The short version is that they were both on an Amtrak and Tom introduced himself to Biden. Biden was rude and essentially ignored him. He went on to say that a minute later, Biden came back and apologized to him for being rude. Somehow...Tom's takeaway was that Biden was arrogant. Unless there's more to the story, I don't understand why he felt that way. To me, that someone would recognize his behavior and try to make it right spoke volumes to me about Biden as a person.
Bronze goes to Condi Rice. Showing again that we don't have to agree with a speech to appreciate it. Like Biden, Rice spoke just as passionately as Biden and Michelle Obama, yet in a style that somehow managed to be professorial and also warm. I've often wondered in my heart how people of color could be conservative. I understand intellectually how that could be. But it wasn't until I heard Rice, that someone who witnessed discrimination and racial violence first hand could be a part of the inner circle of a conservative president. I see how she felt patronized by Democrats and prefer what she sees as the support of self-reliance by Republicans. Her methods aren't those I share, but my respect for a conservative vision, in its broadest sense, grew exponentially. Her vision wasn't one of turning back the clock. It was, in fact, a quintessentially American vision of justice and equality.
3: Clinton's speech: Yeah, he hit all the right chords. He was in his element. He may, in fact, be the difference maker if Obama wins. All that said, all I remember is the number 47. That's the length of his speech. 47 hours. Oops, I mean minutes.
4: Music: Face it...a bunch of old white guys restoring their scuffling days with classic rock, played by a pretty lame house band just didn't cut it. And don't tell me the RNC was diverse. It wasn't. It was as white as a corpse. Dems were smarter here. Lose the idea of a house band and go straight to the originals. And closing with Brooks and Dunn's Born in America, something that would be presumably more at home at the RNC, was a brilliant choice. Not that anyone noticed it.
All in all, I felt in turns energized, depressed, angered, pensive, open to the RNC but in secret hoping the DNC would kick their asses. In truth, these things have I suspect zero influence on the election.
But this blog isn't about politics. It's about how my hope got restored on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
My friend Donna invited me to the local North Haven fair, mostly to hear this cover band that she liked called Flashback. An apt name, not just for the music, but mainly for how I felt.
Imagine seeing kids petting animals, barkers trying to take your money for a game that you have zero chance of winning, the mixed odors of burgers and the aforementioned animals, with a subtle scent of autumn. A display of (as my family might say), "tchochkes" (crap clothing). Some of it sounds good. Some of it not so much. But there's one universal thing you notice at these fairs. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE is smiling. America's in trouble? That's what the polls say. That's the vibe I get during the week. Do you feel like we're in trouble? Check out your local fair. If you're lucky enough to live in an area where fall weather is starting to kick in, that'll double your encouragement. I suspect intellectually that other countries have similar festivals. But I wonder if the heart is the same.
Songs and books have been written about trying to find America. Kerouac, Paul Simon, Tom Waits, Steinbeck. All have their approaches. But I submit that the heart of America is at your local fair. It's the antidote to this election season.
Flashback indeed.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Laws and Observations
I realized at the age of 24 that I knew everything there is to know. Then, Reagan got elected and I realized I was wrong. But I had the realization again, pretty much on an annual basis, every year going forward. Now that I'm 56, I realize that I don't know a damn thing. And I seem to know less every year. Should I reach 70 or beyond, the average broccoli crown would be in the genius category compared to what I'll probably know.
That said, there ARE a few things I've discovered in my time. I list them here, in graph form where possible:
Inverse relationships:
1: Comparing the volume of a man's motorcycle to his, ahem, "manhood". (ahem...confirmed by my gay friends)
2: What I know versus potential income.
3: Volume of public cell phone call versus importance.
4: Strength of faith versus need to tell everyone about it.
5: One more graph, this one based on my corporate experience:
Other observations:
6: The adjective "dysfunctional" before the word "family" is redundant.
7: Never trust a man with no (or thin) lips.
8: You can always trust jazz fans.
9: There are no jazz fans with no (or thin) lips.
10: Any commercial in which I hear the 800 number to call, more than once, is a ripoff.
11: When I see a picture of a 4 man rock band, even if it's for the first time, I automatically know who plays what instruments:
a: The bass player is the tallest, most menacing looking person. He'll kill you if you try to talk to him. He's looking at the Harley behind the camera.
b: The drummer is the person who looks out of focus. This is because he's so amped up that he can't keep still. He is either very lanky or very stocky, but never in between. He's looking at the espresso machine behind the camera.
c: The guitarist is the most handsome guy in the band. He has the most smug expression on his face of the 4 members. He's looking at his 3 hot groupies behind the camera.
d: The keyboardist looks like he belongs in a classroom. He's nerdy, and wears black rimmed glasses. He's not looking at the camera because he can't see it.
There you have it. If you have any more observations, feel free to educate me and the 2 other people who read this blog. I will give you a shoutout...I promise.
That said, there ARE a few things I've discovered in my time. I list them here, in graph form where possible:
Inverse relationships:
1: Comparing the volume of a man's motorcycle to his, ahem, "manhood". (ahem...confirmed by my gay friends)
2: What I know versus potential income.
3: Volume of public cell phone call versus importance.
4: Strength of faith versus need to tell everyone about it.
5: One more graph, this one based on my corporate experience:
Other observations:
6: The adjective "dysfunctional" before the word "family" is redundant.
7: Never trust a man with no (or thin) lips.
8: You can always trust jazz fans.
9: There are no jazz fans with no (or thin) lips.
10: Any commercial in which I hear the 800 number to call, more than once, is a ripoff.
11: When I see a picture of a 4 man rock band, even if it's for the first time, I automatically know who plays what instruments:
a: The bass player is the tallest, most menacing looking person. He'll kill you if you try to talk to him. He's looking at the Harley behind the camera.
b: The drummer is the person who looks out of focus. This is because he's so amped up that he can't keep still. He is either very lanky or very stocky, but never in between. He's looking at the espresso machine behind the camera.
c: The guitarist is the most handsome guy in the band. He has the most smug expression on his face of the 4 members. He's looking at his 3 hot groupies behind the camera.
d: The keyboardist looks like he belongs in a classroom. He's nerdy, and wears black rimmed glasses. He's not looking at the camera because he can't see it.
There you have it. If you have any more observations, feel free to educate me and the 2 other people who read this blog. I will give you a shoutout...I promise.
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