Archive for March, 2007
Yesterday I had what I would call a near death experience that took place in slow motion, but somehow also in just a heartbeat. A very large SUV coming in my direction on a major street went out of control, sideswiped a newish Mercedes, and slid sideways on two wheels straight towards me, missing the front of my car by about 10 feet before it crashed into a parked motorhome to my right.
I watched it come straight at me frame by frame, hearing the screeching and seeing clouds of smoke and small details like the airborne tires spinning, but then a second later it was over and the SUV flopped back to ground on 4 wheels. I drove on slowly, pausing for a look to see that the occupants were o.k., and they seemed to be, so I went on my way to work.
I’m not sure who left more of a skidmark, the SUV or (if you get my drift) me, but I had in the brief time that it was looking like I was going to be dead meat, pictured the newspaper article in the Wednesday L.A. Times describing how if I had lived, I would have celebrated my birthday today. Crap…. I really don’t need this now, it’s bad enough getting another decade older.
Well, if that which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, I must be ready for anything now.
I’ve been taking a breather the past few weeks to get over the flu, and to reconsider where I want to go with this blog. Or if I want to go, considering privacy issues and such. That being said, it seems it’s going to be in the humor direction, feel free to comment if you’d like.
The following are some observations of mine, and some quotes amassed the past few years from sites that I’ve long forgotten so I can’t give credit, all having to do with the divide between men and woman, hence the title.
Using the political policy of the evil empire that is in control of this country, any you like are ones that I wrote, any you dislike are the output from low life republicans (yeah, redundant).
1. Women go to a store to shop, men usually go to a store to buy.
When a guy needs a new pair of shoes, he will enter the building, go to the shoe section and look around for (most often) less than 2 minutes before seeing what he likes, and after making sure that they fit, take them to the checkout register.
Women, on the other hand, will spend hours walking up and down aisles comparing the merits, colors, and materials of flats, heels, Ughs, sandals, and a ton of other shoes the names / styles of which are not part of my vocabulary, before going to a different part of the store and buying a scarf.
2. “Most women marry men believing they’ll change, and
most men marry women believing they’ll never change.”
Both are usually wrong.
3. “If a woman has to choose between catching
a fly ball and saving an infant’s life, she will
choose to save the infant’s life without even
stopping for a moment to consider if there
are any runners on base.”
O.K., that’s a start, feel free to kick in with any others.
This is a comment I posted on the Dilbert blog earlier today, after Scott Adams asked about the difference between our form of government and the one they have in Iran, I thought it was worth posting here. Also, I’m working really long hours on a film and in truth I don’t have the energy to write another word today, so here it is in all its copied and pasted glory:
Here in the U.S. we have a “President” that’s in office thanks to either the “Supreme Court” or a company that manufactures vote counting machines and is owned by a person with ties to donations to a certain political party, depending on who you choose to believe. This “President” is also in the 2nd place in our power structure, ruled over by the “Vice President” who is appointed by the “Corporations”, these actually make the decisions that run the country.
You might remember when there was a question about the “President” having some sort of bump on his back during the debates, that’s just the accidently left open trap door to where the person doing the actual thinking puts his hand in to make it seem like the “President” is making his own movements or speach.
The “Vice President” isn’t really a good ventriloquist, as you can see by how he can’t manage to keep his mouth to be level as he tries to make it look like he’s not the one who’s actually speaking. If he was really good, he could drink a glass of water while the dummy, ooops, the “President” was speaking. I’ve never seen this happen yet. The “President” on the other hand (the one that most likely belongs to the bloated creature known as “Rove”), has known problems just eating a pretzel, even when he’s not speaking. Or snorting, for that matter.
So, getting to your question about which system is better, it’s like asking someone if they want to be thrown into a cage full of lions or a cage full of tigers (any other Detroit sport teams besides the Pistons to add to this analogy?). In the end, no pun intended, we’re all just so much shit on the bottom of a cage to the ones that really do run things. Me? I’m going in to the tar and feather retailing business, I think there’s going to be a really big demand for these items sometime in 2008.
Bosko was a bit over 130 pounds of love disguised as a Husky / Malmute mix, otherwise known as my last dog buddy. He lived to be about 13 people years of age, outliving his Vetrinarian who, when Bosko was a pup, had said because of his size, he would only make it to 7 years, perhaps 8 or 9 at the best. The non-Armenian Veterinarian (one might assume otherwise with, you know, that ….ian ending) lived to be about 8 in dog years, Bosko took no joy in this. In the formulaic title of this short post, Bosko lives on in my memories, greater than the truth year by year. I chose to not use the underscore to separate the words in the name of this blog_like_this, this always looks goofy to me when people do it, so I ran them together. When I married the evil one in Indiana, her daughter was 4 years old, and when said daughter walked Bosko, people on the sidewalk would often cross to the other side of the street to avoid the chance that he might be overly protective of her, but the real truth is that there was never a more gentle big dog on the planet. Well, maybe other than “Puppy”, the Belgian sheppard that due being around during my Hippy days, never got a real name. Towards the end of his days, when I moved to Indiana, Bosko saw his first snow and went nuts, prancing around like a deer. I guess he always sensed that something was missing from what his genetic set up was made for, and then one day it was dropped on him. Maybe then he was aware of why he dug those deep pits in my yard in Sun Valley, California, where the temperature seldom dropped under 80 and the chance of snow drifts was really, really remote. Miss you man, maybe not your farts, but your drooling smile!