Looking for Like

The Return of the Give Flowers to a Single Lady in Nashville on Valentine's Day Giveway

2012-02-03T16:08:00.000-08:00

Every year, Valentine's Day rolls around. It's like Christmas. Or Jeopardy! at 6:00pm (which I am currently watching and knocking the shit out of these college kids including some guy from Vanderbilt -- take THAT!). Or wait... That last thing is daily. What else rolls around? Marbles? Sure. Every year, Valentine's Day rolls around like marbles. How's that for a simile? And just like a room full of marbles, navigating Valentine's Day is particularly tricky. Unless, of course, you are a cast member of an ensemble romantic comedy starring everyone ever. Then things just sort of fall into place. Like marbles into marble-shaped and -sized holes.

Have I written enough about marbles yet? Maybe for today but I don't promise anything. Except...

That's right, Ladies. With a capital "L". It's just about time for my annual giveaway. That's right: Give Flowers to a Single Lady in Nashville on Valentine's Day Giveaway

Here are the rules. 'Cause what's the fun of having a contest if you can't have rules? That's the fun part, right? The rules?

1.) First of all, you won't owe me anything. You don't have to call me. You don't have to text me. You don't have to even know me all that well. We don't have to be friends on facebook (which is my FAVORITE thing on earth). I'm not even looking to celebrate the infamous Steak and BJ Day the following month.

2.) The flowers will be from A Village of Flowers. I used to work there and any chance I can get to support them, I will support them. They've been making dudes look like champs for years.

3.) I will spend up to $65. This is the approximate cost of a dozen roses. If you want roses, that's cool with me. I can think of many other flowers that I like better but these are for you and if you want a dozen roses then, damnit, you're gonna get your dozen roses.

4.) As my friend Ryan has already jokingly inquired, yes, you have to be a woman, you have to be single, and you have to live in Nashville. I'm not driving out to Lebanon after I've been at work all day. Antioch is also out of the question. Madison? Doesn't count. You get the idea.

5.) The winner is picked by me. Don't feel bad if you don't win. It's not that exciting. I'm probably going to show up in dress pants and a button up shirt. I sit in front of a computer all day.

So, why am I doing this? Well, let's look at Valentine's Day. For the two weeks leading up to it, all you hear on the radio are commercials for buying that special lady in your life a diamond that looks like a piece of frozen spit from a chain

jewelry store. Or if you listen to a really awesome station, a commercial telling you to buy your sweetheart a cell phone. I shit you not, I heard that very commercial last night. I'd probably be pretty stoked if someone bought me a cell phone. I'd turn around, sell it on eBay, and then use that money to pay for these flowers that I'm getting some lady. That's a pretty cyclical argument, in'it? No, the real reason is that I feel like an ass most of the year. And as much as everyone says that they hate VD -- that's Valentine's Day, you sickos -- you, and me, and everyone else that's sitting at home all by themselves watching Muppet Treasure Island on a Friday night whilst updating their blog probably wishes that they weren't... Which will likely mirror my Valentine's Day night. I just randomly picked those last things out. Muppet Treasure Island. And Friday night. Updating their blog. By myself. My point is (and, yes, I realize how incredibly long this paragraph has become) is that I'm trying to be nice. I'm not very good at it and this about the one thing that I can do each year to do something, well, nice.

If you don't want flowers, that's cool. Don't enter. If you'd like to be in the contest, just send me a message/email/facebook thingy and let me know. The more creative the reason, the better chance you have of me showing up on your doorstep a week and a half from now with an arrangement and wearing business casual clothes and smelling like a manufacturing facility. I'm not trying to be romantic, I'm just trying to make one lady's day a little bit better

Qdoba vs. Chuy's

2012-01-02T18:15:00.000-08:00

It's Monday, January 2nd. Normally this would be a day when dudes who have jobs like I do (the kind where you wear dress pants and leather shoes) would celebrate the New Year holiday by not going in to work. But do to a tiny incident last year, there was a bit of a shut down, some holidays got cancelled at the company I work for, and so I went in to work today. This meant that instead of watching football all day long, I was at work and had to wait until this evening when I got home to watch games.

I was preparing to watch the Tostito's Fiesta Bowl, which I have no real rooting interest in, but was merely excited at the prospect of a quality game. As I got to thinking what I should eat for dinner, the words "tostito's" and "fiesta" kept popping into my head. I like Mexican food just like anyone else. Anyone who says that they don't like Mexican (or TexMex or Texican or Salvadoran or whatever) food is a liar. I got in my car and headed some place new. I told my friend Andy that this year is the year that I take more risks. Seemed like a ~~food~~ good idea at the time.

As I headed near midtown, I could see the glow of the neon outside the new TexMexiSalvadoran restaurant in Nashville. It's a little place called Chuy's that people have been losing their shit over for the past few months. I can't figure out why. I have eaten Chuy'sonce before in my life. They catered a meal when I contracted at Asurion -- a place where I subsequently got in trouble for blogging about when I worked there. It was pretty good, as I recall, and the queso cheese cow juice dip was really damn good. Seemed like a good idea at the time, right?

I thought it was. Like the time I asked out that 22 year old. Or that 19 year old. Or that married woman. I didn't know she was married. Not my fault.

I walked into Chuy's here in Nashville and the dude at the host station, who I'm going to go ahead and assume was the manager, and the chick at the same host station, who I'm going to assume was the co-manager, asked me if I would like a table. I didn't. I just wanted to place a to-go order. Tostito's. Fiesta. Football. Remember?

I told them about my desires. Not the desire to ask out a 22 year old. Or that 19 year old. Orthat married woman. But the desire to order food to go. The very nature of to go implies speed, quickness, rapidity -- all things related to the length of my relationships and/or infatuations with some woman who may be 22, 19, or married. They told me that "we'll get someone to take your to go order in just a second."

So there I stood. Waiting. And greeted by a few other people who work there telling me that they would get someone to take my order. I know that working in a restaurant can be hectic. I've done it. I rememememememember that no matter how busy you are in a restaurant, you're never to busy to take care of a customer who wants to give you money. I learned that from Reservoir Dogs.

I waited, becoming more and more annoyed that no one would take my ~~money~~ order. 17 minutes I waited.

So I finally said, "Screw it" and went to Qdoba. I don't know what I go anywhere else. Ever.

The lesson here, friends, ladies who happen to be reading this and want to ask me out on a date (and AREN'T 22, 19, or married), is to not go to Chuy's restaurant and to go Qdoba instead.

And also to drink beer. It makes you attractive to the opposite sex. And also to listen to Slayer. They are better than Winger.

Fell on Black Fridays

2011-11-25T07:25:00.000-08:00

In trying to figure out what to do with my morning, like many American men the day after Thanksgiving (colloquially known as Black Friday), I have been awake for about an hour and a half and spent almost that entire time watching the cinematic monsterpiece Santa with Muscles. The plot is, essentially, that an evil millionaire (played by Hulk Hogan) gets amnesia, forgets who he, believes himself to be Santa Claus, and then gives a bunch of gifts to people at the end of the movie including a telescope to a young girl who doesn't know how to use it and a lawnmower to a 60-year old black dude. Where are ya on that one, Roger Ebert? That's what I thought...

All that being said, I will not be going shopping today. I am not much of a Christmas gift shopper and prefer to do most of it from the comfort of my underpants and an internet connection. That sounded strange. Yes, I know it's not as personal as going to a store, picking something out, fawning over it, getting excited that you think your older sister or dad or girlfriend or whomever will really like it, and all that jazz. I don't care. Besides, I don't havemuch money right now because some 9 weeks after I stopped working for THIS DUDE (whose website has been redesigned and looks like it is now angelfire ready and is rife with spelling and grammar errors), I still have not received all of the moneys owed to me. It's a disaster. A nightmare. And I am *this* close to dissin' him on the internet, no matter what ~~BigLegs~~ Beyonce tells me I shouldn't do. Maybe I should say his name, say his name. And you probably didn't think you were gonna get two Destiny's Child references in one blog, did you? It's a Black Friday bonanza! Two-for-one on Destiny's Child references! These deals are on FIRE!

So back to my point... I am avoiding shopping as much as I can today. I live close to the Green Hills mall and while I haven't even ventured all the way down my hallway yet, I can only imagine what a disaster Hillsboro Pike is right now. I'm scared. Hold me. One might also think that I would be job searching all day today but let's be honest: who here, outside of the world of retail, is at work today? Not too many folks, I would imagine. And certainly no hiring managers. Which means that no new jobs have been or are being posted these past few days. I'm pretty good at interneting, you guys.

But for you rabid consumers out there and for any big box store marketers (that's a job, right?), I can hear you saying, "Why don't you just put it on your credit card and pay it off later?" Because I don't like credit cards and the only reason I have one is for an emergency. I use it only for an emergency so much so that I picked the most embarrassing design that my bank had so that I would be ashamed to use it.

Yup. Kitten in a field.

So here's my advice to specific groups of people this morning:

Former boss: PAY ME.

Shoppers: Stay home. Enjoy the day with friends and family.

Retail workers: Smile and be nice. Yes, this day sucks more than anything has ever sucked in the history of things sucking but at least you're working.

Hiring managers: Hire me.

I know I could have succinctly summed that up right at the beginning but that wouldn't have made for much an entry, now would it? And you would have missed out a picture of a kitty kcredit kcard. And some awesome alliteration.

Thanksgiving, Bacon, and Meat Dresses

2011-11-22T06:04:00.000-08:00

Ah, Thanksgiving. What should be the one day of the year where EVERYONE is a Detroit Lions fan, we can all eat as much as we want to, and putting bacon on, well, everything seems like a very good idea. Anyone who says Thanksgiving is all about the turkey is an idiot. Thanksgiving should be all about the bacon. BACON BACON BACON. I just posted a picture of Kevin Bacon appearing in Hollow Man just to prove to everyone that no matter how much you may hate Bacon [sorry, Sue], you still love bacon.

Good God, I'm good.

Seeing as that I am not going home (that's Michigan, by the way) for Thanksgiving and haven't except for the year my grandad was sick when I flew first class and enjoyed a complimentary beer, I have very much depended on the kindness of friends for their hospitality and cooking... Except for the one year where Langford and I ate pizza, drank beer, and then realized that the heat in my house was out. You guys should hear me say the last part of that last sentence with a wicked Michigan accent.

I was going to rundown a list of things that I'm thankful for. Or, happy thoughts. Things that would make Peter Pan fly. Here is where I wanted to insert a picture of all those kids from

Hook holding up signs that read things like "Candy" and "Birfday" but the internet is being difficult with me this morning and finding that image is exhausting and I just don't want to look any longer. Instead you get the fat kid with the sword (the character's name was Thud, by the way) and there's not a snowball's chance in hell that Pan would have made him leader of the Lost Boys. Where's he gonna lead 'em? To Old Country Buffet? Actually, that sounds pretty good.

Which leads me to my next point. Because when I think about adventures, Thanksgiving, garish outfits, dudes wearing wigs, and really bad singing, I think of only one thing: Lady Gaga. And wouldn't you know it, she happens to have her own Thanksgiving TV special this week. Yeah, 'cause that's what I want to watch on Thanksgiving. Some chick in a meat dress. Well, maybe if it were made out of bacon. Then we'd have something.

On a much more serious note, I hope you guys are all thankful for everything you've got. You get to read my blog which means you can read, you probably own a computer, and you have access to the internet. You're probably sitting in your home or at work (which means that, unlike me, you have a job); both of which mean that you have a place to live and the means to afford a place to live. Maybe you're at a coffeehouse which means you've got enough expendable income and time to go to a coffeehouse. You're probably doing something that you're good at or at least would like to be good at and so you may be following your dream or your passion or your whatever motivational word inspires you. Also, you're probably starting to think about getting gifts for friends and family and all of the shopping that you may do Friday. Unless of course you work at Target and in that case, your Black Friday workday starts at 9pm on Thursday night. You're probably getting into the holiday spirit and you may have already put your Christmas tree up. And even though there are plenty of things that suck in life aside from Lady Gaga's Thanksgiving special and the fact that Nickelback is playing the Lions' halftime show (unless a miracle happens, you're still better off than Kevin Bacon was in Hollow Man.

What kind of jobs I will not do and a $10 billion guarantee*

2011-11-16T06:38:00.000-08:00

It has been 8 weeks since I stopped working full-time. Frankly, I am amazed at how little money I have been able to survive on. And that I am able to end sentences with prepositions. And that I am able to start sentences with the word "and". And that I just started and ended a sentence with a word "and". And I did it twice in a row. Man, communicating is neat.

Of course, I haven't been doing nothing in these past 8 weeks. I have gone back and forth with my former employer about money that's owed to me; a situation that has offered all of the drama of a WWE (formerly WWF) plot line. I have worked some freelance gigs. I have worked part-time hither and yon. I have interviewed with some great companies and some not so great companies. I have explored some new opportunities outside of the world of human resources. Which leads me to the point of my blog today.

What kind of jobs I will not do.

It's easier for me to start with the negative. On Saturday, someone told me that I need to be more optimistic but that can wait a bit. Besides, I'm going to use the proximity effect on this blog. You'll come away feeling all romantic and thinking about how much you love me and would want to hire me. Especially if you're a lady.

Okay... Number one job I would not do:

-- Waiter. Seriously. Can any of you guys see me as a waiter? A surly bartender perhaps but no

t as a waiter. Unless it was at a place like Dick's or Applebee's where the servers are paid to be jackholes to you. I'm not above the food service industry by any stretch of the imagination (I used to work in a pizza joint and at Taco Bell when I was in high school) and I don't think that I was particularly good at either of those jobs.

-- Computer Salesman. I actually interviewed about two and a half years ago for this very position but it turns out that the company wanted me to telemarket ink and toner cartridges. That doesn't sound like fun at all. I know, I know... Work is called "work" and not "super adventure puppy time" for a reason but I don't think I'd be very good at this either. Unless (and this is a BIG unless) Charlton Heston was my boss and I was only pretending to be a computer salesman. Then I'd be willing to listen. If the U.S. government happens to be reading this, give me a call. If Dell happens to be reading this and wants to speak with me about an inside sales role, I must politely decline.

-- Male Escort. Although, I guess I could parlay my experiences into writing a book. What?! You mean it's already been done?! Okay... Definitely throw that out the window. By the way, when googling "male escort service nashville" you don't get many quality results. I can help with that. I understand search engine optimization a bit.

Pretty much everything else is fair game.

I'm finding it hard, though, to fill the days. I spend lots of time networking online, applying for positions, doing phone and in-person interviews but haven't landed just yet. And, let's be honest, there's only so many jobs available and so many jobs posted online. So I've got to fill my days somehow. For instance, I have spent this morning looking for jobs (FIRST THING I DID!!!), blogging, and have ~~progressed~~ regressed to watching Twilight: Vampire Hugs in my underpants:

If that doesn't get your hearts racing, hiring managers of the world, I don't know what will.

So, in closing, if you are looking for someone who understands human resources, recruiting, social media as something that is actually useful and (simultaneously) totally ridiculous, search engine optimization (if you guys link to my blog, I guarantee that you will get $10 billion*), content creation, floral delivery, kicking ass at Jeopardy!, and a whole host of other things, get at me. I'm all about engaging. Especially the engaging that's done at the end of this Twilight: Vampire Hugs movie.

Did I just gave away the ending? Oh, well.

Job leads are appreciated.

*10 billion guarantee not guaranteed.

Working

2011-11-01T20:30:00.000-07:00

Holy cow... A whole heap has happened in the past whenever it has been since I updated my blog.

- That Kardashian (What's her name? Kitty?) got divorced.

- Ben Gibbard and Zoey Deschacan'tsing got divorced.

- I got divorced from my job.

What? I know, I know. I think that if it weren't for bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all. But at least I'd have burritos.

So, in mid-September, I lost my job. This is due to the fact that I hadn't been paid by said job in several weeks and had begun looking for new opportunities with companies that were going to, what's it called, pay me on time. This got back to the owner of the company and out I was, lickety split. How many times do you think you're going to read "lickety split" on the internet today? Probably not many. And for those of you wondering, I have still not been paid money owed to me. I know that in the midst of a job search, you're not supposed to speak badly about a former employer and I haven't mentioned that company's name once. But you get the point.

So, over the course of the past six weeks, I went on tour with my roommates' band (and their new single called itun.es/iBZ98d">"Better Life" is available on itunes today), I went on some interviews, and I went running most every day. And, frankly, I'm surprised on how

little money I've been able to survive on.

I've also ended a few sentences with prepositions. I live on the edge. But

not like Steven Tyler. That dude lives at the hospital... With all of the falling that he does.

What? He does.

So, after interviewing with a few companies thus far, I am asking you, the internet, to help me find a job. What am I looking for? Well, I'm glad you asked:

- A company that will pay me on time. This means a company that says "We will pay you on the 15th and 30th of every month" and then actually do it. If it's a company that says "I/We promise to pay you just as soon as we can" then they can kiss my Irish backside. I'm 31 years old and I'm, well, too old for that.

- A non-family owned company. I don't want to meet the owner's/owners' kids. I don't care about their soccer practice. I don't care if they got a new bike for their birthday. I'm happy to chat with you about those things for just a second or two but not much more. The company is paying me to do a job, not talk about Umbros. Those are soccer shorts, by the way.

- Growth. I don't want a job that wants to move me just to move me. I worked for a company like that once. It wasn't awesome.

- An open environment. If you want me to just hang out in my office all day, I'm probably going to be bored. If you want me to bounce ideas off of people, we can talk.

- A non-sales position. I don't want to sell life insurance. What man grows up to think, "Man, I'd really like to get my Series Whateverit'scalled License so I can sell insurance"? No one awesome. Except for that Bill Porter guy (portrayed by William H Macy) in that one TNTBS movie. He was pretty awesome.

We can talk about salary later.

So if any of my friends have leads, let me know. I look good in a suit and know how to match my socks. If either of those helps.

The thing about Adele is...

2011-09-10T05:20:00.000-07:00

Quick. Stop and think about the most divisive thing that you can think about. There are likely to be several standard answers:

Religion

Money

Whether or not it's okay to drink alcohol (it is)

Politics

Politics 2: Obama Bugaloo

The list could go on and on. And on. And on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on.

There's a movie that came out years ago called What About Bob?. It's sheer piece of genius and

was released before we all realized how awesome of an actor Bill Murray really is. In that movie, Bob Wiley (Bill Murray's character) says a line akin to the following:

"There are two kinds of people in this world: Those who love Neil Diamond and those who don't. My ex-wife loved him."

Okay, so not akin. That's exactly what he says.

But it's true. And the more someone hangs out in Nashville (because all I do is ~~hang out everywhere all the time~~ sit at home in my shorts) the more likely they are to get infuriated with someone else's musical tastes. By the way, my musical tastes pretty much suck so I can make claims like this. I mean, at what point in time does genuinely liking Air Supply no longer not count as a guilty pleasure and just become genuinely liking Air Supply? Whatever that point is... that's where I am.

Bearing all of the above in mind (especially the GIF of the Prez dancing), I submit to the three of you who read this that Bob Wiley was really onto something. But in order to raise my readership from three to perhaps four or even five (*gasp!) people, I'm gonna bring this shit up-to-speed. Ladies and gentlemen (but especially ladies because all of you dames seem to like her), I submit to you the most divisive, polarizing, splitting-uppiest figure in music today:

Adele. If you don't feel like watching the video, turn on your radio and wait about 20 minutes. You'll hear the song.

Now before you ~~ladies~~ guys hang me let me say that this broad can WAIL. Seriously. Pipes for days. A voice we haven't heard since... dare I say it? Aretha Franklin.

But let's dissect this song for a second. Or two. Or however long it takes me to finish writing.

Chick meets boy, boy dumps chick, chick pines for boy for the next four minutes of the song.

That's it. Actually, that was pretty quick.

What pisses me off about this song, and Adele in general, is that every single one of her songs is exactly the same. It's like a remix CD of that "Macaroni" song or whatever it's called... You know... The one with the dancing and shit? But beyond the theme of her latest record I'd like to think that Adele is probably some ~~murderous~~ stalker. I used ~~strikethrough~~ so I can't get in trouble for libel. It's true. Look it up.

Follow me the analysis of the chorus:

"Never mind I'll find someone like you." = "I've done this before."

"I wish nothing but the best for you, too." = "I hate you and I'm gonna kill you while you sleep."

"Don't forget me, I begged, I remember what you said." = "I recall everything you did, every trip we took, every date we went on, every time we talked about ~~soccer~~ football and even have a doll made out of your hair that I keep in a shrine that I made for you in my closet."

"Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead" = "Remember 6 seconds ago when I sang about killing you? I'm still going to do it and it's not going to feel very good... MUCH LIKE WHAT YOU DID TO MY HEART YOU DUMB STUPID MAN!"

And that's just her current hit single. Can you imagine what the rest of the album including the deep cuts (see what I did there?) sound like? Yes, you can. Because they all sound like that.

I don't know anything about the music industry. I don't know how to make money in/off it but I never really tried to in my defense. I don't know anything about writing a hit song except for that the I-VI-IV-V chord progression still sounds really good. Hell, I don't even know if I have clean socks to wear today.

So, in closing, I hope we have learned that dating Adele would probably be a bad idea because if you break up with her she may shoot you out of a cannon. She's got money. She can probably afford to do that sort of thing. I heard that she is also moving to Nashville. I'm staying away.

Man, I want some pancakes.

I used to play music. I don't play music anymore.

2011-09-04T20:00:00.000-07:00

Read this, don't read this. I don't care.

It's shortly after 10:00pm on a Sunday. I'm sitting in my new home (I moved, everybody!). I won't tell you where, exactly, but let's just say that the house is called "Warfield" (crap) and the word "TRON" is spelled out in big block letters on a wall in our hallway. See? I wasn't lying. It's also a holiday weekend which means that I have tomorrow off of work. I've got plans. But, as someone much more quotable than I once put it, the best way to make God laugh is to make a plan. That may have not been their exact words. I'm bastardizing it, I know. I've also had a beer or two this evening and I'm watching the Detroit Tigers in a blowout right now. I really know how to party. I mean, really.

Seriously. Super hard.

In the past four plus years, my musical output has been minimal. I mean, a few guitar parts on friends' recordings here, a few vocal lines there. Nothing, really. I used to play guitar in a band called Death Comesto Matteson. Someone made a video once. This is what the video looks like:

Some people liked the music we made. I did at the time. I haven't listened to it since my rather unceremonious exit some years ago. I'm not pointing fingers or placing blame. I'm too old to care. I am.

A few months ago, my computer crashed and died. I swear this all has a point. Trust me. And when it did, I lost pretty much everything I hadn't backed up to my external hard drive. This was years' worth of music, including the stuff that I had from the aforementioned band. My iPod had crashed several months beforehand and thought that all was lost. How wrong I was. Upon cleaning / unpacking part of my room today, I came across my old iPod and, miracle of miracles, it worked. I spent the better part of the afternoon ripping music off of my iPod and putting back onto my computer.

And with new discoveries of old adventures comes a sense of nostalgia. Do I wish that I was still playing music? Sure, I suppose. Do I wish that I was doing something other than writing in a blog for my creative outlet? Definitely. Do I wish that I was as funny as Animals Being Dicks? Without a doubt. Now, for those few of you who may be holding out for a Death Comesto Matteson show, I wouldn't expect anything anytime soon from a full band. I could be wrong. Peter and I don't hang out very much anymore. I haven't talked to Wayne or Mike since 2006. I see Jozeph about once a year out and about. None of this is really my concern. I was just a guy playing guitar. Mediocre at that. And that's not modesty. Seriously. Did you guys listen to the guitar work on that video? That's me. For better or for worse.

So, in the past few years I guess I have been searching for a creative outlet. And in the past few years, I have made some videos and have posted them on youtube. Some of them are funny. Some of them are serious. Some of them are a mixture of the two. It's not making music. It's not performing. I'm not going to break a string on stage. I'm not going to have my amp burn out on stage (Rocketown, 2006). I'm not going to throw up before I play Wall Street in Murfreesboro (it happened once). But it's what I've got. One's not better than the other but one's what I've got right now.

Well, that and a Flip camera.

My friend Andy and I were hanging out tonight and we were talking about creative outlets. Yes, all of the things mentioned above were covered. And then, as people who are much more creative than I am are seemingly prone to do, he challenged me to come up with a subject for a video. Not to make one just to come up with a subject. No due date. Not for credit. Just whatever I want. Of course, this means that I would have had to find my Flip camera which in my move to Warfield had seemingly disappeared. And given my luck earlier in the day with finding my old iPod, I didn't expect to find my Flip camera this evening. Shows what I know.

I'm dusting off my Flip camera. I'm dusting off my ~~shitty~~ video skills. I'm just going to start filming. We'll see what happens.

Best of Nashville

2011-08-11T11:30:00.000-07:00

It's a slow week at work for me. I would be losing my mind due to boredom if itweren't for the fact that I am largely occupied with my move to Warfield (it's in Green Hills where I think I'll really fit in) and watching Six Feet Under (which has made me throw up twice in the past two nights). I also tend to get stoked about the little things. Shiny objects, clean socks, seeing Chewbacca play a harmonica. You know how it is. By the way, I just downloaded that song and will be singing it for the rest of the day. I hope you will, too. Why? Well, because that's what friends are for.

But back to the little things.

The Best of Nashville poll-thing-buyyourvoteswithkissesandhugs is now available. And, like any good, decent, red-blooded, American

male, I went and voted. If you don't vote, you can't complain. That's my theory. And I am one hell of a complainer. Of course, this is also coming from the man who wrote himself in for Sheriff of Wayne County, Michigan, back in 2004. I received exactly one vote. And with me being perpetually 12 years old (I'm the person that couldn't order a Large Banana Shake from Sonic last Monday night without laughing), I decided that in order to cover all of my bases today by blocking out the boredom, voting, and personally amusement, I would make the Nashville Scene my victim. That makes me sound like a serial killer. It shouldn't but it does. English is a tricky language. I know. I've been speaking it for a while now. So, on to my results for this year's Nashville Scene Best of Whatever I felt Like Voting for... In picture form. Because everyone likes pictures. Except for Chewbacca playing the harmonica. Don't be an ass. He's blind.

And those, friends, are the highlights of this year's Best of Nashville Scene poll.

Yes, Best Local Men. I am large. I contain multitudes. That's Hemmingway.

The Jean Situation

2011-07-28T11:56:00.000-07:00

I know how pissed you guys get (NICK!) when I don't update my blog on a regular basis. The reason why is that I'm busy. I have things to do. Like update my twitter. And travel across the country.

At any rate, I got a text yesterday evening from my friend JT. JT is tall and can wear dark jeans. I, however, am short and anytime I try to do the dark jeans look, or the white tennis shoes look (I tried it one time, shut up), or the - God

forbid - sports look (this would be all encompassing of things related to sports: basketball shirts, football jerseys, baseball jerseys, and the ever douchey MMA apparel), I fail. Miserably. And I don't mean like the internet tells you how things fail. I mean for real fail. And failing at wearing wearing MMA style apparel in the vein of Ed Hardy is saying something. I mean, just look at the shirts to the right here. It looks like the walls of a tattoo parlor vomited cotton that informs us that "LOVE KILLS SLOWLY". As a marketing idea to myself, maybe I should inform Ed Hardy that while love may indeed kill slowly, bullets do not, which is what I think of when I think of MMA dudes. "Oh, I'm big and strong and can kick your ass with an ancient Brazilian fighting technique." Yeah but can you stop a bullet? Nope. Didn't think so.

What was I talking about here?

Oh, yeah. Jeans and fashion. That's right.

Now those of you who know me in real life know that if I were to make a list of my passions and interests, fashion would not be on there. I'm sorry. I'm just not very good at it. So imagine my reaction when JT said that there was this super secret bar called The Citizen that he was going and that I should join him. Something I want The Citizen to know: I'm sorry in advance if you guys get a bunch of calls saying "Hey... I wanna be in on this super awesome secret bar" because of my blog. I get dozens (literally DOZENS) of blog readers. And anytime I have to go to a restaurant or bar that requires that I wear pants, I immediately become skeptical. No, you dummy, I'm not gonna show up in my underpants (not like that's an option anyway) but if it's ten hundred degrees outside, you can bet your ass I'm going to want to wear shorts.

So as I was getting ready to leave my home yesterday evening and as I was desperately looking for the one pair of blue jeans that I own (I know, Sara, I know...) which I eventually found somewhere near the bottom of a pile of other stuff, I got to thinking, "Man, I really should buy another pair of jeans." But what kind?

There's the kicker.

- As we've discussed, dark jeans are a no go.

- Similarly, I'd say that white jeans are out. Unless, of course, I went back to The Citizen and Lionel Richie were to be there and then I could be like "Lionel! My man! Nice fuckin' pants!" Apparently, he has been known to hang out there. I'm not kidding about any part of this bullet point.

- Tight jeans are out. I don't want to be re-rackin' all night. Guys, you know what I mean.

As you can clearly see, I have but a few options. A fashion challenged individual who doesn't like fashion very much and is a big fan of comfort. What to do, what to do. Do I end that sentence with a question mark? Actually, that's not really a sentence. No subject.

Crap.

As a result of having worked until almost 7 each night so far this week, which I will not be doing this evening, I haven't had the time to remedy this situation. The jeans situation. Actually, I'm gonna call it The Jean Situation. Throw some capital letters into that sucker. Now it sounds like something that would appear on the nightly news. "Tonight... A young man ignited a furious skirmish in the escalating Jean Situation." Either that or it makesme sound like an idiot from the cast of Jersey Shore who, when you look at them, kinda look like they are a combination of orange, the aforementioned Ed Hardy, and regret. The beauty of having unfettered internet access at work and the boss taking a three-and-a-half day weekend allowed me to make a little headway into The Jean Situation.

And guess what I came across. That's right. The single greatest idea in the history of mankind. This is better than scotch, better than the designated hitter in baseball, better than the time Lisa 'Left Eye' Lopez burned down Andre Rison's house.

It's Pajama Jeans. Seriously. Watch this commercial and then after you stop laughing and start thinking objectively you'll realize what a truly brilliant idea this is:

Stylish? Check.

Comfy? Check.

Fits every figure perfectly? Check.

Two easy payments of $19.95? BIG CHECK.

If they make these for dudes, I am set for life. C'mon, internet... Don't let me down!

Teenage Wizard. BA-BAH! It's only Teenage Wizard. BA-BAH!

2011-07-06T10:43:00.000-07:00

You know what I'm really good at? Staying ahead of the curve. Think about it. Who took 2 years to get an iPhone (and only because his other phone died)? THIS DUDE. Who thinks the iPad is still a piece of shit? THIS DUDE. Who has been driving around for the past three months with his brights on because his regular beam passenger side headlight is burned out? THIS DUDE.

When people think of me, they immediately think "early adopter". See? Despite my best efforts, I did learn something in Marketing 343 in college. Maybe it was a 200 level class. I forget. I wasn't really paying attention.

In keeping with my lifelong ambition to be the coolest, most badass dude on planet earth, I recently made a promise to a dear friend of mine that I would... Crap... That I would finally get around to reading the first Harry Potter book after years and years and years of saying that these "have GOT to be the biggest pieces of shit ever." That's right, I make judgments of books based on their movies. You do it, too. Don't act like you're some book purist. And after seeing the first four HP (that's what kids call 'em, right?) movies, I vowed never to see any more of the movies. I could never quite figure out what Harry was doing with that yarmulke [spelled that right on the first try, by the way] on his head and I was confused from their on out.

Now before you start breathing fire down my neck, I have two arguments for you. First, The Lord of the Rings books and movies are awesome. Secondly, The Chronicles of Narnia books are awesome and the movies look like Jerry Bruckheimer took a magical shit. There. I said it.

So, after 4 years of people telling me how much better the books were in relation to the movies, and after 4 years of seeing the same shitty-magic-broom-field-hockey-dragon-fight-in-the-sky-and-we-can't-talk-about-this-one-dude films on the screen, I vowed never to see another film in the HP universe. And I haven't since. Everyone kept telling me, though, the movies were crap and the books were so much better. I used the "polish a turd" argument and stuck to my guns. The Harry Potter movie I saw? It was called... Uh... Harry Potter 4. I think. It was back in late 2005. It had an obvious and tremendous impact on my life.

I told people that I needed to borrow the first book to and, as usual, the internet exploded with my relenting to the world of Hogwart's. Then... the comments, text messages, and phone calls started rolling in... All about how things really don't get going until the fourth book.

Wait just a damn minute.

Here I am, hanging out in Nashville all by myself, thinking I'm gonna get off easy on this assignment of only having to read the first TeenageWizard [if you're not singing the hook to "Baba O'Riley" you will be soon] book and then I find out that the first half of the series is "kinda boring". You know how to get me hooked on a book series? By telling me that the first 3 of them are "kinda boring". That's the best thing to do.

See? Soon.

Lo and behold, the world premiere of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows 2 is tomorrow in London. Coupled with the aforementioned promise of reading the first book and how much of an early adopter I am, I decided that now is as good a time as any to read it. So, last night, I sat down. And started reading. And I read the first half of the first TeenageWizard and this is what I've gathered so far:

- Harry's magic parents are dead and he used to live in a closet then went to a lighthouse where a magic giant told him to go magic school and then bought a bunch of magic supplies and then he got on a magic train and ate some magic candy and then wore a magic hat at magic school.

There. I just saved you who haven't read it two long, nudity-free hours.

No dragons, no unicorns, no lightning from fingertips like in Star Wars. This better start getting good soon - I'm gonna try to tough it out for a couple more books. But if it doesn't get better, I'm gonna give you guys a whole heap of "I told you so"s. Is that how you pluralize that? I don't know. And you know what the last thing you guys want from me? Yeah... a whole heap of "I told you so"s. Well, that and you probably don't want nude pictures of me either. But don't worry, 'cause this is Harry Potter and there ain't none of that.

So far...

Also, please don't kill me, Colby Pitts.

Soccer and pictures of women with short hair. Still interested?

2011-06-28T10:39:00.001-07:00

One of the things they taught me in Blog Writing 101 is to grab attention with a headline. If there's anything that I know about America, which is quite a bit actually, it's that Americans love soccer.

Seriously.

What not to love?

You get to run around for like an hour and a half, kick a ball, eat some orange slices at halftime (because that's what gives you energy), drink some pop or soda or Coke or whatever it's called wherever you live, and then fall down and roll on the ground when someone touches you. I know, I used to play the game. No. Not professionally. The only thing that stopped me from getting drafted? Not playing in college. The only thing that stopped me from not playing in college? Not playing in high school. The only thing that stopped me from playing in high school? Being short, fat, and not having much talent. Other than that, I was the next Pele. He played ~~kickball~~ soccer right?

The older that I get, however, the more I appreciate the sport. I actually went to a(n exhibition) match at LP Field earlier this year. And, yes, I actually paid 60 of my own hard-earned USA

Fun Bucks to go to the match. The US men's team was playing some other country that had really good Mexican food. What? Don't all countries in Central and South America eat Mexican

food? What?! C'mon... Tell me how that was insulting. I dare you. Panama? Paraguay? Paris? Is Paris a country? It was one of them there places.

For as little as I know about men's soccer, I know even less about women's soccer. I can literally sum up what I know about women's soccer in two pieces of information. The first is, obviously, the cinematic tour de force Bend it like Beckham. Shut up. It's good. Shut up, again. I own it on DVD. Also, there was this one time where this chick scored a goal, took her jersey off and ran around the field and had her jubblies all a flubblin' and Queen started to play. Here's proof:

You know, if more soccer games were like that, I'd probably watch more of them. You would, too. Don't lie.

Apparently this happened at something called the World Cup. From what I understand this is a very big deal in the ~~kickball~~ soccer world. Like the Olympics and like that time I went on a date, it happens about every 4 years and everyone acts like they care. Quick, without cheating, when was the last time you watched a women's soccer game? That's what I thought.

And that brings us to the present. As I type, the US women's soccer team is up on everybody's favorite underdogs, the North Koreans 2-nil. "Nil" means zero. Maybe in that crazy Parisian language. I don't like being a translator. Since it's shaping up to be a rather slow afternoon at work and I have ESPN in my office, I've got the game on. I'm also (*plug) listening to David Comes to Life by Fucked Up. Sometimes my job is pretty sweet. The only thing that I can think of, however, is how much the North Korean women all look like North Korean men:

Good luck sorting 'em out.

So that got me to thinking: "Why do all the North Korean soccer playing women have short hair?" Does Kim Jong Il hate ponytails and freedom? The answer, as it turns out, is YES. To both. North Koreans of both sexes [hey! that's a palindrome!] are encouraged to cut their hair short "in accordance to the socialist lifestyle." I can't make this shit up. Actually, I probably could. But this time I'm not.

I'm in my office, wearing my freedom shoes, drinking my freedom water, and typing on my freedom MacBook, and all I can think about is these women with short hair. Some people call that a fetish. I call it normal. I mean, it's like if someone tells you not to think about your parents having sex, what's the first thing you're gonna think of? If you said anything else other than "my parents having sex", you're a lying commie bastard. Also, if your parents are dead and you were thinking that, that makes you either disgusting or a big BIG BIG fan of zombie love.

And this all started out with soccer.

Craigslist and career searchers

2011-06-24T04:23:00.000-07:00

You know what's sexy about my job? Everything. Really. Stop and think about it. I have my own office. I work half days on Fridays. I get emails in the middle of the night that I am expected to respond to first thing in the morning when I wake up and I steal my neighbor's internet signal while sitting in my underpants (today my underpants are Homer Simpson with a Duff beer) and watching Scarface. I don't think I'm allowed to 'get' this movie because I'm not a hiphop artist and it is no longer 1983. By the way, when I did a google image search for Scarface, I came across a piece of fan-art that was the Scarface movie poster but it had Homer Simpson on it instead. I think that might have been a bit too on the nose for this entry.

One of the tenfinity projects that I am working on right now is a temp-to-perm telemarketing position. See, I told you my job was sexy. Recruiting and hiring telemarketers? You bet! If you've ever tried to hire a high volume position, you know that if you can get the applicant to show up for the interview and they don't drive their car through the front of your office building then chances are they are going to get the job. That's not a knock on the applicant, just a knock on the job. I wouldn't want to do telemarketing. You probably wouldn't either. I am going to let you in on a little secret: the best way to get applicants for a high volume position is to run an ad on craigslist. And, oh, the emails you will get.

And get.

I've been emailing back and forth with one candidate over the past two days; most of the time it has been while I'm wearing clothes. This morning, however, that was not the case. And what kind of email would prompt a response from me in pure underpantsian bliss? One that read the following:

"Stephen, I don't have a resume. I'd probably just quit the job anyway. Thank you, Miranda."

The first part doesn't bother me too much. Not as much as, say, Cher sitting on a battleship. I've talked to plenty of executives who don't have a resume. The second part [remember when she wrote "I'd probably just quit the job anyway."?!?!?!?!?!?!] probably won't inspire me to reach out to this candidate any further. And to think that she was merely a didn't-crash-her-car-through-our-front-office away from getting hired.

By the way, what the hell is Robert Loggia doing in Scarface anyway? His real name is Salvatore and he's Italian-American. He's about as Hispanic as I am. Repeat that previous statement and insert just about anyone else's name: F. Murray Abraham, Al Pacino, Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, etc... and the effect remains the same. It's like Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves with the lack of British actors. Screw you, Sean Connery is Scottish.

I know that times are tough. The economy has been swirling the toilet for a few years now. I know that people are having a hard time finding a job. I also know that if the only requirement for getting a job was not crashing a car through an office window, which in the case of finding a few telemarketers to work on the north side of Nashville it pretty much is, it should be pretty easy to find a job. As a professional recruiter (and judging from the tone of this entry, you can tell how fuckin' profesh I am), I would recommend not communicating to a recruiter or hiring manager that you would probably just quit. Not the smartest move. The only thing it's going to make them want to do is just roll over and go back to sleep in their underpants. Trust me. I'm an expert on these things.

Desert Eyeland

2011-05-25T10:02:00.000-07:00

My friend JT came up with an idea to list your 10 Desert Island Albums. I'm almost amazed at how many of these have remained constant on a similar list for me for as long as they have.

I was originally going to post a picture of the album cover with every entry. That being said, blogger.com is shitty for coding and it gets to be a nightmare, so I am posting a link to purchase the records on iTunes instead. There, I just told you to go buy songs instead of steal them. I'm not a total jerk. Here they are... In no particular order.

Thin Lizzy - Dedication. I know, it's a greatest hits album and all. I would have picked Jailbreak over this if, and only if, the track "Dedication" was not assembled by former members of the band from one of Phil Lynnot's demos after he died and if one could find it anywhere else. It's easily the most badass riff I have ever heard. And I'm a man who knows his riffs.

Jimmy Eat World - Clarity. This album came out 12 years ago and it's the only thing that my generation has released that my generation still gushes about all the time.

Portishead - Roseland, NYC Live. The best live album ever made.

Explosions in the Sky - The Earth is not a Cold Dead Place. These guys and this record makes every other band in their genre (the post-rock instrumental whatever) look like total amateurs. I filled in on bass for a band about 10 years ago that opened for these guys and after the show I wanted sell all of my gear.

Pearl Jam - Vitalogy. The best collection of songs that they ever wrote. Eddie Vedder can tell one hell of a story in under 4 minutes.

Marvin Gaye - Let's Get It On. People always talk about the title track being the one that they... well... you know. Best track on this record? "Please Stay". And for everyone who hates motown, I don't know if I can talk to you.

Sunny Day Real Estate - Diary. Jeremy Enigk can't sing. These guys couldn't really play. Most of the lyrics read like Robert Smith-throwaways. But it came out 17 years ago and everyone who is making rock music these days has this band to thank for having the balls to release something this unique. This is one hell of a ringing endorsement.

Tom Waits - The Heart of Saturday Night. If you're under the age of 25, I wouldn't even recommend trying to listen to this. I know that everyone that loves Tom Waits and who reads this blog (all 4 of you) will say "What about Small Change, or Mule Variations, or Rain Dogs?" All great in their own respect but the stories in these songs make sense to me.

The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds. Paul McCartney once said that Sgt. Pepper's... was his band's attempt to answer this record. Think about what Brian Wilson could do if he had two good ears.

Original Cast Recording (London) - The Phantom of the Opera. My parents went and saw this in Toronto in the early-90s and I swear my mom played this tape for two years straight. A few years later, my parents took us to see it as a family across the border. I stood and applauded at the end.

I'm not going to reference that R.E.M song

2011-05-18T13:12:00.000-07:00

Ever since I saw Roland Emmerich's disaster film (that description works on multiple levels) 2012 about this time last year, I have been afraid of three things:

#1.) Horses. If there's anything scarier to me in the world than horses, I don't want to meet it. If someone discovers dragons living underneath a caldera in Yellowstone, I bet that would be scarier. But we're talkin' real life here, folks.

#2.) Clowns. I don't know why anyone thinks clowns are great. Think about it. When ~~I was~~ you're the class clown, I you always ~~got~~ get in trouble. When you go to the circus, people don't want to see clowns, they want to see some chick get shot out of a cannon. When you see clowns piled into a Volkswagon Beetle, I'm willing to bet that I'm not the only one who hopes that the doors have the child safety lock engaged. I know, car nuts, that VW Beetles don't have a child safety lock, but it's my fantasy where clowns get stuck and those Germans engineers can figure out how to do pretty much anything. If you look directly to

the right you will see a picture of me if I went back in time and how scared I was. I'm willing to bet that if that picture was actually me, I would need to have my diaper changed. I look cute in overalls, though.

#3.) The end of the world.

Many of you who, God only knows why, read this blog know that I don't have much fear of anything; death and the apocalypse being way down on the list. Somewhere in the mid-triple

digits for inquiring minds. Way past "asking a girl out". Way past "cleaning my room". Way past "the first 90% of Signs." So it is with much bemusement that I find myself writing about the apocalypse today.

Living in the buckle of the Bible belt - hey! it looks like a belt buckle and it's in the Bible belt. I totally get that now! - I have seen several billboards in Nashville informing me that this coming Saturday is the end of the world. I'll save you the time of reading their really long article (I know you won't anyway) and just tell you that it's just based on some really crazy, fanatical Christian math. Or something. Christian math is cool. I won an award in sixth grade for it. It wasn't Christian math. Like, the questions weren't "If you have 7 paintings of Jesus and I have 9 paintings of Jesus and Joey has 12 paintings of Jesus, how many Jesus paintings do the three of us have altogether?" There are two answers to the question:

#1.) The mathematical answer: 28

#2.) Beat up Joey, split up the 12 Jesus paintings between us and sell them outside of a gas station. What makes him think he's so good, anyway?

No... not that kind of Christian math. I meant Christian math in the way that I went to math contests with students from other Christian schools and then beat their brains out in algebra competitions.

You know what that got me in the end? It got me into a really hard math class my freshman year of high school. It didn't get me chicks, which was hard enough to do given that I went to an all-boys prep school. It didn't earn me the respect of anyone in college. All it ~~dead~~ did was let me make a reference to Dead Man on Campus when I'm in my 30s.

So, ladies... What have you got going on later? If you believe in this weekend's upcoming apocalypse, I hope it's every worldly indulgence and I hope it's with me. A man can dream...

But, before you (dear hot single lady reader type) and I cover ourselves in green Jello and run naked through the streets because that would be both fun and sexy, we'd have to go do one thing on ~~Fridate~~ Friday afternoon. And that one thing? That's right... Go see Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides. That's right, this blog was just a crummy commercial. Just kidding. You know what... Scratch that idea. No afternoon matinee. It's on me. That's right: PRIME TIME. You, me, and a full price movie - my treat. Well, you'll think I've paid full price, when in reality I'll buy the tickets in advance on fandango.com, indicate that they're for children and pay half price. Apparently, fandango is more about ticket sales then they are worrying about what kids are doing with their parents credit card and shopping online. And, out of the 20 or so times that I have done this very trick, it has only backfired on me once. The lady at Opry Mills called me out on it once. Her reprimand to me: "Don't do that again."

Yeah, I really learned my lesson.

Anyway, when Friday rolls around, what else would you rather do than go see that movie or worrying about what you're going to wear when Jesus shows up the next day? If you paid attention and have an adventurous spirit, you and I will be adorned in the aforementioned green Jello.

So here's the trailer of the new P.O.T.C. film. Michael Bolton is in it. Or something. And I guess it's got some Jewish dudes in it, too.

See ya on Friday. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Ryan Rado

2011-05-10T13:25:00.000-07:00

Most of the blogs that I post are about fart jokes. Sometimes, they are about wiener [hmmm... "i before e", indeed] jokes. Or about alcohol. Or things that I hate. When I'm really on it, I'll throw in a joke about Michael Bolton. It's days when I manage to get all of those things in their together that I flirt with triple digit blog views in a day. As a matter of fact, you're contributing to it right now. Hello, advertising dollars! Crap, I should install something that allows me to make some sweet cash from this here blog. How does the internet work?

This particular entry, however, is not one of my typical blog entries.

Ryan Rado and I met each other in 1994. To give you an idea of what that was like, chatrooms were just becoming popular, Sunny Day Real Estate (you know, that band, that all those other bands that got kinda popular 8 years ago were really into) had just released their FIRST record, and Taylor Swift was in kindergarten. 17 years later, he and I are still friends. I was in his wedding. I am roommates with him and his wife, Christina, and apparently, there's another dude who has lived in our house for the past month or so and I'm pretty sure his name is John Williams but I haven't ever had a conversation with him. At any rate, Ryan and I have a friendship that has lasted (according to a study that I just made up) about as long as most marriages. It's a good thing we're still friends and roommates because I borrowed a sweater from him a long-ass time ago and still have it. And he has my Telecaster. I want that back, eventually.

The point is, I know this dude. He and I connect on lots of things, despite our very different personalities. One thing that he and I have always seemingly connected on is our desire to make the world a better place. I'm finally in a position to do a bit of financial good in the world. If any of you makes a crack about my New Zealand trip last year costing a bunch of money, I'll talk to you after you've done 40 weekend midnight wedding cleanups, logged thousands of miles in a van, and written 3500 trivia questions in addition to working 45 hours a week, Monday through Friday. I'm blessed (through grace, hard work, talent, and ability) to have a job that allows me to live the kind of life that I want to live. Yes, this includes my new pre-owned scooter (thanks, Patrick and Amanda). And, thankfully, I'm able to do something for someone else.

That someone else is Ryan Rado. For those of you [hang on, I'm listening to Miley Cyrus' "Party in the USA" - I'll be right back] who know me or have ever stepped in Nashville, you probably know him. He has, for the majority of his life, worked through (I refuse to use the word "suffered" because what's that even mean, anyway?) several different afflictions: the most notable is Tourette Syndrome. It's real and the dude isn't faking it.

The same night that I agreed to buy the above scooter from Patrick and Amanda at RCC3's birthday, Ryan was talking with musician/artist/videographer Ethan Luck about making a video to help him out to raise funds for his Neuro Treatment Training. Ryan has asked a few people to be in the video that they are working on: myself included. At any rate, here is the trailer that they shot a few days ago at our house:

My Quest For Peace Of Mind (Trailer) from Ethan Luck on Vimeo.

Go donate. That's it.

Dear Kate Middleton,

2011-04-19T07:06:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate Middleton,

About 4 mornings a week, I wake up earlier than I have to. It's just about sunrise when I do. I roll out of bed, put on my wicked awesome biking attire including my compression shirt that really does nothing to compress the excess weight just above my waist but I guess the point of that compression shirt is to shame me into working out more so that I lose the excess weight just above my waist thereby having to buy a smaller compression shirt to repeat the cycle. If that's not turning you (and any otherladies who happen to be reading this) on, I give up because I won't know what will. That's how smooth I am. "Oh, you're such a good writer!" they all say. You know what all of my wonderful writing skills have gotten me in terms of ladies? One girl read a blog entry of mine about this time lastyear, stalked me on facebook and then asked me out. When I saw about 30 pictures of her walking her cat on a leash, I nixed the idea.

But at least I have a sweet bike. Yeah, it's a Diamondback. I've got it up to about 30 miles per hour - that's about 48 kph for you, Kate. Sure, it was downhill and wind-aided but you get the idea. It was fast.

Yup, still single.

Strangely enough you and my bike have something in common. I was out for my ride this morning and for some strange reason, you popped into my head. Aside from the fact that I know you're marrying the most important man in all of the United Kingdom in a week or so,

~~Harry Potter~~ Prince William, I don't know anything about you. Hell, if it wasn't for the news going absolutely apeshit [which I am surprised to find out is not a misspelled word according to the internet squiggly red line] of your impending nuptials, you'd probably be just another girl living across the ocean who has no interest in me whatsoever. Much like most of the girls here in America who don't walk their cats (she could have had more, I don't know) for recreation.

As I was reading through my news feed, I came across this article that according to some poll or something has you listed as the 'third most beautiful royal in history'. Let me tell you why this is bullshit.

Oh, and just be glad I'm doing this a week and a half in advance - it'll give you plenty of time to recover before your big day. And double Oh, I wouldn't kick you out of bed, either. It's just that it's my job to bring people down a notch or two.

To my knowledge, Bill has never started a war based on your beauty, a la Helen of Troy. You know, the face that launched a thousand ships? Secondly, if the picture to the left is any indication of what you're like, Bill is (apparently) marrying some sort of metallic green fembot (it's from Austin Powers who is sorta British) with robot wheel legs. Name one thing that's attractive about that. You probably won't find a guy that's into machine gun jubblies, either. I mean, aside from ~~King BuckTooth~~ Prince William. Thirdly, Cleopatra VII was a babe. And unless another

famous Bill from your rain-soaked island (I'm talkin' Shakespeare, here, sweetheart) becomes a zombie, grabs a pen and writes a play about you, I'm really not going to be impressed. As an alternative to this, if some Italian Renaissance painters reanimate and start painting pictures of you in the nude, I would be okay with this as well. Of course if either Shakespeare or Bellini or Titian or whomever comes back to life, we've obviously got bigger problems on our hands. In which case, I'm gonna go all Army of Darkness on the world. Maybe we could even have a "gimme some sugar, baby" moment. What? Too forward?

I hope that things with you and Prince William work out, my sweet... uhh... what is a British term for "cute girl"? My... uhh... my sweet bag of Bassets Licorice Allsorts [SCORE!]. If they don't, I'm just a flight away. What? Your parents are loaded. They can afford it. And, I must decline your invitation (that you didn't send) to your wedding next weekend. I have to run around the Virginia Highlands and punch some ponies in the face with a couple of dudes after drinking too much Scotch. Mmmm... Scotch... Okay, so your island isn't a total bummer.

You know how to reach me,

Stephen P Bohn

An open letter to Jeff Miller of the OC Register

2011-04-18T15:01:00.000-07:00

I love hockey. I love watching it. I love playing it (even though I'm pretty bad). I figure out ways to get to friend's homes or to the pub to watch it. I'm fairly resourceful. That being said I am not, nor will I likely ever be, a Predators fan. I just have a hard time rooting for 'em. They're in the same division as my beloved Detroit Red Wings. I do love the city of Nashville and when I came across this article which was 'written' by some asshat named Jeff Miller who, apparently, gets paid to be a jerk, I was upset. While as delightful as that sounds and if someone would pay me to do it, I would, too, I can't let things slide.

In defense of the city in which I live, I fired a slapshot right on back. If you feel so inclined, his email address is jmiller@ocregister.com.

Jeff,

I'm going to preface my email with this: I'm a Detroit Red Wings fan. Born and raised in Detroit. Why is this important? You'll see...

I don't spend much time on the internet. I know I'm way late on this whole "Trashville" article that has quite a few of my fellow Nashvillians up in arms, even a week later. In 2005, I decided that I wanted to move to Nashville, TN. As a relatively recent college graduate, Michigan's struggling economy (which, let's face it, everyone knows to be a euphemism), and the infatuation that I had developed for this fine Middle Tennessee town over the course of visiting it for the previous few years, I up and moved. I put everything I owned in the back of a Ryder truck, hitched my Ford Escort to the back of it and drove 550 miles south to Nashville. I'm not married, never have been, and was young and impetuous enough to agree to live in a friends' already full apartment. I could've moved anywhere in the world and I willingly picked Nashville. Willingly.

I'm not much of a musician and I know almost nothing about the record industry. I'm not slinging pints of lager in the hopes that I might meet a record label guy that is going to get a copy of my demos in his head and hands and sign me to a huge deal. I'm not an athlete and didn't move here in the hopes of pulling a Vince Papale and scoring a random tryout with the Titans. I know that's a Philadelphia Eagles thing but you get the idea. I'm not a doctor and didn't move here to work for one of the many healthcare organizations in the area. I'm not a typical Nashvillian other than, like so many other young professionals who live here, I wasn't born and raised here. But you know something, Jim? I choose to stay here. And it's not because I love "Hee Haw" (I've seen it) and it's not because I love The Grand Ole Opry (I don't even like country music).

In coming across your terribly degrading piece on this fair city which I call "home" I can say that my jaw hit the floor when I read it. The proverbial "Athens of the South" and "Music City, USA" is more than the "Trashville" you tried to portray it as. It's a place home to such learning institutions as Vanderbilt, Belmont, Lipscomb, Meharry, and Tennessee State; a place where the world's first piece of airmail was delivered; a place devastated by the Civil War only to rebuild itself; a place devastated by a major flood last year only to be in the process of rebuilding itself once again; a place that after last year's flood didn't get mad because it took several days for the federal government to respond -- the royal we took time off of work to cleanup the city, to hike to neighbor's homes to make sure that they were okay, to put on benefit after benefit after benefit to raise what money we could to get our friends and neighbors back on their feet. It's a place of education, renaissance, arts and entertainment. And your article is a desecration of all of it.

I'm still relatively young. I'm still full of far too much piss and vinegar. I'm still in love with living in Nashville. And I'm still a Detroit Red Wings fan. It's hard to turn your back on a team that you watched grow from the days of Paul Ysabaert, Petr Kilma, and Bob Probert that couldn't make the playoffs to an organization that prides itself on winning. Sure, the Predators probably won't ever be a storied franchise like my beloved Red Wings. The Ducks probably won't either. But there's something special about this town. It's got a vitality and a spirit to it. You should check it out sometime. Sure, the accent may take some getting used to. Sure, all the honky tonks on lower Broadway make us locals roll our eyes because we only go there when our friends and family come to visit and want the 'authentic' Nashville experience. But there's so much more to explore than what CMT (that's Country Music Television, by the way) would lead you to believe.

Preds in 6,

Stephen P Bohn

Twitter. What is it good for? Not music. Definitely.

2011-04-14T07:25:00.000-07:00

I know I said I was weening myself off of the internet. Aside from my addiction to checking for cheap flights around the world all the time, freaking outabout the first production video of The Hobbit (and everything else on that site), and posting pictures of me doing backflips into a lake in the month of April (you can find that one for yourself), I'm doing a pretty good job.

And then there's my twitter. I still think twitter is ridiculous for the most part. I very rarely have anything interesting to say on it but find myself posting things about how awesome Rambo: First Blood still is or about zombies or how conference calls can be the death of someone. Isn't that great information?! Aren't you glad you're following me on that?! Hell, I'd hate my twitter feed if I were you.

However...

And there's always a "however..."

In my attempt to step further and further away from the digital world - I'm an analog boy at heart - I've found myself wondering if I'm the only one who looks themselves up on the internet? I know I'm not. I also know that I'm fairly narcissistic and have been known to google myself from time to time. Just to see what's out there. We've all done it. But I don't think I've ever done a twitter search on myself. I don't really have time for that and the beers at the pub aren't gonna drink themselves. That little thought got me to, well, thinking. Who twitter searches their own name? And it turns out that LOTS of people do.

"Who? What stories do you have?!" I can hear the dozen of you asking. I have two stories. That's right. Two. I'm like the buy-one-get-one-FREE of blog stories. I'm a value meal*. I'm a veritable bouquet of goodness dispersement.

The first one happened about two months ago. I was watching TV (something I very rarely do these days, sports not withstanding) with Karen and Meg and the show Don't Forget the Lyrics was on. This show is hosted by Mark McGrath of the band Sugar Ray known for being the other really shitty band on the SugarRaySmashMouth Musical Abortion Duo Tour (if it were to exist and I'm betting that it did at some point in the mid to late 90s) and it had some dame singing along to songs. At one point in the song, all of the music and word prompts cut out and the contestant is forced to sing the next line from memory. For example, let's say "Dancing Queen" by ABBA was the song being sung by our contestant. This is sort of how the game goes... She's singing along... Laladadada...

"You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your time of your life /

See that girl, ___ ___ ___, ___ ___, ___ ___ ___"

If you are much of an ABBA fan as I am or you saw that Mamma Mia!, you know that in order to continue the lyrics, advance to the next round and win the adoration of housewives across America and the momentary approval of Mark McGrath, the words you would sing would be "watch that scene, dig it, the dancing queen." I imagine you get bonus dollars or points or whatever if you do the "ba-ba-BA-BA-BAH-BAH" hits on an imaginary keyboard at the end of that line. If I were the producer of that show that's what I'd do. But I'm not. I'm just a dude with a twitter account.

And so I took to said twitter account posting my displeasure which is a euphemism as you shall soon see with not just the show Don't Forget the Lyrics but with Mark McGrath's career in general. It was fairly innocuous, especially considering the relatively small number of followers I have in the twittersphere. Even further innocuoslying [totally should be a word], is the fact that I posted Mark McGrath's name in said tweet. Twitter has the worst words. Twitter. Tweet. Tweeted. Twatted?

The first thing I thought was "Well, some dude on the Twitter is just messing with me." So what did I do? I found Mark McGrath's website and it turns out that it's his real account. This leads me to believe three things:

1.) Mark McGrath actually spends time on Twitter searching his name (notice how there was no "@" symbol indicating that my ~~twat~~ tweet was sent directly to him.

2.) Mark McGrath actually has no good way to follow up that hit single about traveling or sunshine or whatever-the-fuck-else-he-wrote-about 15 years ago.

3.) Don't Forget the Lyrics has an awful lot of downtime.

Thinking that this was just a one off fluke and remembering the end of Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back where the titular (hehehe) characters get a whole bunch of money and then go beat the asses of everyone who besmirched their reputation online and was imagining Mark McGrath coming to my home and doing that very thing. I've got a reputation to uphold and, worst case scenario, getting my ass beat in by the guy who sang "Every Morning" and who starred in Father's Day would do nothing for that. Maybe make me look like more of a wimp but that's about it. Okay... So I let that one slide. Good on ya, McGrath.

I'm not very good at learning my lesson. Never have been. Which leads us to the second story. See? I told you there was another one.

At work, we have one radio station pumped in throughout the office. It's some country music station. 95.5? 207.3? I don't know what it's called. It's pretty terrible though. Not a day goes by where I don't hear the super sexy Leann Rimes' "Westbound Train". I've already heard it this morning. But like every other successful radio station, it's focused on hits. Hits, hits, hits, hits, hits. H-I-T-S. That's an anagram, too. You figure it out. The latest hit on the radio is this little ditty by a 'band' called Thompson Square. Trust me, if I can make it through this song 3 or 4 times a day, you can at least make it to the chorus, which for all intents and purposes is a far as you need to go to get to the point of this story. Here's the video:

In my frustration yesterday ('cause, honestly, when am I not frustrated?), I ~~twatted~~ tweeted a very honest review of Thompson Square's "Are You Gonna Kiss Me or Not?" and I managed to do it in under 140 characters. My review? Very simple: "This Thompson Square song is some bullshit." And then look what happened:

That's right! I fired back. I figured that if I've been called out by one goatee sporting, terrible sounding singer on twitter in my life, that that was enough. I'm standing up for my rights. My right to be a jerk. My right to not telegraph choruses. My right not go get beat up by pretty dudes. My right to, if I may, party.

So that's what twitter has done for me. Well, that and given me many a good laugh over Josh Orr getting kicked out of Paramore about 4 times. I'm still looking for some other value. Maybe that value meal* I was talking about beforehand...

*I haven't had a value meal in a long time. Why? 'Cause all the good ones have meat in them and I (stupidly) gave up meat for Lent. Superheaven, I'm a-comin'.

Nickleblack? Kickstarkmusicfactory? Sure.

2011-03-15T13:52:00.000-07:00

It's been almost a full month since I've updated you, dear blog. I know that if I don't meet my at-least-one-a-month-entry quote, Nick will get mad, make fun of me that I rarely get to a second date with any girl, and call me out. Since he has a much larger blog readership and has the attention of the Christian rock market in his corner, I better do what he says. He can be dangerous when he wants to.

Speaking of massive musical forces, in addition to Nick Baumhardt, I'm writing about two of them today. I guess that makes that three of 'em don'it?

#1.) Kickstarter. I think kickstarter is the worst thing to

happen to music since Chad Kroeger. And that is saying quite a bit. The sonovabitch knows song structure, though. That's no excuse for sucking. It's like when Mother Nature said to Michael Bay, "Hey, why don't you go direct Japan... Let me know how it goes."

Okay, that was a dick move. With that in mind, I implore you to all donate to Japan. I think that brings me back up to the 4th circle of Hell. Limbo, here I come!

But back to kickstarter. When I was ~~fatter~~ younger, I used to bounce around in a van from state to state and sling merch for bands. I ~~was~~ am a pretty mediocre musician and have largely given most of that up in my life - the slightest, tiniest, occasional bit of playing not withstanding. None of the bands that I played in or sold shirts for ever begged for money.

Now here we are, some years later when you can set up a kickstarter account, tell people to donate to your band so that you can record with that one guy who used to play drums in These Arms are Snakes (wait, a second...), and on you go; talent, execution, and following be damned.

#2.) Ark Music Factory. This shit is just as bad as kickstarter. Only worse. You heard me. Essentially, teen girls whose parents have a bunch of money hire this company to make a professional song and video that makes the Black Eyed Peas SuperBowl halftime show sound like Hendrix at Woodstock or that time Dylan went electric. Don't believe me (I know you do)? I'm giving you my jam of the week, anyway:

For those of you that know me, and I'm assuming that that's most of you, save for my healthy bunch of stalkers, which could be far too many and if that's the case, I'm going into hiding and using commas far too frequently, you know I like a challenge. And I like taking things that I hate and making them into things that I love. So here's the plan: I'm gonna start a kickstarter campaign to raise funds to cover the entire Ark Music Factory catalog.

If I can figure out how to get Chad Kroeger involved, even better. Who wants to do donate? I ~~fuckin'~~ swear, it's gonna be awesome. Had to edit myself there. Working my way back up to Limbo, like I said.

It's Not a Toomer

2011-02-18T07:54:00.000-08:00

I write lots of trivia questions. Sometimes they're easy, sometimes they're not. Many times especially during football season, they're about football. I know how ladies love to read about football so that's what today's blog is about. Kinda. Sorta.

If you have at least a toe in the water in the world of news, you know that the following topics have been dominating the news in the past week or so:

- Egypt

- Bahrain

- Toomer's Corner oak trees at Auburn University.

One of those things is not like the other. And at least one of them is not a ~~tumor~~ Toomer.

So to bring you up to speed in case you don't watch TV or if you don't ever read the news at work (like I do on both accounts), some dude named Al from Dadeville, Alabama, decided that it would be a good idea to poison some trees on Auburn's campus. Oops. Wrong link. Here's the right one. Here comes the snark...

I know absolutely nothing about Auburn's campus. Hell, you could have told me it was built on a swamp of dirt and unicorn blood and I might have believed you for a split second. I had no idea that these trees were so tied in to a tradition. Really nothing screams "CELEBRATE!" quite like T-P-ing. But it's the south and being born and raised in Big Ten country and transplanting to Nashville, I've had to adapt to lots of things that just don't make any sense to me: like getting married while you're in college and eating grits. Neither of which I support but that's neither here nor there. Back to my story about trees.

So this dude poisoned some trees. I get it. You don't mess with someone else's traditions. Don't kill trees. Don't be an asshole. Life's pretty simple, really. I learned the "don't kill trees" lesson when I was about 5 years old and decided that taking a hatchet to a tree on the outskirts of my parents' yard was a good idea. Turns out, it's not. I got an ass-whoopin' and a well-deserved one at that. Maybe this Al from Dadeville didn't get his ass whooped enough as a kid. Maybe he got it whooped too much. I don't know. I'm not a dad.

What pisses me off (and I know that's what you were all waiting for) is the amount of coverage

that this has gotten. It's received about 1436% of the coverage that it's gotten and, really, deserves. Seriously, folks. Trees. Life is all about perspective. And, yea, it's pretty damn important even if you don't think Asian chicks are hot.

Keep following the story. I'm sure you college football junkies (myself included) will be following this story for the next year and of course into this upcoming season. And when one of your great friends may very well be the world's biggest Alabama fan, you're bound to hear about it for a while.

Anyway, as I was poking around on facebook [see what I did there?] this morning, I came across this group. I'm not going to join it. It's not that I don't care, it's that I don't care, if that makes any sense. Anyway, in scrolling through the comments and wall and whateverthehellit'scalled, I saw this comment:

I like Jesus and all but I don't know if he cares about the Toomer's Corner trees that much. Also, what are these folks praying for? That the trees are going to wake up? If that happens, I'm running the other way. Or I'm gonna pick up that hatchet from 26 years ago and go down swinging. C'mon folks.

The Weather Is The Time's End! Revelations!

2011-02-10T07:43:00.000-08:00

On my way home from work yesterday evening (5 o'clock conference calls are not nearly as fun as they sound, people), I was driving in the same weather that everyone else was in. Buses in the ditch? Sure. People abandoning their cars in the middle of the road? Absolutely. Me getting on my phone and calling up Sean to see if he wanted to go to the bar to watch the Wings-Preds game? That's a big "10-4". I was born and raised in Michigan. What do you expect?

I had a few beers, including the incredibly delicious Atwater Vanilla Java Porter which I had never tried until last night, watched the game, and then went home. It was a straight shot down Gallatin Pike which I normally loathe because Gallatin is, I'm convinced, what the road to hell must be like. What, with its stoplights every 97 feet, erratic drivers, and occasional carjackings and all. Last night was not bad, however, as the ~~three inches of~~ massive snowfall kept most people indoors for the evening. All I was thinking about, though, was getting home safely, turning on my Xbox, and playing Fable. Almost anytime magic and swords are involved in anything, I'm in. I did notice that who ever played it on my Xbox last had created a character named "Shit Teeth". I'mnot really sure what that means.

As I turned off my game long about 11something last night, I rolled over and posted a tweet. Why? Well, because everything I say on twitter is important. Why anyone follows me on that thing blows my mind. If I were an internerd, I

would find a program to find how many how many of my tweets are related to New Zealand and/or Lord of the Rings. Not that I need any help with that. Or anything. Oh... My tweet from last night read "Nashville seasons: Flood, Hell, Autumn, Blizzard." Which makes sense when you think about it. I should have turned my phone off last night because it went "ting, ting" for the next 10 hours. Why? 'Cause of this:

Who in the world thinks what I have to say is worth re-broadcasting to the rest of the world? Apparently 36 people. Oh... And then there are the new followers. I can just see them clicking "unfollow" as soon as I start posting about The Hobbit. Prepare to be underwhelmed.

Oh MAI Gosh

2011-01-23T13:47:00.000-08:00

I am now going to list my five favorite things about dancing in public:
1.) Not dancing in public.
2.) Not dancing, well, at all.
3.) Going home from a place where people have been trying unsuccessfully to get me out on the dance floor [which, I'm frankly surprised to find out is two words] the whole evening.
4.) Wondering why the hell everyone seems to be drinking Ketel One and Redbulls.
5.) A bunch of Cougars going "Wooooo!!!!"

So last night, in the interest of me being a good sport, I went to a place called MAI which claims it's in the Gulch. First of all, it's not. It's across the street from 12th and Porter and until last night I had never heard of anyone claiming that that part of town is the Gulch. It's near the Gulch. But that's like saying I live at Opry Mills because it's down the street. See how I'm not a liar, MAI?

We (the A Village of Flowers family, that is) were celebrating Dora who is moving to New York City soonishly and will be missed dearly and since she wanted to go to MAI, we went to MAI. I'm not sure if that's how it's supposed to be written or if that's just how it's stylized but I'm already one-third of the way through the blog and I'm not going to change it. I mean, if everyone came out to 3Crow for my birthday party that I don't really remember last year, the very least that I can do is reciprocate. Why? 'Cause I'm a hell of a guy, that's why.

I convinced my roommate Josiah* to come with me. He's been to MAI before and if I happened to be the only person there that I knew, I didn't want to be attacked by Cougars who are trained to pounce on young looking single prey. Come on. One dude against a pack of wild Cougars? No chance. At all. Thankfully, everyone else showed up. And when I say "everyone" I mean "EVERYONE". The place went from dead empty to tenfinity people in the span of about 20 minutes. And all tenfinity people were big fans of dressing way nicer than me and I was wearing my nice long sleeve henley shirt, too. Basically, this was my first real dance club experience. Not too shabby at the age of 30 that I had managed to avoid it for that long.

Keeping in mind my lack of dancing ~~skills~~ ~~ability~~ enjoyment, I told everyone that if I had nine more glasses of whiskey, I would get out on the dance floor. Everyone knew this wasn't going to happen so I was safe. The lack of drinks, however, did not stop Andy.

Maybe it was the sweet leather jacket? Doubtful. Maybe it was the beanie cap? Unlikely. Maybe he pregamed? That's probably it.

What's the point of this here blog entry? It's ultimately a review of MAI from the perspective of someone who doesn't like to dance or get attacked by the Pre-Post-Menopausal crowd. If you're not into either one of those things or, in the interest of full disclosure, spending $8.50 for a pour of whiskey, I can sum it up in one word:

DON'T

Then again, go for it. You might just like it. Like Andy.

*Josiah - enjoy the fame that comes with this shout out. The rewards are great, my friend. Great.

Ophiucus

2011-01-13T18:41:00.000-08:00

A large part of my day involves me doing research on the internet. I don't mean fun research. I mean research like learning the difference between what a clinical manager does and what an administrator does [the answer is "not much"]. Luckily, thanks to the business class internet that I get at my desk, I get to download things like the Birth soundtrack by Alexandre Desplat (thanks for the recommendation, JT) at lightning speeds. Speeds? Plural? Sure.

One would think that with all the time that I do spend in front of my computer that by the end of the day the last thing that I would want to do would be to come home and sit in front of, well, my computer. Since I don't have a typewriter and, let's face it, I don't really have a place to put it and I have a desire to write pretty much all of the time, I break out the laptop and off I go. That is if I'm not remaining bitter about being told that I was 4 inches too tall to be an extra in The Hobbit and ultimately realizing that the only way I could get 4 inches shorter would be to hack off my feet or the top of my head which, unfortunately, would make me largely unfilmable. It is too a word.

Imagine my surprise when I got home this evening to find the news that Zodiac signs were changing and that a new sign called Ophiucus has suddenly entered the world. You know what I know about the Zodiac signs? Nothing. I actually had to look mine up. It's Cancer. And from what the interweb tells me (and, let's face it, I believe everything I read on the internet) it only applies to people born in 2009 or later. I bet Justin Bieber is fucking pissed that he's gonna have to get a new set custom embroidered of Osh Kosh B'Gosh overalls 'cause he's no longer a Pisces. He's like, what? 14 or 15 months old now? Can one year olds be pissed? They can release hit records and star in biopics so why not? Really, I just wrote about The Biebs so I'd get some more traffic on this here post. By the way, how does he get his hair to grow sideways like that?

Bet you didn't think that you'd read about Alexandre Desplat and The Biebs in the same blog today, did you?

This new Zodiac actually scares me for a few reasons. First: the potential return of The Zodiac Killer. You wanna talk about some scary shit? Yeah... That's some scary shit. In addition to the potential return of a mass murder, I am going to make a prediction. Yes, a major prediction. The kind of prediction that would make Harvey Weinstein take notice. He's a major film producer. I know you're not clicking on these links anyway. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the sequel to the original

Zodiac. I'm gonna call it Zodiac 2: Oh, Fyuck Us... He's Back! I wonder if Jake ~~Swift~~ Gyllenhaal would be up for it? I bet he would. He's done pretty well in the last few years, starring in Desert Sword Adventure Movie and a movie that I haven't yet seen but based on it's title, I'm assuming that it's about African American friends. Personally, I think he's just floating by on looks alone. Then again, what do I know?

Unless you're the psychic at Mystic Minds just down the street from my house, this news probably won't affect you. I just had nothing better to write about and I had to do something while drinking this beer.

Ted Williams

2011-01-05T17:01:00.000-08:00

In the past few days, The Man with the Golden Voice (a guy named Ted Williams) video has started to circulate the internet. If you have no idea what I'm talking about then you need to watch this and watch it now:

And when I say "past few days" I literally mean since about Monday or so. It's a quick mover, that internet. It's even quicker for me now that I don't have to steal it from my neighbor (thank you anonymous 'linksys' user as the past year and a half were so good to me).

This man has a gift. Seriously. My voice sounds like I did when I was 14. It never really dropped after cracking for two straight years. You ladies into me yet? A blog about a homeless dude and a guy whose voice never really dropped. Yeah, I thought so. But back to the 'feel good' story...

I was listening to ESPN radio yesterday morning after having seen this video the day before and heard some fantastic news: that the much maligned Cleveland Cavaliers (they're that team that that LeBron dude used to play for)* have offered Ted Williams a job and a house. How amazing is that?! Most of the times, when it comes to homeless people, I'm a jerk. I don't give 'em money. I don't by copies of The Contributor. I respond with "Naw, dude... Lemme ask you a question." when someone starts out with "Hey, lemme ask you a question."

Oh... and today he was reunited with his mom: a 92-year old woman living in Brooklyn, NY, that he has been out of contact for several years.

I don't feel convicted very often -- largely because that word alone makes me think of my days attending Acquire the Fire youth conventions and seeing the Newsboys (remember them?) play. It's nice when the world gives something back to someone. Even if he does look like Teen Wolf Obama.

Look at what people can do.

*Major props to me for figuring out how to use the word "that" three times in one parenthetical phrase.

A Door for Humans

2010-12-08T04:49:00.000-08:00

I was delivering flowers yesterday afternoon. Nothing out of the ordinary. Actually, I was delivering a gift basket to a doctor at Two Rivers Veterinary Clinic on Old Lebanon Road on the north east side of town but that doesn't matter. The gift basket part not the Two Rivers Veterinary Clinic part. That does matter.

Hell. Lemme try that again.

So I was delivering a gift basket to a vet's office yesterday. Not a veteran's office, a veterinarian's office. You know what? I'm just gonna start drinking right now. Maybe that'll help.

Okay... Third time's a charm. Yesterday afternoon I was delivering a gift basket to a veterinary clinic (I DID IT!). I pulled up to the front door in the behemoth that is our delivery van and parked squarely in the "NO PARKING" zone. I have special privileges, that's why. I got out of the van, walked around the back of the vehicle, and opened the side door. There was the ~~arrangement~~ gift basket in all its glory. I picked it up, assed the door shut, and walked in.

Upon entering, I was met with a set of two doors: one to the left that read "Dogs" and one to the right that red "Cats". Seeing as that I had a basketful of edible goodies (read: not underwear), I used my quick flower delivery man thinking and deduced that of the two doors, the one that read "Cats" would be less likely to have animals in that want to eat all of the delectables that I was carrying. I also guessed that there probably was no catnip in said gift basket. Also, I had to get into the office itself.

This is the conversation that I had with the front desk administrator lady:

Me: "Hi!"

Front desk administrator lady: "Hi! OHMYGOSHTHATISGORGEOUS!"

Me: "Awesome! Yeah, this is for Dr. Schlabach."

Front desk administrator lady: "Oh, I can take it to him."

Me: "Great, thanks. I hope it's okay."

Front desk administrator lady: "You hope what's okay?"

Me: "Well, I saw a door for 'Dogs' and a door for 'Cats' but I didn't see a door that read 'Humans'. I'm not in trouble, am I?"

Front desk administrator lady: [silence]

Me: "Have a good one!"

And this was after me meeting someone at Vanderbilt Hospital named Cookie Warpool. I didn't think my day was going to get any better after that but boy was I wrong...

I got the most stuff! I won Xmas!

2010-12-05T18:16:00.000-08:00

Every year about this time I get an email from my dad asking me what I want for Christmas. Because a large part of me is and will perpetually be eight and a half years old, I usually ask for toys. Two years ago, for example, I asked for Mario Kart Wii. My dad asked something to the effect of "What the hell is that?" I told him to simply go into Best Buy, find a dude with a blue shirt and a pair of khaki pants on, hold out your arms and pretend like your driving a steering wheel, and say "My 28 year old son wants Mario Kart Wii." Really, I just wanted the mental image of my dad doing that in a store more than anything else. By the way, Mario Kart Wii has NOT disappointed. My dad has yet to tell me whether he acted like he was driving when he asked the dude at Best Buy for help. I like to think he did.

Being a bit of a bah humbugger, I haven't cared much for Christmas for the past several years. I like getting out of town for a bit. I like cookies. I like seeing, well, some of the family. I like going downtown to The Torch and getting my annual TorchBurger and pints of Guinness for $2.75 (or whatever it is they cost now). I don't like 97.46% of Christmas music. The only two Christmas tunes that I will voluntarily listen to are "Fairytale of New York" by The Pogues (or whoever happens to be covering it) and "All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carrey. Shut your damn mouth. Don't act like you don't like that song, too. I don't like the security at the airport. I don't like the great bloody wind tunnel that is the arrivals gate of Detroit Metro Airport -- it's like they said "Hell, let's figure out a way to make it even colder." If I were interested enough, I would have made the word "colder" appear in blue letters but I'm pretty lazy at the moment and this football trivia set that I have been procrastinating on all week isn't going to write itself.

This is, however, the season of wishes and with that in mind and my dad's email hitting my inbox this afternoon, I sent him my Christmas wishlist this evening. It went ~~something~~ exactly like this:

Dad,

Here's my Christmas wish list:

-- A gift certificate to zappos.com -- I'd like to buy a nice pair of running shoes. Link: http://www.zappos.com/gift-certificate

-- A gift certificate to black 13 tattoo parlor here in Nashville -- Let's face it, i'm going to get tattooed anyway. Link: http://black13tattoo.zamstores.com/cat/gift-cards-479.htm

-- A bottle of fine scotch. Any reputable liquor store should be able to help you out with this one. I'm partial to anything from the Speyside region of Scotland. :)

-- A jacket that falls somewhere in between the lines of "I wanna be cool" and "I really can't be because I like 'Lord of the Rings' too much." Maybe some sort of sport coat. Black or heather grey, preferably.

-- Eric to do his rendition of this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=104cdcySpEs

-- Justin Bieber to fall off a tall building. I know you probably don't know who he is but imagine a modern Canadian version of Donny Osmond and you're in the ballpark. If you can make this happen, I don't think I'd need any of the other wishes on this list.

After that, just kind of let your imagination run wild.

See ya in a few weeks,

Stephen

I will report back to you, dear readers, with the results of my haul. Hopefully, I'll post between now and then because I know how Nick gets into such a tizzy when I don't post often enough.

Now, I bet that some of you probably glossed over that list. If you did, then you missed this gem. It's funny because the aforementioned Eric is my younger, Korean brother.

Merry Christmas, you filthy animals.

Homemade Colonoscopy

2010-11-29T12:26:00.000-08:00

Two and a half weeks ago, I embarked on an epic journey. No, I didn't get on a flight and travel several hundreds/thousands of miles to some exotic destination although I will be visiting the lovely Detroit, Michigan, area in a few weeks for Christmas. Well, that and to see how much it really resembles The Road these days. I hear it's getting there. I really do. As long as I don't resort to cannibalism or end up getting really excited about pop (NOT Coke) , I'll probably be okay. No, this was something that I had semi-entertained the idea of doing for almost five years... From back in the days when I worked at Harpeth Financial Services, most notably during tax season. That's right. An "all natural cleanse". 'Cause what goes better with tax season than running to the bathroom 9 times a day? Nothing, that's right.

I went up to Kroger and bought the usual: toothpaste, toilet paper, Ramen noodles that won't get eaten for many months, and some fresh fruit which always gets eaten way too quickly. And, as I made my way over to the health and incontinence aisle for some cough syrup, I picked up this little guy right here:

The Mega-T Total Cleanse. I know, I know, I know what you're all thinking:

1.) That's stuff has gotta be a scam!

2.) That stuff is awesome!

Basically, it's both.

Now, according to some studies that I just made up, the human body needs to be cleansed every few months. That's why old dudes get colonoscopies. Tell me I'm wrong. I dare you. I figure that since I'm a man ahead of my time, I might as well get a jump on things 20 years before I really need one. But the image of the thin, long-legged blonde on the box jumping for joy with what must be a cleaned out intestine was enough to sell me on this so I bought it and, dear Lord, did I ever pay for it for the first few days. It was a good thing I bought all that toilet paper.

So here's my final product review:

Yes, it cleans out your intestines. Yes, as a result, you lose weight. No, it does not turn you into an exuberant athletic blonde woman.

I don't plan on doing this cleanse again anytime soon. I was happier with my 11 dollars.

An Open Letter to the TSA

2010-11-23T06:00:00.000-08:00

Dear TSA,

The thing about airports is that you're not really sure what city (and sometimes country) you're in. It gets confusing enough when you fly from Europe and land in New York at the same time that you left. Or when you fly from New Zealand and land 8 hours before you left (but still don't have enough time to go to In N Out Burger). What's even more confusing is that sometimes you you can be in the airport in Dublin, Ireland, but technically be on US soil. That one really messed with my head.

I've got to hand it to you. FINALLY, someone has taken some of the best parts of Las Vegas and put them in 68 airports across the United States

. No, I don't mean the slot machines. No, I don't mean Cirque de Soleil which is the only circus that I think I would like because there are no horses and the chances of a clown falling and getting injured are pretty high. And if you know anything about me, you know that I'm afraid of both horses and clowns. Ha! I can't believe I just wrote that... "If you know anything about me." You're probably ~~spying on me~~ reading my old blog entries right now. No, my dear TSA, you've essentially made public groping legal all throughout the airports in the US. Truly, way to use your hands to get a job well done.

[See what I did there?]

Don't worry. I'm not flying anywhere this week. I mean, I do pull down delivery ~~boy~~ man money and all but flying up to Michigan to see my sister or down to Florida to see my parents for Thanksgiving would cost me about $450 and that's just not the kind of coin I'm willing to drop... Especially considering that I just spent $272 for my flight up to Michigan for Christmas. That being said, no 'security agent' is going to get into a stink over me this week. And, yes, I use the ' marks properly. If it came down to brass tacks, and this is purely hypothetical, there's no way a 38 year old 240 lb woman wearing polyester pants, or a 61 year old man with a clip on tie is going to be able to run me down. I'm no Adonis but I'm in pretty ~~good~~ mediocre shape.

Bearing in mind the fact that I am not Adonis and the fact that they probably don't teach Greek mythology at DeVry Technical Security Groping school, let me just tell you that Adonis was the man. Go look him up. That being said because I'm not him, it's been a while since I've had a good grope.

What? This is my letter to you. I love you guys.

So here we are at a paradox. As you probably know from my wonderful blog entries, I am really for individual freedoms and personal responsibility... but being that my blog is named "Looking for Like", I'm also looking for some woman to fall hopelessly in love with my writing and then want to ravage me and my somewhat flabby physique. You, TSA, have put me in a very confusing place. The part of me that wants to defend my civil liberties hates you but the part of me (*wink) that wants some woman to look at me oh so lustfully doesn't. Well played, Big Brother. Well played.

As the saying goes, all is a game and honestly until just now I didn't know what side of the fence I was on. It's Team Civil Liberty for me! However, since you guys seem to get your jollies on sliding your hands up and down some ~~hobbit's~~ dude's legs I think I've got the perfect solution. Wait! Two perfect solutions!

Number one: The Dirk Diggler. Did you see the end of Boogie Nights? You didn't? Okay... Stop what you're doing right now and go watch it.

Done? Okay. Good. I'll put on a big ol' prostetehcincicncichj7299mdic [sp?], you'll feel good about yourself, I'll feel good about myself, and your body image scanners will feel good about themselves. Everyone wins.

Number two: The This is Spinal Tap moment. You know when Harry Shearer's character is

going through the security line and... well...

Take your pick, TSA, it's up to you. I'm basically throwing myself at you.

Now, alot of you TSAers might be reading this and thinking, "Who's this smart ass?" Hell, since I've made this an open letter and am posting it on my blog, most people who read this are probably thinking the same thing. That is a totally founded statement. I am a smart ass. I can deal with that. Most everyone seems to love this impish little scamp. Now that that's established and agreed upon, the next thing that you're probably thinking is "I bet he's just really uncomfortable with is body" this is what I look like in a bikini:

If that doesn't get your heart racing, I don't know what will.

So, TSA, I will see you at Christmas-time. I look forward to meeting you about half as much as you look forward to feeling me up. Until then, you'll just have to look at that picture up thurr and imagine.

Sincerely,

Stephen P Bohn

The First Ever Win a Date with Florist Shop Man contest

2010-11-10T07:28:00.000-08:00

I like to come up with hairbrained ideas. I'm not even sure what "hairbrained" really means but I think you get the picture. Hair. On a brain. Not entirely unlike the product to the right. That's not a political statement, either.

Yesterday, while eating the best cheap nachos from the worst named restaurant in Nashville (gracias, Mr. Burrito Fresh!), RH, Dan, and I came up with an idea for next month's art walk in Hillsboro Village. I think I should make it very clear that I am not much of an artist and most of my creative energy goes into updating my blog which I don't do much any more or playing my guitar which I don't do much any more either. I got stressed just trying to figure out a place to hang my "I heart NZ" banner (really, it's a tea napkin) on my wall so much so that upon completion I rewarded myself with a three hour nap. The artist's mind is a fickle thing. Also, anything I can do to justify a three hour nap... But that's another story for another time. Back to our idea for art walk. It's a Date Booth. Not a Kissing Booth but a Date Booth.

What we're thinking is we put pictures and descriptions of ourselves next to ballot boxes wherein pretty girls (I can't stress the "pretty" part enough) leave their information including their desire to be taken out on a night on the town to include dinner (~~possibly~~ probably spaghetti), a night at the opera either listening to the Nashville Symphony or the Queen record of the same name (ladies' choice!), and a carriage ride. I haven't cleared the carriage with my partners in crime yet but I'm a hopeless ~~romantic~~ and what screams that better than sitting mere inches away from a horse's ass? Very little that I can think of. Hell, I may even wear one of those tuxedo t-shirts. Why? 'Cause it's the kind of thing that says "I want to be formal but I'm here to party."

Being the forward thinking man that I am, I realize that while face to face contact is good and all nothing happens these days without the internet. If only I had a blog or something to prepare the Nashville area for this. Wait a second...

So if any of you ~~stalkers~~ hot lady readers are interested, send me a note. Or a comment. Or an email. Or take your chances at the First Ever Win a Date with a Florist Shop Man contest (catchy, in'it)?

Looking forward to the great things the Lord has in store for this one.

Blow

2010-10-11T05:34:00.000-07:00

My friend Nick (OMG!!! He plays guitar in Stellar Kart!!!) called me out on not updating my blog in five weeks for all the world to see on the ol' facebook by telling me that certainly something interesting had to have happened in that time. Sure, I went to New Zealand. And, sure, my position at job #1 was "eliminated". And, sure, last Wednesday night our entire weekend's stock of flowers froze causing the most righteous bit of insanity I have ever encountered there. And, sure, my mom came to visit. All of these would have made great blog entries but I am far too lazy to go back and record them in written form... Luckily, I have a story from this morning already. It's not even 8 o'clock in the morning yet.

I was in the middle of a wonderful dream and, as always, my phone was on. I had an interview with a recruiter at a staffing agency for an HR position this morning and I do like the occasional/semi-frequent text message from an inebriated friend especially when it happens on a Sunday night. Right in the middle of my dream, long about when I was about to fistfight the Incredible Hulk on top of Mt. Everest while Asia played "Heat of the Moment" in the background, my phone rang. I rolled over, saw a local number on my caller ID, and answered.

Super sultry mystery voice: "Hi, Stephen?"

Me: "Yeeeeeees?"

Super sultry mystery voice: "Hi! This is Karen from Randstad staffing. I'm calling about our meeting this morning!"

Me: "Oh, great! Yeah, I went online last night and --"

Karen the super sultry recruiter: "Well, that's what I wanted to talk about. I've reviewed your resume a little further and it looks like you're overqualified for this position."

Me: "For the HR position?"

Karen the recruiter who used to be super sultry and now had merely become just some chick on the phone: "Yeah... I don't want to waste your time by bringing you in for an interview for this position if it's not going to be a good fit."

Me: "That's cool. I've got some trivia questions to write this morning anyway."

Some chick on the phone: "Trivia questions?"

Me: "Yeah... And I think I'm gonna watch a movie. It sounds like a pretty full morning, right?"

Some chick on the phone [after a moment of silence]: "Actually... Wait... What movie?"

Me: "Blow. It's about cocaine. "

A part of me wonders why I'm not working today.

The Wonder Years

2010-09-05T05:43:00.000-07:00

I was at 3Crow on Friday night. This is in no way unusual but since my evening started on a rather sour note I figured that an Octoberfest or two would have to cheer me up at least a bit. What? You've never had an Octoberfest?! If it weren't before 8 in the morning, I'd implore you all to walk up to the nearest pub, plop yourself down, and order one. It's what really defines autumn for me. That and the respite from southern heat.

But the Octoberfest more so.

Let me set the scene for you... There's me, Pickering Penguin, Karen, Timmy, Cori and Cori's friend Kris. Kris is the catalyst to the story. And if any of my blog readers happen to be from the 'greater' Jonesboro, Arkansas, area you may recognize her as part of the on air broadcasting talent of KAIT's local news team. Being on television on a, well, daily basis, one might expect her to act with a little more tact in regards to this story.

We were sitting next to one of the open bay garage door windows; our table. Kris, who at this point in the evening was drunk on a turkey on rye sandwich, must really have been enjoying her visit to Nashville. She kept talking about how all the guys in Nashville were "soooo hot!" and how I was "soooo funny!" A younger me would have been pretty stoked about these phrases but I was waiting for the dreaded "boyfriend" word which reared its ugly head about an hour into the evening -- thankfully, I hadn't ordered her an Octoberfest yet leaving more for me and saving me from the inevitable sinking stomach feeling. That's planning right there, kids.

A guy in his mid- to late-30s walked on the sidewalk past our open window. Kris, rather loudly, stated "Hey! That looks like somebody famous!" I don't know if that turkey and rye sandwich was 80 proof or if she had never been out in a city larger than Jonesboro, Arkansas, before... Whatever it was, when a really good looking woman whom you assume may be single and has used the words "hot!" and "funny!" you at least act interested in what she has to say. Unfortunately, (you and) I live in a world where the word "famous" still means something when talking about people.

In the interest of full disclosure, I must tell you that I had had a few Octoberfests by this point in the evening. So, when I heard the word "famous" and being the helluva guy that I am and trying to be genuinely interested in the conversation, I turned and looked. I scanned the sidewalk and expected to see... Oh... I don't know... Robert Plant. He's been known to come into 3Crow from time to time. All I saw was that same guy in his mid- to late-30s outside. I turned back to Kris and asked "Which guy? That guy?" Kris was utterly convinced that it was someone of significance and/or importance. I was not.

This wouldn't be a great story unless I put at least one foot in my mouth. It wouldn't be an even greater story if I confused the hell out of someone in it. So here goes...

I turned my head back out towards the sidewalk and scanned. I turned back to the table... "That guy there? He looks like Wayne from The Wonder Years." In my year of writing trivia questions and my many long years of watching TV (especially classic shows) I've got quite the laundry list of TV actors names imprinted in my brain. Jason Hervey is no exception for better or for worse.

Damnit. Not a few seconds later, a hand reached through the open garage window. "Hi! I'm Jason Hervey." Now, barring the extremely unlikely event that a Jason Hervey look-a-like with an encyclopedic knowledge of TV shows from 20 years ago was in Nashville and knew who the hell Jason Hervey is, I had to take him at his word. There was no other way to play this one. Here's a guy who's made more money in his life by playing a jerk [HE'S LIVED THE DREAM!] calling me out on calling him out for being a has-been. What do I respond with? "Nice to meet ya. I'm Peanut."

If there's any way to stop someone dead in their tracks, that's the way to do it. And that's the way I did it. At least he didn't get mad. Hell, he didn't even, as the song puts it, stand up and walk out on me.

If only I could have met Winnie Cooper instead:

But I'll take the taste of shoe... Sometimes that's the way it is.

Heidi Montakingherclothesoff

2010-08-26T04:04:00.001-07:00

I wish I understood how people can sleep in. Anytime that I make it past six in the morning is a major accomplishment for me. I feel like I'm missing something in life if I'm asleep much past then. Also, waking up early gives me a really good chance to get an awesome free wi-fi signal from one of my neighbors. It just works better in the early hours. I don't know how. I'm not a scientist. Or a guy who shows up late to install your cable.

This morning, obviously, is no exception. There was, however, a catalyst to me being awake this early. That catalyst, of course, was Prince's Hot Chicken. It's heaven on the way in but burns like hell on the way out. Sometimes it burns for 45 minutes straight. And by "sometimes" I mean "all the time".

As I'm sitting in bed, patiently waiting for what's sure to be the next get-up-and-run-to-the-bathroom-moment-of-the-morning, I decided to find out what's going on in the world. With my semi-legally acquired internet signal, I hopped on over to google and one of the lead stories is Heidi Montag's sex tape. See how I got from uncontrollable bowel movements to a hot blonde in one [crap... gotta run to the bathroom real quick] paragraph? I think that's pretty good. And yet every time I apply for a writing gig/job, I'm told that my style doesn't really match what they're looking for. Or maybe it's because I start sentences with words like "and" and then end them with words like "for". Who knows?

So back to the sex tape.

Wait... You don't know who Heidi Montag is? Let me spare you the trouble. She was on this reality show on MTV called The Hills and it was cut scene of traffic after cut scene of traffic and then some 'drama' involving some really good-looking people laying on a beach talking about who they hooked up with the night before. Actually, that sounds an awful lot like a relationship I was in about 4 years ago. Minus the beach. Needless to say that if she and I couldn't make it, what with her hooking up with other dudes on a relatively regular basis, what hope is there if cameras are involved? Which brings us to the present.

Heidi and her ex~~-cro-magnon~~-husband (some guy named Spencer) apparently made a sex tape that she doesn't want released to the public. Heidi may be the dumbest person alive. Darlin'... you need to keep yourself in the spotlight. The only reason that you're famous is because you're famous. You're not talented, you probably smell like a vodka and regret, and you look like you ate Gwen Stefani. If you want to keep the lifestyle that you've got going, you might want to make a few more of these puppies... Maybe develop a coke habit. Hell, you could hire someone to carve your face onto the side of Mt. Rushmore for all eternity. And those are just ideas off the top of my head after 4 hours of sleep, pre-dancing in the shower (where most of my good ideas come from), and after ~~Pickering~~ Activity Penguin suggested that another shot of whiskey was a good idea at 11:30 last night.

Heidi, you've got the whole world watching you. Get naked. It's party time.

2010-08-23T20:20:00.000-07:00

I know that the Lord of the Rings movies have been out for several years now. I still love them as much as I did when I first saw them. I hope New Zealand is as magical as I have made it out to be in my head.

New Zealand Fun Bucks

2010-08-13T10:44:00.000-07:00

When I went to Ireland a few years ago, I ordered Euro from my bank about 3 weeks in advance. I needed to have some (obviously) when I was over there and I wasn't about to pay the exorbitant exchange rates at the airport to do it. Of course, I sort of blew through what little cash I brought with me about 2/3rds of the way through the trip and ended up having to make an ATM withdrawal that cost me eleventy bajillion dollars in service fees. Oh, and the Euro that I ordered from my bank took just over two weeks to get to me. Who knew?

So, in preparation for next month's trip, I decided to order my money a month in advance. "Hell," I thought "New Zealand is twice as far away as Ireland is... It'll take twice as long for the money to get here." Yes, I really am 30 years old, and yes, this is really how I think. I ordered my currency yesterday and I got a phone call this morning saying that it was in. Now THAT'S service! Way to go, SunTrust Bank!

I got the same teller (Erin) that I got yesterday and as she was filling out my currency form, she stopped and the following conversation between Erin, Mary (another teller) and me occurred:

Erin: "Hey, Mary... What is the currency of New Zealand called?"

Mary: "Oh, gosh... I forget."

Erin: "Craaaaaap."
Me (interjecting): "They're called 'dollars'."

Erin (looking up from the stack of notes that read 'New Zealand' and 'Dollars' on them): "That's not right, is it?"

Me: "Trust me. It's right."

Erin: "Mary... Can you look up the New Zealand currency name for me?"

Me: "Seriously. They're called dollars."

Erin: "Really?"

Me: "Yeah. Or if you want to write 'New Zealand Fun Bucks' on your form that's cool with me."

Steven Slater

2010-08-11T11:57:00.000-07:00

Steven Slater. Sounds like he could be the brother of semi-masculine A.C. Slater from Saved by the Bell. But he's not. If you've been paying attention to the news the past few days, you've undoubtedly heard of the JetBlue flight attendant / steward / whateverthey'recalled and his amazing grab a beer and run out the airplane quit. That's the best saying that I could come up with for it? Ah, crap.

I've followed this story with a decent amount of interest the past few days and I have to say that I disagree with Steven Slater. 99%.

First of all, I have to say that we've all dreamed of quitting a job like that. Grabbing a beer, swearing at everybody, and then exiting out the emergency slide. What? Your place of business doesn't have an emergency slide? That part is pretty awesome and that's where the 1% of agreement comes from.

Here's why I disagree with him 99%, though.

Dude... SS... Your job is hospitality. You are paid to be nice to people. You are paid to give out Pepsi and pretzels and according to salary.com, you get paid about $38,000 a year to do it. Do you know that I work 60 hours a week at three jobs and don't make much more than that? Someone has to get paid to do it and that someone isn't me. Do you know why? Because I am not very nice. Even if someone paid me to be nice, I probably wouldn't last very long. Certainly not long enough to do it for as many years as you did. I'd last maybe a flight. Maybe. And that's only if I had access to the beverage cart.

Everywhere I read about online keeps talking about how great this guy is. I just don't see it. All he managed to do was a live reenactment of that scene from Half Baked where Scareface quits his job. That's pretty funny and all, I suppose, but if I wanna watch Half Baked, I'm gonna watch Half Baked. And there's no way that Steven Slater is half as funny as Dave Chappelle. Hell, he's not even half as funny as Jim Breuer, who I'm pretty sure is a highly functional autistic.

But the real reason why I have no sympathy for Steven Slater? It's because he works for an airline. I don't care that you don't like it when people get on their cell phones when the plane lands. I don't care that you don't like it when people jump up to get their bags from the overhead compartment. Let 'em. That's right. Let 'em pull out their phones. Let 'em get their luggage from the overhead bin. What do you care if they get ear cancer or get knocked unconscious by their Samsonite bag? That'd teach them a thing or two. It's an airline. The enemy.

In my life, I've been on 20 individual flights. Do you know how many delays and or cancelled flights I've endured? 6. That's 30% of the flights that I've taken that have been wrong. Do you know what would happen if I got, say, company payroll right only 70% of the time? That's right, I'd be looking for work, just like Steven Slater. And air hosts and air hostesses wonder why travelers are pissed off.

Don't support this guy. He's not a hero. He's not a chump. He's just some dude.

Piranha 3D

2010-08-10T06:40:00.000-07:00

Have you guys seen this Mad Men show? Judging by the fact that no single episode has ever had more than 1 million viewers and that it's on basic cable, I'm going to say that you probably haven't. It seems to be semi-wildly popular with people my age-ish but I don't really know because I don't really watch TV 'cept for sports and when LOST was on. Anyway, let me give you a very academic breakdown of what I believe the last 3 seasons and change have yielded based on me seeing two and a half episodes and from what Patrick Copeland has told me:

Some dude named Dick or Don [MYSTERY!] went to war, stole his dead buddy's identity, went to New York, worked at a wildly successful advertising agency, quit, started his own (so-far) floundering advertising agency, has hooked up with every special guest star actress, all while within arm's reach of a bottle of Speyside or Glenlivet depending on his mood. There. I just saved you one hundred F-bomb and topless-less hours because the show is on basic cable. This sounds strangely similar to The Prince and the Pauper and (perhaps more culturally important) the episode of The Simpsons when the town finds out that Principal Seymour Skinner is really named Armin Tanzarian. What? You've seen it.

All in all, though, Mad Men is not a bad show. Especially during the last commercial break of this Sunday's episode. WHAAAAAAT?!

That's right folks. After an evening at Rumours East (go Mint Juleps, go!) I went over to the Burleson house (along with the McCopelands) to watch this week's episode. And, during the last commercial break of the evening, I saw the preview for what is sure to be the blockbuster film of the summer. Yes, that includes Inception which could have been better only if the studio execs could have figured out a way to cross over the film with an episode of Pimp My Ride. Imagine the revenue! Is that still a show? Bah. No matter. Oh, and making the Christopher Nolan mindbender about 4 seconds longer just so that I could prove to everyone that my theory on the ending is right.

Now, as you all know, I love movies. Generally, the worse or better the movie is, the more I'll like it. It's sort of a reverse bell curve with me. That's education, homies. Some films in my stable include MEGASNAKE, Teenage Caveman and the special edition dvd of Snakes on a Plane just to give you an idea of where I'm coming from. Ladies and gentlemen... I present you with what is guaranteed to be the single best film you will see this year. More visually stunning than ~~Giant Athletic Smurfs with Helicopters and Slingshots~~ Avatar. More mindbending than the aforementioned Xzibit-free Inception. Folks... Prepare yourselves:

What a brilliant an original concept for a film! Vicious attacking fish with awesome teeth prey upon really good looking people at the beach in 3D. Wait... what? You say it's already been made? You say it starred Dennis Quaid? YOU SAY IT'S NOT ORIGINAL? Damnit, Jaws 3D. You are ruining my life (and my argument) right now. I don't care. I'm still going to go see it.

I can see this becomming huge. Huge enough for the Discovery channel to give Piranha their own week on that station. I'm actually still wondering why they don't have Puppy Week. Or Kitten Week. Or Fried Chicken Week. I guess that's why I'm not in television production. Well, that and my Xzibit-DiCaprio crossover idea. And that I live in Nashville. And don't know anything about television production.

Folks, next Friday it is. Rush to your local cineplex. Buy your tickets early online at Fandango*. Camp out. Steal your grandma's VCR and pawn it. Do whatever it is you have to do to see this movie.

*Fandango: I expect a portion of the proceeds for the tickets you sell. You're welcome.

This ain't no Vietnam

2010-08-01T07:14:00.000-07:00

I walked out the door of Jackson's in Hillsboro Village last night and had the following conversation.
- Homeless guy: "Can you spare some change for a homeless vet?"
- Me: "What war were you in?"
- Homeless guy: "Uh... I was in.. uhh..."
- Me: "Nope."

Storm the F%$@ing Kastle

2010-07-30T16:31:00.000-07:00

This DiamondSnake band is horrible.

And it has Moby in it.

A New Career

2010-07-15T17:10:00.000-07:00

In a break from my normal snark, I'm writing a little more personally today. When I was contracted with Asurion, I went through a very rigorous interview process for a position that I ultimately did not get. I was also told I was not able to mention their name in any of my blog entries. I complied. After my contract ended, I picked up some extra hours at A Village of Flowers. Those of you who know me know that of all of the jobs that I have had, this is by far my favorite one that I've had. Hell, I'd do it for nothin'. The fact that I get paid to drive around a van, make people's days, and work with the best group of people that I have ever had the privilege and pleasure of working with. And if you've never worked a Valentine's Day or Mother's Day weekend at a florist then you just haven't lived. And I mean that. More intense than tax season at Harpeth, even. That being said...

Over the past two months, since my contract ended, I have been looking for a career position. Now my job at Harpeth would have certainly have been a career job (hell, it allowed me to buy a new car). After working there, I bounced for a bit and was even offered a position as a financial planner and explored it until I realized how much don't like sales. During this time, I delivered for the flower shop: filling in when they needed me; cleaning up weddings until all hours of the morning on the weekends; being an absolutely horrid arranger/designer; they've let me worked when I wanted to. Why they have kept me on for this past year, I don't really know, seeing as that I know about 9 different kinds of flowers out of the 2,387,986 that there are in existence.

Yesterday, I had a final interview with a company called NovaCopy. [If anyone from NovaCopy happens to come across this blog, I simply mention the name of the company to let my friends and family know the name of the company] it's not the first interview that I've had since I've been really looking and I honestly didn't expect it to be my last. After nearly two months of the interview process through various companies, I was starting to get frustrated -- as one would expect. I was told that I could expect a phone call by the end of the week regarding next steps. An hour and a half later, they called offered me the Human Resources position that I applied and interviewed for.

I accepted it today.

If anyone at AVOF happens to come across this, I just want to let you know that I have enjoyed working at the flower shop more than I can express. Talented people, sure. Better people, even more so. There is no way I can express what the people at the shop mean to me. All of you. And I just want to let you know that I would still like to work there on the weekends. You guys have kept me sane and I owe you all. I haven't been at a loss for words when it comes to people in about two years and that's where I kind of am now.

New Zealand. The dream is alive.

Pedal boards: Life in the awesome

2010-07-12T12:41:00.000-07:00

If I were any sort of normal person, I would be asleep right now. However, since we all know that I’m really not, I am sitting in my room watching Super Troopers for the second time tonight. Actually, that’s a half-truth. I am sitting in my room unsuccessfully trying to steal internet access from my neighbors who think that setting up a Comcast account was (or is, rather) an excellent idea. As a result of their recent foray into the world of ~~hell~~ Comcast, using their internet signal is increasingly difficult as I can’t seem to get around the Comcast firewall login page thingy. I’m very good with these sorts of technical terms.

So, in my frustration to read about which In N Out Burger is the closest to LAX as I will be in that area in a mere two months and change and everyone keeps telling me “Oh, you have to go to In N Out Burger!” since I’ve never been… I decided to check out twitter [Follow me: @peanutisawesome] one last time for the evening on my iPhone (translation: I’m better than you because I have an awesome phone) before falling asleep with my television on for the seventh night out of the last eight. Birthday night doesn’t count. I don’t remember it. Someone told me today that I poked myself in the eyeball inadvertently with a straw on multiple attempts to drink water. Either I had a really good time or I’ve turned into Superman. Hell, it might even be both. Anyway… back to twitter.

My friend Nick [Follow him: @nickbaumhardt] has successfully parlayed his ability to play and record music into a career. He’s played with such bands as The Class of 98 and Thousand Foot Krutch… Currently, he’s recording and producing and playing for some lady that until recent Googling (you call it “stalking”, I call it “researching”), I had never heard of. Suffice it to say, the dude can play. Also, most of you who know me know that I may be the very worst guitar player in Nashville to trick people into thinking that I can actually play guitar. Seriously, if you just learn how to throw your guitar, stand on a bass drum from time to time, and get into the occasional scuffle before a show, people in this town will respect your on-stage abilities, as non-existent as they may be. As a couple of added bonuses, they will also come to respect your ability to use the hyphen and apparently chicks will dig you more… or so I’m told about the last part.

Nick also writes a blog that he updates on a relatively regular basis that gets a good amount of web traffic. He doesn’t have to rely on funny stories of adventures gone wrong to get people to go to his site because he’s actually making a go of it in the real world and offers advice and insight on the musical world, whereas I just write about how Justin Beiber sucks and how Kelly Clarkson comes into A Village of Flowers on a relatively regular basis these days. We think she’s ~~stalking~~ real-life Googling one of the designers. Wait a second… Strikethrough? Link to a website? Recalling two earlier jokes from the same blog entry? Hot damn! That’s talent! But back to it…

In Nick’s latest blog entry, he writes at length about pedal boards. You know those little metal and plastic boxes that guitar players kick with their feet (What the hell else are they gonna kick it with? Their ass?) that change the sound of their guitar… Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. It’s a good read. But, since he called me out personally in his entry (it’s near the end, trust me) asking for a response, I figured I better do it. And since I’m still wide awake and watching the “Car RamRod” scene was funny the first time and much less so the second, I figured I better own up to it.

In my years of pissing people off (let’s face it, it’s kind of a hobby of mine), when I built my first and only pedal board some four and a half years ago, I decided to have a little fun with it. Sure, I have rubber feet on it, and handles, and carpet… but I bet I’m the only person in Nashville that can play with Matchbox cars next to his tuning pedal while navigating a cityscape. You know, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why I don’t have a record deal.

I don’t know what Nick will have to say about the psychology of my pedal board but it will probably be met with some sort shocked look and then an, “Oh, man!” I get that a lot here in Nashville.

I have however managed to make my guitars sound like the end of the world. I just turn everything up really loudly and play. If anyone wants that on an upcoming record, let me know. I’ve got the time… as long as it doesn’t interfere with what has become an apparent obsession with Super Troopers.

Worlds Apart

2010-07-02T06:50:00.001-07:00

I went to an all-ages, all-locals show at Rocketown a few days ago. It's the first all-ages, all-locals show that I've been to in close to three years. The first show with a bunch of local scene bands that I've been to in a long time. And why? Well for two reasons:
#1.) Two of my roommates (I'll let you guess which two) are in the band Worker, they are awesome dudes, and I wanted to see them play.
#2.) I don't really care about the scene.

Recently, I read a blog from a local here in Nashville about how the hardcore scene was dead (or at the least, dying). Immediately, upon finishing reading it, I realized how little I cared. Maybe it's age, maybe it's the fact that music styles change as quickly as the seasons (especially in Nashville), maybe it's because there will always be an underground music scene. Whatever the reason is, I've ~~scene~~ seen enough scenes, played enough shows, sold enough merch, and been bounced around enough vans to know that they're pretty much all the same. Nashville, Williamsburg, Austin, Portland, Louisville. Hell, when people ask me if I know "so-and-so from Atlanta... hardcore dude, plugs in his ears, tattoos, hangs out with the whateverbandfromAtlantaishotatthemoment all the time" I usually say "no". Because I don't. And because it doesn't matter if I do or not. And all this coming from someone who used to go to most every show at the Local during my more formative years [side note: how The Swellers and Chiodos became huge out of that place, I will never know, as the only thing I seem to recall about those bands is walking outside and giving my ears a rest when they played because they were so awful].

The point is that I'm getting too old to care about shows. I go to the shows that I want to go to and see the bands that I want to see. And any 18 year old that thinks he has earned the right to tell me or you or anyone else that they have to support the scene needs a quick kick to the crotch.

Listen to the music that you want to listen to. Make the music that you want to make. Who cares if it's popular? Who cares if you're playing to 400 kids or to a bartender and your girlfriends? Who cares if you're into the latest Haste the Day (they're still around, right?) record or not?

I think, though, that the dudes in ... And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead put it best (caution: Song is NSFW):

I'm stepping off my soapbox for now on this one.

SUPER EDWARD CULLEN SPARKLE FACE DAY

2010-06-30T08:51:00.000-07:00

So today marks the big day. That's right. THE DAY. For women the country over, I don't even have to mention what day it is. For men, I probably do. That's right... it's SUPER EDWARD CULLEN SPARKLE FACE DAY!

Dudes the world over just went, "Huh?"

That's right... Today marks the release of Twilight: What the Hell ~~Book~~ Movie are We on Now? [HTML, to the rescue!] in theaters nationwide. I have trouble supporting the world of Harry Potter -- let's face it, they spend 700 pages talking about how they can't talk about Voldemort then the Hogwart's gang fights him at the end of the book only to have the match end in a stalemate, thus perpetuating the next year of magic school and subsequent book(s) in the adventure. I'm sorry. I lost it somewhere during year five and walked away. The thing is, by all accounts, J.K. Rowling is fairly good writer whereas this Stephenie Meyer chick is quite awful. To quote Stephen King:

The real difference [between Rowling and Meyer] is that Jo Rowling is a terrific writer, and Stephenie Meyer can't write worth a damn. She's not very good... People are attracted by the stories, by the pace and in the case of Stephenie Meyer, it's very clear that she's writing to a whole generation of girls and opening up kind of a safe joining of love and sex in those books. It's exciting and it's thrilling and it's not particularly threatening because it's not overtly sexual.

In all honesty, I did see the second Twilight film. I was hanging out with Michelle and Brian and Michelle really wanted to see it. And, if you know anything about me, you'll know that I'll watch pretty much any movie you put in front of me. I also own Mega Snake on DVD, so take my opinion on films rather lightly. So, for you unfortunate fellows who will invariably dragged kicking and screaming by your lady to SUPER EDWARD CULLEN SPARKLE FACE DAY, let me give you a quick run down of what has happened so far in the world of teenage vampire lust books:

Edward is a really good-looking, 110 year old vampire who hangs out at high schools. Bella is some chick who goes to high school. Then some guy named Jacob turns into a werewolf. No one makes out. Edward goes to Mexico (or some place). Bella cries for months in her room and goes cliff diving. No one makes out. Edward comes back and looks like a fuckin' Lite Brite in the sunshine. No one makes out. A couple characters go to Italy (or some other place) and fight some other vampires. Then there is a proposal. There. I just saved you four boobless hours of not watching the first two movies.

Here's the thing, though, about SUPER EDWARD CULLEN SPARKLE FACE DAY that I have a real problem with: it makes girls and women the world over think that dudes that look like SUPER EDWARD CULLEN SPARKLE FACE are interested in girls like Bella. You think the best-looking star of a high school wants to date the nerdy chick that listens to indie rock and lives with her dad? Nope. Me neither. Besides... I seem to recall this story coming out a few years ago:

And She's All That has better acting, too. It is this ~~humble~~ blogger's opinion that if your acting is worse than that of Freddie Prinze, Jr., you need to cut that shit out. Immediately.

If I looked like SUPER EDWARD CULLEN SPARKLE FACE, I'd probably have things a bit easier in life. I'd have multiple visible ab muscles instead of this round thing in their place. I'd have mussed, spiky hair that doesn't smell like pizza (note to self: wash hair today). I'd be 6 foot something and not look like a Leprechaun. I'm also confident that I could at least make out with a chick that's better looking than Bella. Hell, I do that now... from time to time. Or at least I'd have you believe that. See, it's all about confidence... And... Hell... Lost my train of thought.

Fellas who are going to see this film this week(end), I salute you. You're much better at being your gal's man than I think I could ever be. Besides... I think I hear Mega Snake calling my name.

You've got to give credit to Stephenie Meyer, though. She knows how to market her writing to the ladies. Maybe I should hang out with her... Get my readership up.

Craigslist

2010-06-29T07:01:00.000-07:00

There's a problem with craigslist. No, not that you can't sell anything on there because you can but the problem lies in that everything on there involves, well, selling. Stay with me on this.

In the great job search of 2010, I've been on every job board. Yes, State of Tennessee, this includes your completely awkward and wholly unnavigable website only to be able to tell my 'employment counselor' that, "Yes, I went on the state's website" and that I won't have to lie about it. But back to craigslist. Some of you may recall, I wrote a missed connection last year [I saved it in my facebook notes for posterity's sake]. I got a flood of emails from people asking if "that really happened" and, yes, it did.

So as a wholly qualified individual sitting in bed watching my Arrested Development DVDs on a... what day is this? Tuesday? morning, I have turned to craigslist again for job searching / entertaining the idea of buying a scooter. It's too bad I'm a capitalist that hates sales, otherwise this job board would be awesome.

About a year and a half ago, I found this blog called "Confessions of a Car Salesman" and if you have an hour or so to kill, I highly suggest reading the whole thing. Now, my car buying experience 4 years ago was much easier: I walked in, test drove the car, told the salesman what price (not monthly payment) I was going to pay and that was that... But the experience documented in "Confessions..." is fairly endemic of all sales professions. Last spring, I went on an interview with a tech company who suggested that the best way to get business was to go through the online yellow pages and start picking out places to sell the service. Being an HR professional and understanding how to read job descriptions and what they really mean, I've LOLed [look, ma! I know how to use interweb speak!] more than a time or two at some of these job descriptions, especially when it comes to the compensation part.

"UNLIMITED CEILING"
"150K+"
"NO LIMIT!!!11!"

Who knew that craigslist was such a haven for all of these six figure positions?! How have I missed this all this time?! Man, I'm gonna get right over there and apply immediately! To everything. Be still my heart! Actually, I'll probably just go over there and look at the scooters.

So, craigslist job posters, don't tell me that the job has "UNCAPPED POTENTIAL" when it comes to earnings. That doesn't make me want to apply. That makes me want to go to 3 Crow and get a beer. But it's far too early for that.

Soccer. Continued.

2010-06-24T10:32:00.000-07:00

I railed pretty hard against soccer on Tuesday. Landon Donavan, I owe you an apology. I was in the flower shop van listening to the game and nearly lost my mind.

My suggestions still stand though. Especially the one about land mines.

It's nice to see a little passion about the sport here in the states.

FIFA World Cup suggestions, Or Why I Almost Always Fall Asleep the Game is on

2010-06-22T13:17:00.000-07:00

Soccer is not the most interesting sport. Zero-zero ties? Phh... Hardly.

My critics will argue that it's "the glorious game". I'll argue that argument. Ties are about as exciting as a full price weeknight at the bar. Tell me I'm wrong. I dare you. So, in order to jazz up the game, I've come up with a few ideas.

#1.) Land mines. Can you imagine how little hooting and hollering and rolling around on the ground like a little crybaby there would be if there was the imminent danger of explosion? I can only imagine that it would all be but eliminated. Besides, when was the last time you saw a hockey player doing that ~~acting~~ after taking a check that didn't involve unconsciousness or losing teeth? Go getchu on some google and let me know what you find. Yeah... that's what I thought.

#2.) Make the nets bigger. This is an easy and obvious suggestion. Some of you might argue for the removal of goalies but since most of these world class athletes aren't ever close to putting the ball near the net, I'd so the goalies are second on this list. If fans want to see THREE goals in a game by one side, we could do both of these things but let's not confuse the South Americans and Europeans too much just yet.

#3.) Halftime shows. This works like Gang Busters here in the States. For example, at the Super Bowl a few months ago, we (The U.S.A., that is) had The Who play. That merited talk on both sports and entertainment shows -- that's free advertising, folks. Also, nothing quite screams "American sports!" quite like a bunch of 60-something dudes from England. I know that sounds like I'm killing my argument but remember how long people were talking about Bruce Springsteen's crotch slide into the camera or the infamous "wardrobe malfunction" of 2004? Yeah... think about that, FIFA.

#4.) More Keira Knightley. She could sell tons of tickets and would instantly cease my complaining. She made Bend it like Beckham tolerable.

#5.) Speaking of Beckham... More of that Posh Spice chick.

#6.) Jetpacks. This would instantly make the game more like The Rocketeer. I fail to see a flaw with this plan at all. I've yet to meet a problem that Jennifer Connelly can't solve.

See? All that, and I haven't even broken a sweat. Just like those dudes jogging on the grass and playing kickball. Okay, some of them do... but only because they look like hippies and don't know how to grow a beard but just that little stubbly looking thing that's so fashionable these days.

So, soccer, get with it. Be progressive. Change the rules. Take my suggestions. Maybe add those land mines.

Welcome Home

2010-06-05T04:14:00.000-07:00

Hey, who am I and what do I care? I'm just an apparition to poke fun at; sleeping dream to dream and driving state to state so someone with bigger and better aspirations can come and pick up where I left off. Let's just pray their imitation is better than mine

Jim Joyce

2010-06-02T21:07:00.000-07:00

Two blogs in one day? What year is this? 2001?

Jim Joyce just blew the most obvious call in professional sports in the past 17 years -- since Chris Webber's traveling violation in the waning seconds of the NCAA championship came against North Carolina. Armando Galarraga threw the first 28 out perfect game in MLB history tonight.

ESPN won't let me embed the video of the controversial play so I've posted the link instead.

Jim Joyce, I just wanted to let you know that when my Detroit Tigers lost the 2006 World Series, I cried at Red Door East. I sat in complete shock at the bar for about an hour and a half after they lost to the Minnesota Twins in the play-off play-in game last year. I don't get much Tigers coverage here in the south and, damnit, I didn't want it this way. This coming on the heels of the passing of Ernie Harwell; one of the games greatest announcers. We Tigers fans have had it pretty rough the past several years.

I know there are going to be a few apologists (Peter King of Sports Illustrated, I'm looking at you) who say that we should forgive and forget Joyce's blown call but let's look at this from a business perspective for a second. We have to. If Peter King were to somehow come across this blog (let's face it, stranger things have happened) he can't really argue the point that it's because the business of sports that he has a job. It's a fact.

Let's say that it's Saturday afternoon and I'm at the flower shop. Let's say that I've had a really kick ass day of deliveries and I'm just on my game. I've been out to Bellevue, Brentwood, East Nashville and, oh, Vanderbilt's campus. I've made three women cry tears of joy when they receive their arrangement. And, for argument's sake, let's just say the boss comes up to me at says "I've got three more deliveries for you and they're all within walking distance of the shop. you don't need to drive and once they're done, you can go home and eat a burrito." Sounds pretty good, right?

Well, let's say that I take these arrangements and instead of doing my job, I decide that I'm gonna go throw them out in the dumpster on my way to my car so I can go get that burrito. That's the only possible explanation that I can think of as to why Jim Joyce blew that call. He was preoccupied on noms. And I don't write in internet speak very often. Because it's ridiculous, that's why.

You know what else would happen, internetland? I'd probably get in trouble for not, you know, doing my job. I could apologize a hundred times but I'd still get in trouble. And that's the way it should be. If you don't do your job, you get reprimanded. And that's where we are with Jim Joyce right now.

Now, Peter King, who I've never been a fan of, says that we should forgive Joyce and let it go. It's not like the guy ran over my dog (Sammy is a very good boy, by the way) and it's not like I'm going to lose sleep over it. And if I do, I can always make up for it tomorrow 'cause I'm not working. It's not like I have any need to forgive the guy. I just want Joyce to be professionally disciplined for what he did. And maybe shave that mustache. Only a man can have facial hair and I'm not sure his man card should be in good standing anytime soon.

Expedia dot fail

2010-06-02T07:03:00.001-07:00

8:00 is my happy time. No singing birds (as they've gotten that out of their system by 5something). No "aroooorooooroooo" of Noel the dog (usually). Usually I'm watching reruns of Futurama. 'Cause there's nothing funnier than that. And I've seen every episode about 14 times so I don't feel bad if I fall asleep before reawaking [I know that's not a word] in a rush to get out the door if I need to.

8:01, however, is something completely different. It is the time when business are allowed to call their customers. So, when 8:01 rolled around this morning, I received a call from an "877" number and, of course, didn't answer. A few thoughts went through my head:
"Okay, I'm not behind on any of my bills."
"That certainly isn't the phone number for any place that I've applied to recently and if it is, they wouldn't be calling this early about my resume."
"Man, this is really a funny show."
So I let it go to voice mail. And that voice mail went a little something like this:
"HithismessageisforStephenPhillipBohn.ThisisNameGarbledwithExpediaandwehavesomesignificantchangestoyourflightitinerarypleasecallusbackatTelephoneNumberIndescernable."

I know I can speak pretty quickly but this was like AmazingRoboSpeak. Since I have purchased a grand total of one thing in my life through Expedia which is my ticket to and from New Zealand, I knew that this is exactly what it was about. So I went online to find Expedia's dedicated customer service line (it's 404-728-8787, by the way). And wouldn't you know it, it went into a queue. I defy you to find one person who enjoys queues. Well, maybe efficiency managers but they're only concerned with net promoter scores and not customer experience. I can say that with full confidence because I used to do HR at a call center and if you have ever had to wait for a CSR then you probably know what I'm talking about.

And so I waited. And waited. And waited.

A CSR finally got on the line. He informed me that because my layover on my return trip when I'm at LAX is now less than two hours BY ALL OF FIVE MINUTES, I would need to rebook because that's their policy. I am very serious. I told him that my dates are set, I'm traveling with a friend, that I bought my ticket almost 5 months ago and I'm not rebooking anything. Guess who went back on hold while the CSR went to get in touch with American Airlines who initiated the change?

That's right. This dude.

After wandering around the house shirtless and opening my fridge in the hopes that a leftover burrito would magically appear (it didn't) for a while, the CSR came back on the line and said that he was "having trouble getting in touch with his help desk to get the flight changed." I told him that "I don't want my flights changed at all and that I don't think that 5 minutes is going to make all that much of a difference. I don't screw around. I'm an expert traveler." For future reference, that joke will be met with silence by Expedia CSRs.

Back into the queue.

Ten minutes later, my CSR came back on the line: "Good news, Mr. Bohn! I've rebooked your flight... You'll be --"
"Wait a minute. I just said that I DON'T want my flight rebooked. I don't care about the two hour policy. Can't we just leave it as it is?"
"Well, Mr. Bohn, the policy is that we have to have two hours between flights when you're arriving from an international destination."
"Oh, so I can get my luggage and and go through customs and all that?" I asked.
"That's right, Mr. Bohn!" he replied.
"And do you really think that takes two hours? 'Cause I've done it in about 35 minutes everytime I've traveled."

This was met with about 30 seconds of silence.

Then... "Well, like I said, Mr. Bohn, the good news is that I was able to rebook your flight and we'll be sending you through Chicago on your way back to Nashville."
No mention of upgrading my seat. No mention of some sort of food or drink voucher. No 'thank you for being so accomodating'.
That's not customer service folks.

But the real crime with all of this, is that my flight for Chicago (which is where I'll be connecting once I leave L.A.) leaves with just too short of time to head into L.A. to finally try this In-N-Out Burger that everyone tells me that a cheeseburger connoisseur like myself should try. You wanna talk about all-time crimes? That's one of 'em. Like Crosby scoring the gold medal winning goal. Or like getting dumped by text message. Or like Friends being on the air for ten seasons.

Oh, well. I'm sure I can get me an eye opener beforehand. And, really, that's all I need. A microbrew.

My total phone call lasted over 45 minutes. That's two reruns of Futurama I could have been watching. This is in inauspicious start to my day already.

The Karate Kid

2010-05-31T11:52:00.000-07:00

So the remake for The Karate Kid comes out in a few weeks. I will not be seeing this film. The original version of The Karate Kid is one of my favorite films ever. Everything after that in the series kinda sucked.

Now, aside from normal ranting and raving about things I don't like, I might have let this one slide... Until ~~big brother~~ facebook decided to link my like of The Karate Kid to a damned Justin Beiber song. Let me tell you something, facebook: Johnny, Dutch, Tommy, Kreese, and the rest of the Cobra Kai would knocked the shit out of Justin Beiber and Jaden Smith.

That's it. I'm not even posting a link to the video.

Strike first, strike hard, no mercy.

Paul McCartney and The Quest for Nashville's Money

2010-05-27T13:59:00.000-07:00

The title of this blog sounds quite a bit like an adventure film. I wish it were. I'd be interested in seeing it.

So it appears that the Nashville social media universe is all abuzz [which I am shocked to find is actually a word] with the news that Sir Paul McCartney is playing at the Bridgestone Arena this summer. Why Nashville seems to care is beyond me.

That's right.

When I was 15 years old, right about the time I got the nickname with which I have been saddled for these past, well, 15 years, I discovered Rubber Soul. It all... you know... just made so much sense. Especially the track "Drive My Car"... because it was a euphemism for one thing but I thought it was actually about something else. Ah, to be young again. Which, if I had my druthers, is what Paul is probably thinking, too.

Just like every other high schooler in the past 50 years, I adored The Fab Four. Followed by stints of loving The Doors and then trying really hard to get into The Grateful Dead but then realizing that just because you have long hair and 9 1/2 fingers doesn't necessarily make you a good musician. Maybe I'm just latently jealous that I have all ten fingers, short hair, and the closest I ever got to music immortality is my entry in the allmusic guide. At least three people know that I'm on there now. Don't get me wrong, I understand why I liked The Beatles and why I still do. What I don't understand about The Beatles is why people liked anything that they did or have done since 1970.

There. I just said what you were all thinking.

My insanely talented friend Rachel Briggs has already started the Ram argument. It's pretty good but am I going to lose my mind about it? Definitely not. Besides... Dude went on to form Wings and be a vegetarian, so that's pretty much an automatic disqualification. Listen, Paul, if you're going to form a band called Wings, which I can only assume was inspired by the culinary delight and then become a vegetarian... that's automatic grounds for me taking all of your records and smashing them ~~in the name of Jesus just like I was encouraged to do with all of my secular albums by my youth group leader when I was in high school~~. Oh, and he wrote "Love Take Me Down" which is an abomination in and of itself.

It's interesting to me that an artist that hasn't released something worthwhile since the Nixon administration and who has released such turds as such as "No More Lonely Nights" and "Jet" is getting to play an arena. Notice how I didn't say that I was surprised that he does, though. Why? Because those Jonas Brothers are getting to. Because Miley Cyrus gets nominated for Golden Globes. Because that "According to You" song is huge. Because maybe, just maybe, Paul was on to something naming his post-Beatles band after a food item 'cause he knew Americans would eat it up. See what I did there? Pretty good, huh?

So, for both of you wondering, I will not be attending Sir Paul's concert in July here in Nashville. It's not because the tickets are likely to be $75. It's not because I don't care about his music much anymore. It's not because all the auto-tune in the world ain't gonna help him out these days. It's because he hasn't been relevant since my parents were teenagers... Name me one other thing from the 1960's that you still get excited about.

I'm gonna go get a drink. I'll give you a minute to think about that.

Okay. Back.

Yeah, I didn't think so.

So, Sir Paul, that's cool that you're playing Nashville for the first time ever. I just don't think I care, though. As a matter of fact, I know I don't.

Lost -- The End

2010-05-24T06:30:00.000-07:00

LOST

That's right. In bold. Where do I begin? I guess I should start at the start.

In fall of 2004, I wasn't doing much with my life. I recently graduated college, I was working for Atlas Home Improvements and The Window Doctor, I ate way too many burritos and drank far too many cans of Pepsi. And I watched TV all the time. I mean, all the time. I.refuse.to.do.that.thing.with.the.period.after.every.word. That makes you look like an idiot. Ah, crap.

Now, if you know me or if you've been following/stalking my blog for a while, you know that I am obsessed with a few things: my forthcoming New Zealand adventure and The Lord of the Rings. I can see you all rolling your eyes now and thinking, "Here he goes with that shit again." Too bad. But because, I was/am obsessed with the world of Tolkien and anything that had anything to do with it, I followed the rabbit trail into the world of LOST because of Dominic Monaghan. He was a hobbit. Shut up.

Ladies, you still interested? Good. I thought so.

In the past day (and few hours) the LOST series has ended and has ended with a *poof*. People were expecting a *BANG* but when was the last time a TV series ended with one of those? Remember how pissed off everyone was when Seinfeld ended with a lousy clip show and they all went to prison or something? That was 200 episodes of nothing. A show that didn't make you think and didn't make you pay attention except for the The Betrayal episode that was essentially run backward. It was like Memento but funnier... and Jewish. If that offended anyone, I apologize. I have no idea if Leonard Shelby celebrates Hanukkah, but I'm going with my gut and saying that he doesn't.

I'm glad that LOST ended the exact way it began: literally and figuratively: with Jack in the bamboo forest by himself. It's your own fault if you haven't seen the finale yet.

Now my good friend Nick has got a blog up about how much he disliked "The End" of LOST. We have watched the finale together twice since it has aired and neither of our opinions have changed. He wanted answers. I wanted resolution.

In these past six years, I've come to sympathize with almost all of the characters on one level or another at some point in time or another. Some of the characters I thought were just annoying, like Ana Lucia portrayed by ~~the drunk driving~~ Michelle Rodriguez. Yes, some of the characters just annoyed the shit out of me. Some of them I felt instant sympathy for/with. But, I think that the biggest reason that I liked it is that, as Nick so pointed out, the details didn't matter.

Funny how that works out, in'it?

In the past few years, I have been on more job interviews than I can shake a stick at. One of the questions that I seemingly always get asked (and one that really has no bearing on my ability to do a job and is really just flat out annoying -- take note fellow HR and Talent Acquisition gurus) is "How did you end up here?" The answer that I want to say is, "It couldn't matter less." What someone seems to want is a 20 second answer to an answer that would take years to answer: from the adventures that I had in Michigan, to the end of those adventures, to the first real heartbreak that I had in Nashville, to the first girl that I dated in Nashville which lead to the first real heartbreak I had in Nashville, to the trip across the Atlantic, to my job being eliminated, to the trip across the country, to being financially at rock bottom when the job with the new position you've accepted tells you that they don't have the money to pay you, to how you ended up delivering flowers, to everything in between. Really, does that sound like a clear and concise answer that can be summed up in two or three sentences? No. And I think that's why I liked it so much. It's that the details that got you to wherever you are in life don't matter as much as where you ended up. Sometimes, things don't make sense, even after you've after you've analyzed them to death. Like why you got your heart broken or why you really got your heart broken. Or why your job was eliminated "in order to create efficiencies". Or why the girl who works at the shop next door keeps calling you "one of her best guy friends". Or... You know... All the other minutia of life.

So really, it (life, LOST, whatever) comes down to one thing: what did you do with the time you were given? Did you make your world, your reality a bit of a better place? Did you run over everyone? Did you even know what was going on? Did you live the life you imagined? And that, my dear readers, is what matters. Are you living the live you've imagined? I don't mean doing what you want professionally. That doesn't mean a drop in the bucket compared to making sure your friends have beer during a flood; that doesn't matter compared a really good book you read; that doesn't matter compared to the road trip to the beach you took your sophomore year of college. It's the adventures that you have and the characters on your journey that you encounter that shape who you are and the story you are on.

And so, LOST, I want to thank you for being a small part of the past 6 years of my life. I think it's fair to say that quite a bit has changed in my life in that time. Yes, the girls. Yes, the trips. Yes, the jobs. Yes, the everything. Yes, the complete and total monopoly you've had on my one weeknight each Tuesday or Wednesday or whatever night you aired. But you were worth it.

LOST, In six years, you've lasted longer than any relationship I've had by 5 years and 5 months... I'm just glad I don't have to give you half my stuff. 'Cause really all that would be would be my collection of LOST and Futurama DVDs. And my Lord of the Rings things.

Thank you for the epic journey. It was worth it.

Conan's Final Words

2010-05-23T07:18:00.000-07:00

"Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard, and you're kind, amazing things will happen. I'm telling you, amazing things will happen."

Conan O'Brien

Trevor and Hilary's Wedding Weekend

2010-05-16T19:08:00.000-07:00

Here's a video of Trevor and Hilary Delling's wedding weekend. Youtube made me murder my director's cut but all in all, it's not too shabby.

Enjoy!

ASURION

2010-05-11T18:04:00.000-07:00

ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION ASURION.

There. I can type it as much as I want and no one can do a thing about it.

If you paid attention to the previous blog, and judging by the lack of comments you haven't, you'll have noticed what a terrific week and a half I've been having. This culminated in the coup de grace (apologies for not putting an accent mark) of receiving a phone call at 5:45 this afternoon from my contracting agency with the following message:

"Stephen, this is Julie from Insight Global. I need you to call me back tonight on my cell phone tonight at XXX-XXX-XXXX regarding your contract."
And I knew that it was over.

You see, the position that I have held there since late July has been open since I started. I have been on NINE interviews for my position only to find out that an external candidate had earned the position. I'm sure that she is very qualified and was a better culture fit which is why she got the job.

To say that I'm not a culture fit at Asurion is no stretch of the imagination. I'm a bit of a free spirit (as if the cheeseburger tattoo didn't give that away) and a world of "yessir"s and "no ma'am"s when they're said to keep employment as opposed to when employees say it as a sign of respect is not the kind of environment I want to be involved with.

Who does?

I'm not going to write any negative remarks about my time at Asurion. It was good while it lasted. It was educational and I learned alot. And I don't care if that's not a word. And I don't care if I started that sentence with the word "and". Or if I did it twice in a row.

In terms of management style, I didn't fit in. But, hell, I did pretty good while I was there based on a 12 minute phone interview that I did while sitting in my underpants in my bedroom and was hired essentially sight unseen. In terms of culture, I certainly didn't fit in based on the fact that I sang "Jesus Take the Wheel" and "We Built this City on Rock and Roll" and various other ditties on a regular basis. I didn't fit in based on the fact that I worked at a flower shop on the weekends. I didn't fit in based on the fact that I really want to be an extra in The Hobbit when I go to New Zealand later this year. I didn't fit in because I worked as much as I did so that I can go on a trip to New Zealand so I could go be an extra in The Hobbit. Sure, a whole heap of what I did didn't amek sense to the Asurion team... But then again, not much of what I did did. I'm okay with that.

So, potential employers, I'm a well-educated guy. I'm funny. I like beer. I kick ass at taking initiative. I probably am not going to call you "sir" or "ma'am" unless you deserve it. And I won't work in a fear-based culture. I know that people look on the internet at potential employees. I understand how the game is played because I'm pretty good at recruiting (another bonus for you, dear potential employers).

So, Asurion employees, if you happen to be reading this (and I know you IT nerds probably are), take this all with a grain of salt. And maybe go get a beer afterward. I know I am.

Costanza

2010-05-11T11:27:00.000-07:00

The past week and a half have not been kind to me:

-- Nashville flooded it's little heart out. 14 inches of rain in two days has lead to almost $2 billion worth of damage and 30 people dead. Those figures are expected to climb. The only things I lost were a desk (meh?), a pair of antique speakers (big bummer) and, as of last night, an SWR bass amp which I thought I could salvage but as it turns out, water and electronics don't mix as well as I thought that they would.

-- Since the great deluge of last weekend, I have had one day off. That was Sunday, May 2. For those of you keeping score at home, I worked 71 hours last week.

-- Speaking of work and the flood together, one of the pubs that I wrote trivia questions for is closed until further notice. Not that I depend on writing trivia questions for my wild and extravagant lifestyle but every little bit helps. Especially considering...

-- I found out by running one of my nightly reports here at job #1 that I did not receive one of the two open positions for which I have applied. I have tried to talk to my boss on Friday, Monday, and now today about the situation and he is "really focused on some things right now" when I've asked for 5 minutes of his time. Folks, this is not how you manage people. In what may be effective as soon as Friday, I will be without job #1. This means, however, that I can write the name of the company in my blog as many times as I want. 'Cause this is America. This also means that I may be able to work at A Village of Flowers a whole lot more. So it's not the worst thing in the world. I had an interview a week and a half ago with a company and I have an interview with another company a little later this afternoon. Things could be worse on that front, I suppose, but I have no concrete job offers as of yet.

-- I had someone ask me out on Facebook. This was confusing and while I am flattered, I don't really think I can handle that right now.

On the plus side of things, I did win free Qdoba today.

And that's what that looks like.

2010-05-08T04:17:00.000-07:00

There is a right way to do things and wrong way to do things. The right way to tell someone that they are no longer being considered for a position is to tell them that they are no longer being considered for a position. The wrong way to tell that same person that they are no longer being considered for a position is to let them find out via a report and then lock yourself away from the staff for the rest of the day and not give an interested party 5 minutes of your time after work when he specifically stays around to speak with you about it.

But maybe it's because I write run-on sentences from time to time.

Common courtesy in the world of business, it seems, has gone the way of the buffalo. In a bit of Seth Godin inspired altruism, I'm beginning to understand that hyper expansion and world domination of business isn't all it's cracked up to be. Innovation is important. Growth is important. People are tantamount.

For those of you just entering the business world, just remember this: money doesn't equal happiness. I'm broke as shit. I probably won't be owning a home anytime soon. I'm certainly not living the American Dream. I work all the time. Find out what you love to do and do it.

And that's what that looks like.

Rebuild This City on Rock and Roll

2010-05-04T07:54:00.000-07:00

I've posted some more pictures of Nashville on my facebook for you all to see. Folks, the flooding is receding but the damage is only going to get worse. So far, TEN people in Nashville alone have been found dead from the flood with many more feared lost. The front page of USA TODAY is calling this "a catastrophe" and, friends, they are not kidding.

I know Nashville isn't as hip as New York or as sexy as Los Angeles and or as fascinating as Chicago... And I'm sure that's the reason why so much of the national media has been focused on ~~what may or may not have been~~ a bomb ~~that didn't explode~~ in Times Square. And I'm sure that's the reason why reading about Tiger Woods sticking his putter into someone's golf bag is more important than Music City, USA. And I'm sure that's the reason that Vinny Del Negro (the Chicago Bulls basketball coach) is trending on google. Yes, Nashville is the fourth coast. We're a city of artists who can't tell time. We're a city of photographers who understand light meters and shutter exposure speeds but not a Phillips Curve. We're a city of writers who can dole out pith by the bushel but can't compose anything much longer than a blog... Hmmmm... We're a city of flakes who don't keep our appointments. We're a city without much backbone. We're a city of transients, imports, and refugees from Bumfuck, Iowa. We're a city of people who, by and large, are unemployable if they were to move anywhere else in the world. How the hell "songwriter" is a job is beyond me.

That's been the boone of Nashville for the past several years. We've grown complacent with our twangy guitars and three and a half minute pop-country ditties. We've become so concerned with a $125 haircut [Writer's note: go to Cognito to get the best haircut in town and at a perfectly legit price.] and a black button up shirt with that sweet fuckin' eagle on the back of it so we can go talk to that long-legged blond over at the end of the bar that we don't give a shit about our falling down drunk friend who needs a ride home. We've been looking for the next best (no)thing when we've got something great sitting in our laps. We've become the mecca for the divine discontent seeking only the latest and greatest chart-topping, 10-years-in-the-making overnight success. To borrow from a much better writer than I am, we've had a wishbone where our backbone oughtta be.

Nashville is a much different environment than the one I grew up in. Being from southeast Michigan, I'm from an area where I got up at 6 a.m., worked my ass off until the sun went down, or until my fingertips froze, and then came home and watched the Tigers or the Red Wings or, God bless 'em, even the Lions because they were (and still are) my team. There's not much of that here in Nashville; it's not a whole lot of heads-down, all-hands-on-deck, swinging-hammers hard work. I've never seen it.

These past few days have changed my perception on this city.

I love living here. I love the pace (for the most part). I love my friends. I love that at any given time on any given night of any given week you can walk into any given venue and see and hear an amazing band made up of the woman who makes your coffee at Starbucks, a guy who works at Autozone, and two dudes who are "amateur chemists". And I love the outpouring of support that I've seen -- random strangers bailing out basements; urban boating so that Johnny Shotgun can save his mom's wedding dress; avoiding drinking water and consuming beer and calling it "water conservation" (which is actually okay with me). All this and so much more.

Hands on Nashville is full to the brim with volunteers. Metrocenter had over 150 people sandbagging for hours last night... to the point where they had to turn away volunteers. I know. I tried. I've seen the absolute best of the human condition in the past few days... And yet I feel like I haven't seen or done enough. There are only so many hours in a day and I still have a need to give back to the city that really has given so much to me in ways that can't be measured in money or units sold. So I did what anyone would do: I got involved.

On Wednesday night at Mercy Lounge, The Dozen Dimes, Hillbilly Casino, How I Became the Bomb, and Paper Route are playing a FREE show and I've been lucky enough to be involved with helping put it on. I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing this for my friends Matt and Maggie Kuyper whose home was completely flooded out. I'm doing this for Anne Marie Tucker whose backyard looks like a swimming pool. I'm doing this for Bethany Rabelhofer who had water literally flowing out her doors and whose house may have to be torn down. I'm doing this for Brent Okuley whose car has been submerged. I'm doing this for Ms. Rayher whose house in Newsom Station was completly washed away [I don't know who she is but I delivered flowers to her on Saturday]. And, yes, you can all blame me if the show is run for shit.

I'm not asking you to bring food or clothes or sticks of Old Spice (as delicious as it smells and as awesome as the commercials are) on Wednesday. What I am asking is that you bring CASH to be donated to either the aforementioned Hands on Nashville or The Community Foundation of Middle Tennessee. The show is FREE, folks. The least you can do is donate some money.

And my offer still stands to anyone who needs a place to stay, food to eat, and beer to drink.

The Great Nashville Weather Penis of 2010, part 2

2010-05-03T05:59:00.000-07:00

I have seen some amazing things in my life. This weekend (and, yes, I am counting it as one 'thing') is another one. I was out and about yesterday because I had to see the rest of Nashville for myself. My house stayed mostly dry, 'cept for the basement which had a few inches of water in it. Some other friends and neighbors were not so lucky. I was able to make it out and about yesterday evening and take some pictures of the city although I, stupidly, only brought my iPhone with me. Some of the pictures are not very good quality but you get the idea. I've been reading reports that between Saturday and Sunday, Nashville got 13.5 inches of rain.

If you've got the time, help bail out (literally) this city. If you live in another state and want to help out, please go here to donate to the Salvation Army and please be sure to donate your funds to Nashville by typing it in the comments box.

I've posted my pictures to my facebook for your viewing pleasure.

And, yes, major media outlets... Something else in the world is happening other than a fucking bomb that did not go off in Times Square.

The Great Nashville Weather Penis of 2010

2010-05-02T03:26:00.000-07:00

I'm sure by now you all know what is happening in Nashville in terms of the weather. This is honestly the most insane weather I have ever experienced... And this is coming from someone who once endured 17 inches of snow in 4 hours. The official rainfall amount at Nashville's airport (BNA) yesterday was 6.32 inches. I've heard reports and read rumors that as much as 10 inches of rain had fallen in some parts of Tennessee. And, at 5:30 this morning, I was awoken by the storm siren a few miles from my house indicating that this shit ain't over yet: I've been reading on internet that Nashville can expect another 2 to 5 inches of rain today.

The worst part about it for me? Well, there are two things. Number one is that my knees and ankles feel like they're the size of volleyballs. All this moisture is making them very sore. Number two is that I almost killed some guy on I40 east late yesterday after making an (I kid you not) "emergency corsage" delivery out to Briley and Elm Hill Pike. Some dude in an SUV thought that doing 75 on the freeway in this torrential downpour was a good idea... Apparently no one ever told him that switching lanes rapidly and putting your car on its side and then slamming into a guardrail while just missing hitting the most talented weekend flower delivery of all time's van wasn't the smartest idea in the world. I know this picture doesn't show it too well, but that is the Broadway-West End split that was pretty well flooded. This was taken from the inside of the shop delivery van which is gigantically awesome!

You guys remember the end of O, Brother, Where Art Thou? Yeah... This is a bit like that. This is I24 at Bell Rd on the southeast side of town. Yes, that is a building. Yes, those are semi-trucks.

And, if for some reason you can't view the video (it's acting a bit wonky for me), click here and watch it directly on youtube.

Of course, there is some humor to be found in all of this. There usually is. "What could possibly be funny about this?" you ask. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Great Nashville Weather Penis of 2010:
New Zealand really better be worth this. I mean... REALLY.

Friends, stay safe out there...

Seth Godin

2010-04-27T21:22:00.000-07:00

"If you've read one of my books, thanks. I write them to be read, so without you, it would be a pointless exercise."
Seth Godin

Seth is widely considered to be the digital marketing genius in the world. He could, to borrow from Tommy Boy, "sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman wearing white gloves." He takes marketing concepts and turns them into "A-ha!" moments every day. But, at the end of the day, he's just selling you something. Or at least convince you that you didn't buy what he just said but that you came to the conclusion on your own. Really, that's all that marketing is.

I think that the fundamental flaw with Seth's statement from this blog entry is that writing with a sole intention of being read is "pointless". Write what you want, Seth, not because it's going to make you look like a better writer. And that's coming from somebody who reads your blog daily.

The worlds of art and commerce are inexorably drawn together these days. I'd rant on and on about what little the Honda Civic has to do with a music tour but I'm pretty tired and I think that an episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia would be a better use of my time.

Telling people how cool you are on the internet is not as cool as being so in real life.

The problem with the Tea Party and Kasey Everly's comments

2010-04-14T20:34:00.000-07:00

A childhood friend of mine, Kasey Everly, wrote this article for Livingston Talk. The site calls itself the "future of community journalism". I'm well-educated enough to know that the words "future" and "community" on the internet (least-a-ways in the same sentence) are probably going to lead to an article or op-ed piece that aren't going to jive with my political ideologies.

People still say "jive" right?

As I've stated time and time again, I'm no liberal and I'm no conservative. I think the idea of forced giving which really is what taxation is, is not giving at all. I think the idea of hoarding one's money is selfish. I'm independent. The idea of constraining oneself to a party even if you don't agree with all of their basic ideas is ridiculous. I'm for personal responsibility. I'm for charity. I'm for the utter abolition of our two-party system because, let's face facts, both parties are going to spend money faster than they can print it and then tell us they're the ones who balanced the budget. Fuck, I can balance my checkbook and still be six grand overdrawn. After reading this piece and the co-opting of the Tea Party which has happened over the past year and a half, I've come to the conclusion that having a political opinion is like having asshole: everyone has one but no one wants to hear what comes out of someone else but I'm going to continue typing anyway.

Now, Kasey does have a few facts right in this here article and I'm always one to give credit when and where it's due. Yes, the Tea Party has been absorbed by the idiotic ~~GOP~~ Sarah Palin machine. I think Sarah has as much business in politics as I do running a whorehouse: as much fun as that might be, I am probably not the right person for the job. Of course, given my current interview situation at work, I may be looking soon again and if anyone has an opportunity at the best little whorehouse in Texas that they'd like me to run (George W, I'm lookin' at you), I'd certainly be up for the interview. Especially if lunch is involved.

One of the points that Kasey makes is that church attendance is down. I don't go to church and I haven't for years. I get more out of 'church' by sitting on my back porch and drinking a beer than I do from any four walls and a hymnal. Going to church makes you a Christian or, hell, a good person much the same way that hanging out in garage makes you a car. But back to my diatribe.

The problem with the Tea Party (and the Republicans and the Democrats and the Socialists and the Marxists and the Communists and the Whigs and the Labours and the Torries and the Ba'aths and the Sinn Feins and the hundreds of other successful political parties the world over) is that they've all got it wrong... and that the only things they've got going for them are a good marketing department and a wad of cash. Don't believe me? Take Barack Obama's "Hope" campaign. Ask anyone who supported the President during his campaign that hadn't taken even a few hours to do some research on his platforms what in the hell they were placing their "hope" in and you likely would have gotten a response along the lines of the following:
"He gives hope for the future!"
"He gives hope that things are going to get better!"
"He gives me hope that things are going to be different than they are under Bush!"
Folks, I could have given you all of those things, too. I have the dream, just not the hundreds of millions of dollars that it takes to get elected to the presidency of this country. But I hope to one day.

If anyone out there believes that the most modern inception of the Tea Party is anything but a political campaign to Palin elected in two and a half years then I'd hope you either get educated between now and election day. It has gone from a truly grassroots organization of folks who were entirely sick of paying unconstitutional income taxes [the 16th Amendment did not authorize income taxes -- South Carolina v. Baker -- check it out] to fundraisers for the 2012 electoral campaign.

I think that everyone is entitled to their political opinion; from the hippie at Bonnaroo who is on seven different kinds of psychotics to my boss' boss' boss' boss' boss who makes more money in a year than I probably will in the next 20... even though I probably think that both of their opinions are wrong and ridiculous. The problem with Kasey's article is not her political view but it's her writing.

It's sophomoric. It's self-aggrandizing. It's holier than thou. The attack on Glenda Brown (whom we both know) was safe and predictable. And with my father the Mayor Pro-Temp of the neighboring city of Brighton, I know a little bit of small-town politics. The problem with small-town politics is, well, that it's "small-town". Thinking that a grassroots political movement (or Palin fundraiser... whichever) who hosts an event at Howell High School's freshman campus is going to light the fire of a nation is as likely to happen as Keira Knightly coming with me to my friends' Trevor and Hillary's wedding next month. It might happen but I'm not hedging my bets.

Kasey goes as far as writing "If you think it's that simple for those who disagree with you -- for anyone in my family or anyone else, for that matter -- you may still call yourself an American as is your birth right, but you certainly don't deserve the honor." And that's where I take umbrage.

No one has all of the answers when it comes to solving the world's problems. And, yes, folks... there is the whole vast expanse of the world that's yours and mine to explore. It's full of people who love the same things you love and who love things that you've never heard of. It's full of religious zealots, great men and women of science, captains of industry, moms, dads, sisters, brothers, musicians, artisans, craftsmen, and everything else you can think of. But it's not full of Americans. As a nation, we're a tick on the clock in the history of time.

I would rather be a citizen of the world. I would rather go explore the wonder it has to offer. I would rather see a penguin in its natural habitat, a lion on a safari, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the Nile, the Amazon, the Straits of Gibraltar, the Matterhorn, and the South China Sea. I would rather see the world than worry about "the honor" of being an American. I love my country. I love my home. I love the fact that almost everyone wants to improve it (from their perspective). What I don't love is one person or one party thinking that they have all of the answers. I don't love the Tea Party. I don't love it when people think that everything that really does matter has to be fodder for satire. And, yes, I realize the incredible irony of that statement given my usual writing style. 'Cept for I'm writing about how much Justin Bieber sucks (he does) and how I think that Die Hard is the best Christmas movie ever (it is). I'm not writing about how I've got an answer to the world's or (*gasp*) 'Merikuh's problems.

Kasey, a wiser man than both of us once wrote that if you're dumb, you need to surround with smart people; if you're smart, surround yourself with smart people who disagree with you. And maybe get out of Howell every once in a while. It might do you some good.

Block

2010-04-08T19:19:00.000-07:00

Well, hell... What am I gonna write about now?

Baby, baby, baby.... Ohhh, like: Baby, baby, baby...

2010-03-28T06:38:00.000-07:00

We live in a very connected world. You can't go anywhere without the latest technology. I'm guilty of it just like everyone else.

One of my jobs, as you may know, is writing questions for Nashville's best bar trivia company. Since the internet signal that I ~~steal~~ acquire at my home is less than reliable (although weekend mornings tend to be very good for whatever reason), I often find myself lovingly lugging my MacBook from bar to bar so that I can get on the internet, look up random facts, and then translate those facts into a question that a drunk person may or may not be able to answer. I very well can't put that on my LinkedIn profile but I gussied it up a bit so it ultimately sounds much more impressive. Two links already? This is shaping up to be one hell of an entry!

Who would have thought that even 5 years ago, so many people would be bringing their computers into bars not to mention coffee shops where the thwack-thwack-thwack of the keys must mean that you are working really hard on that novel you're writing? Not me. I'm obviously guilty of it. 'Cept for the whole bringing-the-laptop-into-a-coffee-shop part. I hate coffee, I don't drink caffeine and every time I go into a coffee shop I get the distinct feeling that I am being quietly judged by Johnny GrandeLatte because I'm more interested in buying orange juice and not tipping the barista for merely ringing up my order and doing nothing over and above the ordinary to warrant a tip and DAMNIT JUST LEAVE ME ALONE AND LET ME OUT OF THIS COFFE SHOP! As an aside, I am strangely excited that the blogger dashboard doesn't recognize "barista" as a word and gives me the little red underline squiggly thing beneath it.

But connectivity is everywhere. Ubiquitous. All the time. We've been juiced up... even when there's no internet connection we have our smart phones that are certain to one day rise up against us. Tweeting, facebooking, foursquaring (which is much more addictive than I thought it was going to be) and other internetting. Three little red underline squiggly things in a row and "barista" has taken its revenge.

Most of the readers of this blog are probably between the ages of 25 and 35 which, conveniently, happens to be the age of most my friends. That's about the only piece of information that Google Analytics won't provide. Yes, big brother is watching you. Special shout out to my readers from Oceania! But being that age, most of my friends are at the point in their life when they are either getting married and/or having babies. This is where connectivity is a horrible thing.

Yup. Horrible.

In all honesty, I don't need updates every 15 minutes on what your baby is doing; that she just smiled at you; that he took his first step; that little Timmy Diapers is learning how to use the toilet. I know your kid is perfect. As a matter of fact, I probably really like your kid. As a further matter of fact, I probably think that your kid is a slice of fried gold. Fortunately for you, my dear reader, I am a horrible babysitter. The only game/activity that I know is "I'mgonnagitcha! I'mgonnagitcha!" where in I run around the house and pretend to chase your youngin about. What am I supposed to do with your kid after that? Feed him some ice cream? Let her watch Raging Bull? I don't know. I do know, however, that no one ever calls me to watch their kid. Maybe it has something to do with the empty pizza box in my room and the fact that I still really like cartoons. I'm not an expert.

My point, and I swear I have one, is that I'm just not that impressed with your kid. I prefaced that, as you will recall, with "I probably think that your kid is a slice of fried gold" so the worst you can be is mad at me. Of course, every parent is proud of their kid, and rightfully so. My parents are proud of me but I can't recall the last time my mom's facebook status read "I'm so proud of my little man! He just poured a whole glass of milk all by himself with no spillers! NO SPILLERS!" Of course, I'm 29, don't drink much milk these days, and my mom lives in a different region of the country so it may just be a perfect storm of all those things not having occurred in the same time and space together in quite a while which is the reason my mom hasn't posted that. And my dad doesn't have a facebook account so he simply can't post it.

So, my dear friends who are reading this, I do not need to know all the minute details of your kid's life. Sure, they're cute and, sure, I get it that your really proud of your little one. Take solace, though, that I am more interested in your kid than that Justin Beiber jackass and how he's doing the on the internet. He's 16 years old, Canadian, left-handed, and has to play with a capo on is guitar because I'm betting that his testicles haven't dropped just yet (hang in there, pal!). As a general rule of thumb, anyone born after 1990 can't matter on the internet just yet. I can't seem to think of another teen pop sensation off the top of my head so I guess I'll have to leave it as a blanket statement. I even did a Google image search (with the "safe search" function turned off) just to see if I recognized any of the people that were going to be brought up and got some pretty disturbing images. I am not kidding about that last part.

Now, friends, if your 14 month old gets a twitter account and starts posting pictures, I'll be impressed. Until that day, however, I'm not interested in kids and the world of social media meeting.

I wonder how many disappointed 14 year old girls are gonna come across this entry and be completely disappointed that there aren't more pictures of JB? Well, to satiate the masses, here's one of me with JB:Yup. Me and my dad, Jim Bohn, in 1998 at my high school graduation. There. Now you can't call me a liar.

LUDA!

Being in a band

2010-03-26T14:35:00.001-07:00

I semi-randomly found this video on youtube today. It's not as good as the mysterious piano playing ChatRoulette guy but I still got a kick out of it.

Do I miss playing music? Yes. Do I miss being in a band? Sort of, I suppose. I miss the creative process and playing shows (minus the lugging around of amps). I don't miss being told exactly what to play; I'm sure you know what I'm talking about if you're an indie rock guitar player who lives in Nashville.

I'm working on some new creative outlets as of late. One of them involves playing bass (which I haven't done on stage in probably 8 or 9 years). I'd also like to get a vanity project going... But again since this is Nashville, everyone wants to do something commercial. Imagine the exact opposite of that and there you go.

Dear Mr. President

2010-03-22T08:53:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I am not a fan of the current administration. You also probably know that I didn't vote for either Obama or McCain in the 2008 election. And you can also probably guess that I am not a big fan of social welfare programs (using the word "welfare" in the purest academic sense). So, with the passing of last night's health care reform bill, I have decided to write and send a letter to President Obama. Here it is:

Dear Mr. President,

My name is Stephen Bohn and I live in Nashville, TN, one of America’s leading cities in the field of healthcare. I’ve got some of the finest medical facilities in the world right in my own backyard: Vanderbilt, Baptist, Centennial, St. Thomas, I could go on and on and on. And I visit several of them on a weekly basis. That’s right. Weekly. But more on that in a second.

Now, the first thing that may come to mind, Mr. President, when you read the word “weekly” next to the phrase “visit several of them” may be “Well, I just helped pass a huge health care bill that’s really gonna help this dude out.” I figure that how most people talk and I figure that you’re a lot like most people: just a dude trying to make it in the world. And that, Mr. President, is something that you and I have in common. We’re just two dudes trying to make in this world. Like Sam and Frodo. Or Thelma and Louise. Or Butch and Sundance before the Bolivian army showed up.

As I was sitting at my friend’s place last night watching a movie called Zodiac (which is really good, by the way), my mind kept drifting between the movie and the health care reform bill that was being passed. However, my phone was dead so I couldn’t check the status of things and I was at one point in time snuggled on a couch between two really good looking women. I was living the American dream. When the movie finally ended, I got in my car, charged my phone and saw that much to my confusion and amazement the bill passed.

I’m 29 years old. I’m in relatively good health. I run when I’m not too busy watching re-runs of Futurama in the morning. I try to get plenty of sleep. I drink more than my fair share of water. I sometimes watch what I eat. It’s not because I enjoy all of these things. I’d love nothing more than to eat cheeseburgers each day, drink three beers at lunch, and stay out all night every night but I can’t because if I do those things I won’t be prepared for one of my three jobs the following day. That’s right. Three jobs. Oh… back to the visiting hospitals on a weekly basis. Do you know what one of my three jobs is, Mr. President? It’s delivering flowers. That’s right. I have a business degree from one of the most respected schools in the world and I work on Saturdays at a flower shop; admittedly a job I absolutely adore. Why? It’s so I can live the life I want to live. It’s so that I can travel the world. It’s so I can pay off my car and one day in the hopefully not too distant future buy a home here in Nashville. It’s so I can afford to eat the occasional cheeseburger, drink the occasional beer, and stay out until the wee small hours of the morning on occasion. It’s not so that I can pay for someone else’s health care, I assure you.

Your newly approved health care reform bill will simply enable people, Mr. President. It will enable the people in the United States who don’t work as hard as I do to literally reap the benefits of my labor.

Mr. President, I didn’t vote for you. I didn’t vote for John McCain. As you can probably tell by my fearless tone of this letter and by the language that I’ve used herein that I am a fairly staunch libertarian. I want freedom in every sense of the word: freedom from oppression; freedom from government imposed regulations; freedom from tyranny. But more important than any of those “freedom from”s, good sir, I want “freedom to”. I want the freedom to write a letter to the leader of the free world telling him how much I think his health care bill sucks; the freedom to take on my own responsibilities (socially or otherwise) as I see fit; the freedom to own up to the decisions I’ve made; the freedom to spend or save the money that I’ve earned as I see fit; and, most importantly, the freedom to ask out one of the women that was sitting on the couch next to me last night. I am a realist however and I understand that nothing comes for free… especially that last one.

I didn’t get to one of my jobs this morning on a road that I designed. I didn’t breathe the clean air I breathed on the way from my car to the office because I regulated pollution in Davidson County. I didn’t install the stop sign that kept me safe this morning at an intersection as someone else blew right through it. I’m no martyr and I’m certainly not a complainer. I am, sir, a man of action. I am appreciative of all the good things that this country has allowed me the opportunity to do and continues to allow me the opportunity to do. It’s where the action and opportunity meet where I can achieve great things.

And so, Mr. President, I figured that just another dude like yourself would appreciate my situation and that you as a well-educated person would understand that you cannot tax and fine a nation back to prosperity. I figured if I had a gripe, I should go straight to the top with it because that’s how things get done. I figured even though the bill passed last night and I can’t change it much right now I would let you know my thoughts on the matter. But mostly, Mr. President, I figured I would let you know what myself and millions and millions other of Americans are thinking this morning: that you can take this health care reform bill and shove it up your ass.

Regards,

Stephen Bohn

Why I Should be a Hobbit

2010-03-19T14:04:00.001-07:00

I wrote and sent this letter to New Line Cinemas (and every other contact email I could find) this afternoon. If you've got the hookup or owe me a favor, now is the time to get in touch with anyone in the biz.

Dear Ladies and Gentlemen,

When I was in fifth grade, I had a friend named Zack Lemon. We were ten years old and the only things that we were concerned with that weekend’s basketball game, participating in the book fair, Mrs. Bibbee’s math test, and Heather Brown and why she was in love with Ryan Holmes and not either of us. Neither one of us were terribly popular. Maybe it’s because we spent our time getting into trouble instead of focusing on girls. Maybe it’s because neither one of us were nearly as cool as Ryan Holmes (let alone Paul Frieling). Maybe it’s because we were both too concerned with reading works of fiction and making swords out of discarded pieces of wood. I stand by my decisions though: they’ve gotten me this far in life. Of course, we ended up going to different high schools and eventually lost contact. I’ll give you a moment to recover if you need to. I know I do.

Okay… I’m back.

You can imagine my complete and total amazement especially being such a lover of literature that doesn’t suck (every book written by Michael Crichton, I’m looking at you), when some ten years ago, the Lord of the Rings began filming. I was beyond excited when I saw the movies in the theaters and once the trilogy ended, I only wanted more.

About 5 months ago, a friend of mine and I decided we were going to take a trip. Since we’re, you know, roughly 30 now and living the life of independent wealth and fame that we always imagined, we figured that we’d each pick up extra shifts at the Pepsi distribution center and flower shop that we, respectively, work at to save the money to take a vacation. I mean a real vacation; not to Boca Raton, Florida. As nice as Boca is, neither one of us is much for glittery shirts and the Miami-area lifestyle. We like camping, outdoor adventures, hiking, and seeing as much of the world as possible. Southern Florida along the Atlantic just doesn’t seem too offer too many of those things.

And so my work began… a 50 hour week here, a 65 hour week there. Every extra cent I managed to save went straight into a travel fund. In January, I had enough money to buy a plane ticket anywhere in the world. So, we picked our destination: New Zealand. It has been a dream of mine to visit the Land of the Long White Cloud for years and in just 181 short days, I will leave my beloved Nashville home and travel some 8055 miles across the world to take my dream vacation.

I read the announcement just two days ago that The Hobbit will begin filming in New Zealand in just a few months and that the shoot is expected to last for 10 months or so. Smack dab in the middle of my vacation. Could this be coincidence or super awesome planning by me? Well, it’s one of the two.

I’m sure you get letters and emails all the time from the world at large from folks asking if they can be in movies. “I’m the greatest actor since Bruce Campbell’s debut in ‘The Evil Dead’.” some of the letters must read. Or, “I’m more of a method actor than Method Man was when he was in ‘How High’.” Or, “Jewel recently filmed a video for one of her songs in the flower shop that I work at.” Actually, that last part is part of this letter. She was too good to use the bathroom I cleaned the night before, though. This, however, is not one of, you know, those letters. I’m not an actor and I haven’t been since I played Father Earth in Howell Nazarene Christian School’s production of our Earth Day play some 20 years ago but I am a lifelong hobbit: 5 foot 6, hairy feet, outdoors-y, eats six times a day, looks good in a waist coat. And I’m going to be in New Zealand when the most recent installment in the world of Tolkien is going to be filmed… You see where I’m going with this.

So, here it is: Make me a hobbit on set for one day. I can be anywhere in the country between September 18th and October 1st. I don’t even want a speaking line I just want to be a part of it all and if I got to see myself on screen I wouldn’t complain about that one bit.

And if you can’t do it for me, do it for Zack Lemon.

Cheers,

Stephen Bohn

I am (still) inspirational

2010-03-08T08:15:00.000-08:00

About 5 weeks ago, I wrote this entry about how inspirational I am to the Nashville music community. About how pop darlings Ke$ha, Taylor Swift, and Jewel really are in ~~love~~ like with me and how I've inspired some of their songs. Like this one. And this one. I don't remember what Jewel had to do with lyrics involving my name but she is fun to look at and also shot a video for one of her songs at the greatest flower shop in all the land which I think was the catalyst for the entry. It's the first song that I want to focus on today.

As I was sitting in my cube this morning, thinking about my upcoming week, I got a message on facebook from someone I don't think that I've ever met before. I'm usually pretty awful with names unless it happens to be a particularly good looking women and then I'm pretty spot on. That's not at all strange how that works, is it? Oh, yes... The message:

If you can't read it, it reads as follows:
sorry to interrupt you! I just wanna know: are u that stephen kesha wrote a song about? that would be soo cool!

xoxo

julia

If you've taken the time to read through Ke$ha's lyrics for said song (and I'm sure that you have), you would have noticed some of the lines:
"I saw you in your tight ass rocker pants" and
"And I watched your ugly girlfriend sneer across the room" and my personal favorite
"I can charm the pants off anyone but you".

I don't wear tight ass rocker pants, every woman that has been goodly enough to date me in this town has been much better looking than me, and I don't wear pants unless I have to. So, no, as far as I know the song is not about me. But this chick is hot... So I'm gonna reply and tell her that it might be. 'Cause why the hell not?

You know, someday, someone is going to make a movie about me... maybe have Vangelis score it. It could be called Chariots of Fire 2: Still Burnin'. That just sounds inspirational:

At the very least, I could continue to lie to girls on the internet and tell them that I'm the muse for pop princesses the city over.

Romance in the Workplace

2010-03-03T09:46:00.000-08:00

It's a very strange, quiet day here at job #1. I've got some projects to work on this afternoon but have some downtime this morning. As such, I am completing the required "Preventing Workplace Harassment" training. I am on the "Romance in the Workplace" chapter.

I do not expect to do well with this chapter of the training.

The Thin Red Line

2010-03-01T19:38:00.000-08:00

If you haven't taken 3 hours out of your life to watch The Thin Red Line then you need to come over to my house and watch it. Now. Well, not now because I'm not there... and when I am there, I am usually asleep. Also, I'm writing in my blog and the internet connection at my house is hit or miss... and that's 'cause I steal it.

What? I live my life on the cheap and if my neighbors are just going to throw out a free internet signal, I might as well use it. Don't judge me.

I watched the movie when I was in college and didn't like. As a matter of fact, not only did I not like it, I didn't understand it. There is a great deal of voice over work. There are plenty of rhetorical questions. John Travolta has a mustache. I've done a great job of selling this, haven't I? Lucky for me, I'm not a movie producer and just a dude that hangs out.

The other evening in a fit of boredom and having gone through most all of my movies in the past 7 months, I made my way over to my collection and pulled this one off the shelf. It marked the first time I had watched it since in about 8 years. Am I ever glad that I did.

Here's the trailer:

It's got the kind of dialogue and the voice overs (oh, the amazing voice overs!) that I wish I could write. I particularly like the lines that Pvt. Jack Bell (played by Ben Chaplin) was given. One in particular:
"Love. Where does it come from? Who lit this flame in us? No war can put it out, conquer it. I was a prisoner. You set me free."

This love... it was written with verve and vigor. And it's the love that's the kind that can't last. And you know it. At least, I do. I've been there.

Go watch the movie.

It's hip to be square

2010-02-25T06:51:00.000-08:00

I still think it's hip to be square. Huey Lewis and the News really haven't stood the test of time and not too many people are going to say that they genuinely still like his music... unless you're one of those mustachioed d-bags who ride a tall bike and wear the band's t-shirt ironically. You know who else listened to Huey Lewis a whole bunch? Patrick Bateman, that's right. Life is all about the company you keep, folks. I will temper my hatred for hipsters with a caveat indicating that I on the rare occassion or road trip listen to the band's greatest hits. I also sometimes pretend that I'm Marty McFly. What? Like you don't yell out "88 MILES PER HOUR!" on the freeway.

I received a request yesterday from Natalie to write about my take on this article in the New York Times about how it's hip to be round these days. Seriously. Go read it. I'm gonna go see if I can get a lemonade. I'll be right back.

Okay. I'm back. No lemonade. All they had was that dietsugarfreenofun stuff.

Now, by show of hands from the ladies and gay dudes, how many of you really think a pot belly is sexy on a guy? Be honest. None of this "Oh, I like guys with a little pudge because it's good for cuddling" shit. Leave that at the door. I am going to prove to you all that Guy Trebay (writer of this New York Times article) is full of it. Completely full of it. And I'm going to use ~~movies~~ science to do it. Ready? Here it goes.

Example number one: Boogie Nights. This is one of the best ~~discoveries of science~~ movies ever made. It's funny, it's entertaining, you get to see Heather Graham as God intended her to be seen; it's got everything! What I want to focus on here is Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Betcha didn't see that one coming, did ya? You were all thinking about Marky Mark's funky bunch. Don't lie. But back to PSH for a second. He's chubby, pudgy, portly, and stout. He also dresses like he wants to be hip but fails miserably. You know what happens to him in the movie? He never gets laid and then kills himself. If there's anything that I've learned from Paul Thomas Anderson movies other than everyone in the world is somehow connected and that you should never get between Daniel Day-Lewis and his milkshake, it's that fat dudes don't really do too well with the ladies. And PTA has been nominated for three Oscars® for writing... so he knows something.

Example number two: Han Solo. The smoothest bad ass in all the galaxy. He's a space pirate that plays by his own rules, hangs out with a walking carpet, two asexual robots, and this dude that went on to sling Colt45. And look at him! Not an ounce of fat on his body! And who ends up with Princess Leia at the end of the series? Certainly not ~~her brother~~ pudgy Luke Skywalker. It was the lean, thin, bad mofo. Also, Han knew how to use a lightsaber. Go watch The Empire Strikes Back. It's in the beginning. Oh, and the scientification here? The ships could go light speed and somehow (although this was never explained by George Lucas) had artificial gravity in the vacuum of space. Science fiction = science fact.

Example number three: me. I used to be pretty damn fat. You know how many chicks liked me then? Zero... that I know of. You know how many chicks like me now? Probably the same amount. But I think that's because I went from Dwarf to Hobbit. That's not much of jump in terms of sexiness factor. And also because I talk about Lord of the Rings all the time. And also because I'm going to New Zealand to (among other things) visit Hobbiton. It's almost hard to believe I haven't found any ladies that want to come on this trip, isn't it? That, in science, is what we call an anomaly.

So, Mr. Guy Trebay of The New York Times, go do your research. You've pulled things from such samples as "Brooklyn" and "Brooklyn" (again). I used a dude from the 70's who works on a porn set, a space pirate that owes money to a giant green worm thing, and a guy who works three jobs and lives in Nashville who still ain't gettin' any.

I bet I could kick your ass at Jeopardy!, too.

Have you seen a Boner lately?

2010-02-23T09:01:00.001-08:00

Bohn. I have what many people would consider to be an unfortunate-sounding last name. Not "bahn" but "bone". It's something that sort of bothered me in high school (as if being 15 years old wasn't awkward enough) and when 1000 people know you because they know your last name, life's awkward level went to 11. Most of us remember what it was like to be that age. If you are not at least 15, you should probably stop reading this blog right now. I am going to work plenty of innuendo into this entry.

As I grew bigger, I became more comfortable in my own skin. The "Bohner" nickname didn't phase me at all and by the time I got done with high school, no one called me that any more. It was a blessing to have finally shed that moniker which had saddled me for so long. Every once in a while an acquaintance from school will contact me on facebook and greet me with said name. Through the past, darkly, as it were. It doesn't happen very often but it's a trip down memory lane when it does. The "Bohner" nickname... I just can't hide it like I was smuggling something in the waistband of my sweatpants.

We are still in the midst of the Winter Olympics, still chanting "USA! USA! USA!" when ice dancing [how the hell this is a sport is beyond me - Vic probably likes it, though, just like he likes the biathlon] is on. We are all captivated by the dudes who wear blue jeans and are called athletes when all they want to do is smoke weed, eat Honey Nut Cheerios, and talk about the latest (oh, what the devil do punk rock kids listen to these days?) Forever the Sickest Kids record snowboarders and their sick Supersquirrel move. Yes, that really is a move. 'Cause nothing quite says "spirit of the games" like a Supersquirrel. But snowboarding terminology aside, we've got a bit of a mess on our hands. We're missing a Boner.

That's right, Andrew Koenig, 'star' of TV's Growing Pains in the late 80's and early 90's is missing from his recent jaunt to the Olympics in Vancouver. In all honesty, I didn't even know who he was until I went to Google's News page this morning and saw Boner's story sprayed all over the web page. If you do an image search for this guy, you're gonna get a dude that looks like this:

This guy reminds me of a dude who probably still likes watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoons. So, not entirely unlike myself except for he has a sweet hairline. I doubt, though, that anyone is going to put up roadblocks looking for this dude. Frankly, if it weren't for his character's unfortunate name, I probably wouldn't remember who he ~~was~~ is and neither would you.

Is this what the media has come to: writing stories abouit bit players on bit tv shows from 20 years ago? It's like what would we do if we all suddenly discovered that Alex Cord who played Archangel on Airwolf had become a recluse and gone into hiding. We'd probably start humming the theme song and go watch some episodes online. At least that's what I'd do.

In the annals of secondary TV characters, Boner really leaves us stranded on second base. I concede, though, that some of the headlines (especially this one from today's USA Today) are exceptionally funny... if a bit misleading. If Boner is missing in Vancouver, well, then, you know he's in Vancouver. I've got a feeling Boner will pop back up sooner or later though. And besides, it's not like the world has lost Shawn Harrison who portrayed Waldo Geraldo Faldo on Family Matters all those years ago. Can you just imagine the headline and subsequent website for what I am sure would be a world wide manhunt?! Wait... you say there's already something called "Where's Waldo?" Aw... crap.

Mr. Koenig, if you happen to be reading this (and according to the analytics enterprise I use about 2% of my readership comes from Canada so it is entirely possible), please come out of hiding. You seem like a nice and talented member of the community. I don't know if you're sad or lonely or depressed or whatever the case may be but there are plenty of women in the world who would love to meet Boner. I'm convinced of it. And if they want to meet you, they should certainly want to meet this Bohner -- at least with me they know they're not gonna get some fading star who has run away to Canada.

The Miracle on Ice

2010-02-22T10:28:00.000-08:00

The end of "The Miracle on Ice" which is routinely voted as the greatest moment in sports history:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aRALJyv86eY

I will probably never see anything this amazing in my life in the sports world... But last night's USA hockey win over Canada was pretty epic and one of the ten best games I have ever seen.

I've Lent my bad judgment out for 40 days

2010-02-18T07:04:00.000-08:00

I attended Detroit Catholic Central High School some umpteen years ago. The Royal Blue and White Shamrocks have been educating young men and having the priests provide a swift kick in the ass for corrective action for 80 odd years now and I was one of the educated. Driving in each day from little nowheresville into Detroit soon became old hat and my 3 hours of commuting each day didn't even phase me after a while. That's just the way it was. We all do remember high school of course with the minutia that seemed to matter so much then ultimately didn't matter at all: the girls on the bus from the sister school down the street that wouldn't talk to you; the math test that you bombed; being one of a dozen non-Catholics in a sea of a thousand or so; the fact that you couldn't eat meat on Fridays during Lent.

Wait. What? No meat? You guys know my stance on vegetarianism, right? I'm against it. Obviously. I think that the best way that someone explained the 'no meat on Friday's thing' (what else am I going to call it, really?) to me was that it, like anything given up during Lent, was a sign of sacrifice, humility, tradition, and rememberance. I'm okay with all of those things. I've got no moral qualms against any of them. I'm not really that good at any of them but that's neither here nor there. So, I went with it. Sort of. I still brought pepperoni pizza with me from my job at Gus' Carryout in Howell for lunch on Fridays. I still had to explain to my lunchmates that I wasn't Catholic.

In all honesty, I have never given up anything for Lent. I think that the idea of giving up something just because a religious tradition [hang on] tells you to is ridiculous. I am for traditions. I am against traditions that have no doctrinal basis. I know... Jesus went and hung out in the desert for 40 days without something or other and prayed and fasted. That's not to make light of the situation but I have failed to read any part of the Bible where it says "Go without cheeseburgers on Fridays for a month and a half." It might be in there, though... Somewhere in the back, maybe?

I was sitting at my desk at job #1 on Tuesday when the woman who sits across from me popped her head up over our shared wall and asked me what I was giving up for Lent. This is strange because I never talk about religion at job #1. Before we knew what had happened, our entire department was standing up and talking about what they were going to give up for Lent. Guess what card I drew:

Alcohol. All of it. And all of it because I let slip that I write questions and occasionally host shows for Better Trivia of Nashville which are hosted in bars across our fair city (Sam's, Monday, 7:30; 3Stones, Thursday, 7:30). And I'm doing it. Not because I think Lent is a nice tradition (it is) but because I want to lovingly spite my co-workers who don't think I can do it.

So how do I fill this void the void that is now in my life with the lack of delcious pints of Guinness and Speyside on the rocks for the next 39 days? I've got to fill it with something. That something for today and probably the rest of the week is candy which the man who sits next to me had given up. It just so happened that he had a large bag of bite size York Peppermint pieces that he gave to me. I was insulted upon reading the back of the bag of candy. Listen here, Hershey Company, if I am trading one vice for another, I have no intentions whatsoever of sharing them "...with family & friends!" as your clever marketing indicates that I should. I know my photography skills aren't rivaling Josh Marx [hire him!] or Eden Frangipane [hire her, too!] but I swear that's what the back of the bag reads. And if I have a hard time doing what the Bible says I should do, what chance do you, bag of candy, really have? Not much.

I delved into the bag this morning. Wonder of wonders, the candy pieces come in two colors: Royal Blue and White. It's almost hard to believe this circle, isn't it?

Lent, you are a clever tradition. You've managed to circle around after all those years from high school and give me a swift kick in the ass for not observing you since I am, as Father Donoher put it on more than one occassion, "The perfect example of a fine Catholic young man." All these years later Catholic Central is still kicking my ass. Touche', my Basillian priest friends. Touche'.

Skeletons of fun

2010-02-16T12:08:00.000-08:00

The games of the XXI Olympic Winter Games have begun. A time when a bunch of pale skinned [genuine vanilla faces, even!], fair haired, blue eyed men and women from all over the northern hemisphere and parts of Australia get together and play in the snow for weeks on end. I don't think that accurately describes the Games, however, as my friends and I used to do the same things. We called it "January". It was not as exciting as it sounds.

The caveat to the physical stereotype is, of course, the Jamaican bobsled team. We've all seen Cool Runnings. Don't lie. You know you love it. Besides, what's not to believe about John Candy playing a character who at one time was a world class athlete? Aside from everything.

I unabashedly love watching the Olympics. I like rooting for the good ol' USA. I like cheering for the underdog mixed doubles curing team from Lithuania. I like seeing the pure confusion on my friends' faces when I explain the difference between an Axle and a Toe Loop when we're all watching the figure skating competition.
What? Like you don't watch figure skating with your friends?
What? Like you're amazed that I know the difference in figure skating jumps?
What? Like you didn't know I used to take figure skating lessons as a child?
This hole is getting pretty deep. I better stop for a second.

But just for a second.

I understand how a sport becomes an Olympic event. What I don't understand is how a sport continues to be an Olympic event. Biathlon, I'm looking at you. Up for grabs today? You guessed it: 50 Stephen Bohn McFun Bucks if you can tell me, without cheating [I'm looking at you, Patrick Copeland], who the best biathlete in the world is. I'm assuming that you know what the biathlon is. The correct answer is, of course, Tim Burke.

What the hell kind of sport is that? Skiing and shooting a gun? Sounds like an action sequence from The Living Daylights to me. It sounds nothing like a sport. How in the world someone decided those two things should be mashed together, televised (albeit at 2:15 a.m. on MSNBCMOUSE), and then the winners of the event should be given pieces of precious metals for the efforts is completely beyond me. I understand the biathlon less than I understand the words "next date" and that's saying something. For all my cynicism, I'd still probably watch the event if I had cable.

The shoot n' snow event (I've renamed it] not withstanding, there's no reason why you shouldn't watch these games. Go and cheer for an underdog. Go root for the skeletoner... skeletonite... dude who participates in the the skeleton event who is from Denmark whose only competing with his sled Rusty SpeedCryer [writer's note: apparently Danish dudes who participate in the skeleton event name their sleds as though they were stereotypical Native Americans] and the song in his heart. Or, let me come over and watch it at your house because I don't have cable.

I'll bring the McDonald's and we can act just like the athletes in the Olympic village do: eating McNuggets until we burst. 'Cause the commercials tell us that's what all good athletes eat. If that's the case, I've got a ~~Big Mac Attack~~ some serious training to do.

USA! USA! USA!

Free flowers! Ladies, inquire within! (Act 2)

2010-02-15T06:32:00.000-08:00

...And I thought tax season was brutal. Back in the days of working at Harpeth Financial, I would regularly work seven days a week during tax season. It wasn't so much intense as it was long and boring. Kinda like Dances with Wolves. If you've never endured (and, really, that's the only way to describe it) Love Day by working at a florist, than you really haven't endured much of anything. Deliveries here, deliveries over there, deliveries and delusions of grandeur everywhere! I, strangely, really enjoyed myself despite the loopiness that eventually ensued.

If you'll notice the previous blog entry I was ready to make some single lady's dream come true on Valentine's Day. I promised them free flowers in exchange for, umm... not being alone on Valentine's Day night. Yeah. That'll work.

Oh, the reposts! Oh, the retweets! Oh, the text messages from friends saying "I showed this to everyone in my office!" And do you know how many direct responses I got from ladies who said, "Yeah. He's kinda cute. Short, but kinda cute. I'll let him bring me a boquet/arrangement/whateverit'scalled. Hell, I may even let him buy me a drink."

Zero. That's how many. Not one. None. At all.

What kind of world do we live in where a woman who, let's face it, has got to be almost as perpetually single as I am can't even say "Yeah, I don't dislike this guy enough where I'll let him bring me flowers." An arrangement that looks as magnificent as this:

If that doesn't just induce feelings of lust and desire, I don't know what will.

Ladies, I'm gonna be honest here: You are missing out on one hell of a prize. Clearly that prize is not me. I tried that. The prize now involves food. And drink. And a sweet ride. I'm now going to up the ante'. In addition to a free arrangement for you, I will throw in the following:
-- One free dinner to the restaurant of your choosing that doesn't involve the word(s) "King", "Castle", "Wendy's" or "Crazy Expensive". Clearly a meal here is not an option. Sorry.
-- ~~Almost~~ all the alcohol you can handle. ~~I don't want to end up being your drunk makeout session this month.~~
-- Valet parking (if it's available). This is a big deal.
-- An evening of elegance and style riding around in a 2007 Ford Escape. It's a bitchin' ride. Trust me.

I have really raised the stakes, I know.

Let's try this again, ladies. How can you resist?

Be sure to tune in for the exciting conclusion of this trilogy wherein I still get no response and offer, hell, I don't know... ballroom dancing lessons and half a dozen or so Titleist golf balls into the mix.

Free flowers! Ladies, inquire within.

2010-02-12T06:29:00.000-08:00

Irony: i-ro-ny [ahy-ruh-nee, ahy-er-] –noun, plural -nies.
1. the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning: The irony of her reply, “How nice!” when I said I had to work all weekend.

This is one of my favorite literary devices. Indeed it is. That and, as always, assonance. There are so many wonderful and fun ways to use it: to make fun of people, to make fun of situations, to make fun of people in situations. Um... Basically that would be it but that is the basis of humor and I'm not clever enough to think of new jokes or ways to use the old ones. I stick with what I know and it's lead me to the a life of fame, glory, and sleeping on top of a pile of money with many beautiful ladies each and every night. See? Irony. Right there.

For those of you who don't know, there aren't many holidays that I enjoy. Christmas, ~~Worksgiving~~ Thanksgiving, Easter, Valentine's Day: these are all days I can do without. Don't get me wrong, I think that the meaning behind them is fantastic but dropping some cash on chocolates or flowers for your sweetie just because the world says you should and if you don't you're going to be sleeping on the couch next to your 60 pound boxer who would be more than willing to make sweet love on you all night long... that's just wrong By the way, I did a Google image search for "boxer" and found yonder image. The url associated with it ended with "Boxers at play". Check it out for yourself. I don't know what kinda play that is... This is where I'd make a joke about David Carradine or Roman Polanski but I don't have one for either off of the top of my head.

So, guys, you kinda hafta buy something for your sweetheart this weekend. Otherwise it'll be you, a bottle of Fireball whiskey, and your entire collection of Pirates of the Caribbean movies trying to make it through the next few days. Actually, that sounds like a pretty good weekend if you ask me. And, fellas, quit asking me for discounts. I think I may have done used 'em up. "May have done used 'em up"? Good God.

The personal irony for me is that in addition to loathing Valentine's Day is that I work at a florist on the weekends; a job which I adore on a day that I decidedly do not. For the next two-ish days, I will be driving around the greater Nashville area delivering love (hehehe). To see the reaction on women's faces (and probably some dudes', too) when I hand them their bouquet and then have them immediately run over and hug/kiss/makeoutwith their significant other while I'm standing there with my clipboard in my hand waiting for her or him to come back to the front door and sign it all the while freezing my ass off on what may very well be my least favorite day of the the year... Well, that's irony.

To the ladies who are reading this (and I know there are at least three or four of you), don't feel bummed if you ain't got nobody just like David Lee Roth in his song "Just a Gigolo". I don't either. And maybe, just maybe mind you, I'll make your Valentine's Day by swinging by your place after I'm done working and give you a flower or two. Goodness knows what happens when I give flowers out to women: Someone else comes along and gives her a bigger arrangement and she starts gushing about that one. Which may or may not have happened in real life within the past week to me.

Has anyone seen my pride? If so, can I have it back?

So ladies who may be interested in free flowers, get at me. Leave me a comment. Tell me why you deserve free flowers from me: charming, funny, bearded, handsome me. Make sure I've got your phone number. Wear something skimpy when I show up. You know the drill.

"Do you hate my boyfriend?"

2010-02-09T06:42:00.000-08:00

"Do you hate my boyfriend?"

I was sitting at my desk at Job #1 [attn: Josiah's sister - This is where I would have used ~~strike thru~~ on the name of Job #1 and then followed it up with some clever text but I'm not sure at how good the internets and the computerers are at finding the name of the company and I've already got into a spot of trouble for it. Know, however, I was thinking of you when I wrote that. You've now achieved infamy and immortality via a Stephen P. Bohn blog shout-out. May your days be golden.] yesterday when I got an IM from a friend of mine. Why, yes, I do stay signed into G-chat all day long. Why, yes, I do have my AIM linked to it. Why, yes, I would like a glass of pink lemonade.

"Do you hate my boyfriend?"

It was a strange thing to start a conversation with, right? Not as strange as, say, going up to a stripper and saying "Hey, baby... Wanna go make out in my limo?" but I guess that works for some dudes. Especially if you look like either a magician or a gender ambiguous villian from a James Bond movie. What's even more strange is how this dude to the left (his name is Erik by the way) used to play Dungeons and Dragons as a kid and considered himself a "late bloomer". If there is any sort of parallel between him and me, I'm gonna take my 10 point Magic Quarterstaff of Destiny and slay me a whole bunch of 'em. Yup. The adianoeta there? A quarterstaff is made of wood and well... you get the idea. It was a sex joke. There. Also, I feel pretty proud of myself for making a sex joke right next to the word "adianoeta".

Anyway... back to real life. 'Cause that's where I try to live occasionally. Her question threw me off: "Do you hate my boyfriend?" I told her I didn't. It's pretty difficult for me hate somebody if I don't know them although, in all honesty, that really hasn't stopped me before. I hate Peyton Manning and I've never met him. Really, though, what's not to hate about him? He gets up to the line of scrimmage, yells for a bit, runs a play, loses a game (or, more importantly in the annals of football, the Heisman Trophy to Charles Woodson), and then cries about it. How can you respect a man who cries when he loses a game? I cried when my grandparents died and when I get hit in the nuts but that's about it. And ~~only every time~~ maybe at the end of The Return of the King. But that's it. Not because I lost a game.

After re-confirming with my friend that I didn't hate her boyfriend, she proceeded to tell me that he thinks that I give him the evil eye on the occassions that I've met him. This may or may not be true but it certainly isn't intentional. I told her that on both the occasions that I have met him, I thought I had been civil enough, even if I didn't care enough to remember his name.

Turns out this dude is named Leeroy.

Naturally, this caused me to both yell out and type the "Leeroy Jenkins" battle-cry:

Yes, said battle cry brought some strange looks from the majority of my co-workers at Job #1. I'm one of those 'square pegs' here.

What? I like the internet and I alluded to the fact that I ~~really like~~ thought D&D was okay. Yeah, I know that's a World of Warcraft clip.

Good heavens... I just turned off my entire readership with my knowledge of RPGs. Oh, well... It's not like I have an image to worry about because women aren't going out with me very often either way. If I'm gonna be single, I might as well be single and happy as opposed to single and wearing a t-shirt / vest combination like most of my East Nashville counterparts.

So, friend who may or may not read this blog: I don't hate your boyfriend. But give it time because I very well could in the future. Who knows what tomorrow holds!?