Actual Life Changes and Good & Bad: 'The Walking Dead' Returns!

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The long President’s Day weekend was one of those weekends for yours truly. You know the type. On Saturday, the pipes on one side of our house froze due to the extreme cold, thawed, and then re-froze again by Sunday. As of press time, they are not currently frozen, but who’s to say what the future will hold? Also on Saturday, my car slipped into a coma from which it shall never emerge. When I dropped it off at the mechanic’s, I did the move where I tore open my shirt and yelled “Take what you need! Just leave me enough to make it home!” Everyone was very confused by this and I was ushered out quickly. Also, I failed to win a spot in the Broad Street Run.

                Things weren’t all bad, however. The wife and I spent a pleasant Valentine’s evening at sea. Then, the writing team of “The Walking Dead” finally managed to liberate me of my Sunday obligation to watch “The Walking Dead” by airing an episode so terrible, that I’ve given up on the show. Never again shall I spend a Sunday evening sighing loudly and arguing with characters on the TV while my wife sighs quietly to herself in another room.

                Long time blog readers will remember I once cribbed the format of a popular wrestling blog and used that to write up a season and a half of “The Walking Dead.” That stopped when I actively began to hate the show and all who dwelled within it. My relationship with it has limped along since – until this most recent episode, entitled “No Way Out.” Please, allow me to dust off my borrowed format for reviewing episodic television shows one last time and explain what has lead me to finally stop watching “The Walking Dead.” Warning: Spoilers abound.

• Bad: The past few seasons were something, yeah? Well forget them! They’re all gone! “The Walking Dead” writing staff is basically a kid on Christmas morning, stomping all over old toys to get at the new stuff. There’s a new big bad on the horizon which means now is the time to throw out all of those pesky storylines that have been simmering for the last two half-seasons. In the span of barely two minutes, Blonde Lady and both of her kids were killed off. So much for all that time we spent building Carl’s tweeny rivalry, Rick’s love interest, and Carol’s bizarre, cookie-and-gun based rivalry with a child. All gone.
• Bad: Also, bye bye, Wolf Guy. He had a momentary face turn and was gunned down before anything could come of it. Got to get rid of him. New baddies coming.
• Bad: Rick & Crew hit their five moves of doom. Oh yeah, forget about that highly dangerous walker hoard we spent all of last half season talking about. Half of one of the largest hoard of walkers ever shown on “The Walking Dead” broke off and headed right for Rick and company’s door. Then, the Wolves let them in. This massive collection of walkers seemed destined to force Rick and everyone else to give up Alexandria and once again flee for their lives. HA-HA. JK. No, all it took to completely eradicate that threat was for Rick to get really, really mad. Carl gets shot and so Rick walks out into the swarm and just starts offing walkers. This inspires maybe 8-9 others – many of whom rank among the show’s “most likely to be eaten” contingent – to also wander out and start hacking at walkers. This motley crew, armed with renowned WMDs such as screwdrivers, the butt ends of rifles and hatchets, lay waste to the swarm. Our heroes suffer ZERO casualties. Basically, “The Walking Dead” writing staff just John Cena’d the show’s walkers. They completely torpedoed them as a threat by making them so easy to dispose of that Rick can show up with the D-Team and kill thousands upon thousands of them without breaking a sweat. The next character killed by a walker is going to look like the biggest, dumbest asshole ever. I just watched Eugene hold his own against an army of these things. I just watched Nameless Alexandria Victims 1-5 hold their own against them. I hope Negan is a good enough bad guy to last the rest of your series because the walkers just got AA’d into oblivion.
• Bad: On that note: Rick and company, holed up somewhere, repelling assaults from a much-hyped, mustache-twirling super villain. What a novel concept, “The Walking Dead.” Wow.  
• Bad: OMG. He’s dead. PSYCH! I suppose “The Walking Dead” writing team is unfamiliar with the concept of the boy who cried wolf, wherein, if you trick people enough times, eventually they won’t listen or care when you come to them with the truth. We’ve now done two “Glenn is 100% dead, there’s no way he’s surviv… oh he survived it” gags in two half-seasons. Amazingly, this most recent example was even more brainless than the last. This episode also featured the second instance of “Carl is dead, no he’s not.” Hell, it opened with Sasha and Abe being on death’s door until, miraculously, they weren’t. Writers, you do realize that when you finally get around to killing any of these people, no one will care, right? You’re burning people out with this crap. Just kill them or stop pretending to kill them.
• Bad: Carol. Deranged Psycho. Murderer of reformed Wolves. Haunter of Children’s Psyches. At what point do the other characters need to have a talk about her? I mean, the plan has to be to attempt to rebuild a society eventually, correct? Carol, what with her constant need to proactively eliminate all threats (perceived/imagined) is no longer meant for society. She’s worse than Daryl was that one time he went full-feral. Sure, this iteration of Carol may seem helpful now, but what happens when she’s pulling knives on jaywalkers or giving mandatory detailed guest lectures at elementary schools on the horrifying realities of mortality?     

                Goodbye, “Walking Dead.” It’s been … frustrating. 

The Wife & I Survive A Brush with a Major Life Change

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My wife and I had a bit of a scare this weekend. Late Sunday afternoon, we found ourselves eye-to-eye with one of those life-altering changes that always seem to come up unexpectedly. It was one of those moments when all of the planning and precautions went out the window and we were left staring down a hard life turn that had arrived much sooner than we’d ever expected.

We nearly adopted a puppy.

I know. It’s one of those things you hear about happening to other couples and you think you’re being careful to avoid it. Then, next thing you know, you’re in a pet store staring at a little black pit bull mix and contemplating how to best alter the next eight to ten years or so of your life plans.

There are 100 reasons why the wife and I shouldn’t have a dog right now. We already have two cats, one of whom likes dogs and the other of whom does not like dogs. Our backyard isn’t fenced in and many of our neighbors are shiftless good-for-nothings which means at least 45% of the sidewalks in our neighborhood are buried under around a foot of snow. This would make walking our new bundle of joy a life-threatening chore. Oh, also, we have multiple trips planned for this year and beyond. Even though the airlines have embraced service dogs, I’m not sure pit bull-style dogs are welcomed with open arms. That means finding someone to provide the little guy with the near-round-the-clock attention puppies need. Speaking of around-the-clock attention, my wife and I both work and I’m not sure the cats, even the dog-friendly one, will be up to entertaining a puppy all day. This would mean me bolting home from work at lunch time to let the doggie out to do his business and get some exercise. In turn, this would seriously cut into my nonsense blogging time.

Despite the mountain of reasons why not to get a puppy, there was an equally compelling argument to be made for adopting the puppy, i.e., “But still. Puppy. I wants.” 

The Official 10 Commandments of Winter Weather

My friends, winter has come to Pennsylvania. If you don’t live here, you may be thinking something

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to the effect of: “Get with it, old man. It’s been winter for over a month now.” My initial response to that would be: “Cool it with that old man business. I just bought a Meghan Trainor album off iTunes. Does that sound like something an old man would do? I don’t think so.”

               That aside, this winter had been a fairly mild one until this past weekend when much of the east coast was buried under unfathomable amounts of snow. So much snow that Woolly Mammoths would fall into a fit of hysterics just thinking about it. This sorry state of affairs is what led me to proclaim that winter proper has come.

                If we’re all going to get through the next few months, those of us who live in places prone to honest-to-god winter conditions need to stick together. That means following the Official 10 Commandments of Winter Weather. Now, I’ve already noticed a few of you breaking some of these, so I thought a refresher might be in order. Remember, these commandments are literally the only thing keeping us from going full Donner Party or Revenant on each other. 

5 Personal Wilderness Experiences As Trying & Life-Affirming As Anything in 'The Revenant'

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Over the weekend, the wife and I saw The Revenant. This decision was driven mostly by my love of Leo DiCaprio, Tom Hardy and a fondness for much of director Alejandro G. Inarritu’s back catalog. Set in 1823 (minor spoilers follow), the movie, which is quite good, tells the story of a wilderness guide named Hugh Glass who is horrifically mauled by a bear, witnesses his son die a tragic death and then is abandoned by his compatriots and left for dead. Glass, contrary to what his name might imply, doesn’t die. In fact, he sort of recovers and sets off after those who wronged him and his family, dead set on revenge. Along the way even more horrible stuff happens to him involving waterfalls and cliffs and the like. The movie runs about 2 ½ hours and really the only time Glass looks even remotely happy for that entire time, even while his son is alive, is when he’s catching snowflakes on his tongue with a new friend. This part doesn’t really turn out well either.

                Glass’ experience in the woods got me thinking about some of my own wilderness excursions. Now, sure. Old Hugh might have me beat a little bit in terms of what he endured out there. However, I’ve had a time or two out there as well, let me tell you. Consider the following: 

Complaining About the Good Deeds of Others: Fundraising 101

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Each year around early November, office break rooms around the country turn into Willy Wonka’s Site B. One possible explanation is that deals were cut with the chocolate magnate to store all of the candy that couldn’t fit in the Chocolate Factory proper until room cleared. Another possible explanation? A more likely one? The candy influx is the result of health-conscious parents trying to keep kids from eating their weight in Halloween candy.

                The thing is, Halloween rolls into Thanksgiving which then rolls into Christmas, each holiday bringing more and more treats. All the while, fitness-focused parents are siphoning sweets off from their kid’s stash and leaving them in the break room for adults to gorge themselves on. This never-ending supply of free candy makes every trip to the water cooler or microwave an extreme test of self-control. This dance occurs every year, but this year I discovered a new wrinkle. 

The Cheese Life Presents The 2015 Drakie Awards

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Here we sit. Christmas is in the rearview. A new year looms ahead and with it comes roughly three or four months of unrelenting bleakness capable of crushing the spirits of even the most stalwart of individuals. Before we get to that joy, however, there is something which must be done first. We must look back at the year that was 2015.

                Ladies and gentlemen, the 2015 Drakie Awards.

                If you’re unfamiliar the Drakies (here are the 2014 Drakies and the 2013 Drakies), they are the awards founded by my friend and business partner Drake Stone. Depending on who you talk to, Stone is either hiding in a concrete bunker in the Rocky Mountains avoiding the former members of the Doomsday cult he founded and misled, or serving as president of a small island mostly populated by seagulls. Wherever he is and whatever he may be doing, he’s entrusted these awards – which he’s often referred to as the least relevant portion of his legacy – to me.  

Despite Stone’s feelings on the awards, I take them very seriously. Before I lock in my selections, I lock myself in a dark, windowless room and spend a week ruminating on the year. What I liked, what I didn’t. Depriving myself of food, water and bathroom privileges. It’s a whole thing. The point is, these winners were not selected lightly. So, without further stalling or ado-ing, I take you to the 2015 Drakies.

The 10 Dumbest Christmas Songs Ever Written

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It’s become a bit of a tradition on this blog for me to set my sights on a beloved Christmas song and then nitpick it to absolute death. It’s fun. We all love it. However, I won’t be doing it this year. I’ve already covered the two biggest, easiest targets (Here & Here) and, with those two off the board, there really isn’t another Christmas song out there I can muster 800+ angry words about. The good news is, there are plenty of songs I can muster a few dozen angry words about. Lo, I give you: The 10 Dumbest Christmas Songs Ever Written.

(Editor’s note: In the name of making this a comprehensive list, I had to include a few old friends in the mix.) 

AN EPIC TALE OF MAN VS. MACHINE

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I spend a lot of time on this blog talking about issues that aren’t interesting to anyone but me. My readership figures indicate this fact to me quite clearly. In the extremely rare instance that one of my long-winded complaints has a wider appeal than one, it is never of any real consequence. It’s more of a commonly-accepted annoyance than a pressing issue worthy of the attention of societal leaders.

                Until today. My friends, computer keyboards are a huge problem and they need to be addressed. Well, not the whole keyboard necessarily. Just one midsized key. The Caps Lock key. Ask yourself, how many times have you pressed the Caps Lock key on purpose? Now think about how many times you’ve pressed it by accident. If you’re anything like me, the percentage is somewhere in the neighborhood of 99% by accident to 1% intentional. That may be being generous on the intentional front.

                Here’s a regular scenario for me. I’m in need of a capital “A.” I hit the Shift key using my right hand, no problem. I reach for the “A” key with my left, my dominant hand, and somehow, someway, overshoot the “A” and nail the Caps Lock. Of course, I assume everything went according to plan and so I’ll just continue typing away. Yes, despite the amount of time I spend using keyboards, I still find myself watching my fingers as I type. I’m not looking for the letters, necessarily. The only way I can explain this is, I use my feet a lot, and yet I still find myself staring at them while I walk. It’s just a habit?

                Back to the problem. So, I’m typing along and then I glance at my screen and see it: a line or two of all caps. Unintentional all-caps. For years, this meant me having to delete everything I typed and then retype it. Only recently did I discover the existence in Microsoft word of the “Change Case” option. This helpful little icon can change all-caps text to any old kind of caps style you require, including regular-caps text.    

                Still, it’s an added step that I don’t need in my life. Is there any reason the Caps Lock key needs to exist let alone occupy such a place of prominence on my keyboard? I mean, I’m good with holding the Shift button down if I for some reason need a lengthy sequence of caps. But if this needs its own button, why can’t that button live off with the equally little used, by me anyway, Num Lock button? You know, somewhere where a guy is less-likely to accidentally encounter it while he’s feverously typing about nonsense for a personal blog?

                Perhaps it’s a union thing among keyboard keys. Or could it be that Big Caps Lock has the keyboard industry wrapped around its little finger? I can’t say.

                If we can’t get rid of or move the Caps Lock key, here’s an idea. Let’s put one of those little glass cubes on top of it. There will be a little hinge so the cube can be lifted up. Basically, it’s like the thing that covers the red “Nuclear War” button that every president has on his/her desk in the movies. That way, if I need Caps Lock (assuming hell has frozen over), it’s still in its same high-value spot. All I need to do is lift up the little cover and tap it. Then, when I’m done, I can replace the cover and carry on with my typing, free of the fear of accidentally activating it.

                Is this too much to ask? Presidential candidates! Hear me, I pray you! The first one of you that starts talking about keyboard key placement will absolutely get my vote next year! Unless it’s Trump. Then I’m going to have to rethink my position on this thing entirely.

Black Friday Survival Guide: 5 Keys to Bargain-Hunting & Coming Back Alive

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Soon, very soon, Black Friday will be upon us. A day which began as a way to honor the birth of Arthur C. Woolworth and has since mutated into an unholy orgy of commercialism. How far we’ve come, Mr. W. How far we’ve come, indeed.

In all likelihood at least a few of you will be heading out into that madness in an ill-fated attempt to get a good deal on a television or an Xbox. In reality, you have a better chance of getting an excellent deal on an elbow to the temple or a knee to the groin. What you won’t get is an Xbox. But still, I’m sure you’ll try. I know that I can’t talk you out of going out on Black Friday. Not any more than I can talk fish out of swimming. What I can do is offer you a few tried and true survival tips, tips which are based on my own experiences and musings. Follow these, my friends, and my blog traffic may not dip significantly come December.

Because you’ll still be alive. See what I did there?

Anyway, here are those tips:

• Say “Hi!” to every dog you meet. Now, in all likelihood, you will encounter very few dogs on Black Friday. As a species, they’ve developed a strong aversion to materialistic pursuits. If you do see one, give him or her a friendly smile and wave. He or she will remember this kindness and, if the shit hits the fans, you may just be able to count on him or her having your back.
• Stay within walking distance of your home. For one thing, you’re more likely to end up shopping alongside people you know and people you know are scientifically-proven to be 13% less likely to strangle you with your own entrails over a PS4. Always play the odds. Even better, say you indulge a little too heavily on Thanksgiving. This allows you to get your shopping in, burn a few calories and not risk driving in a drunken, food-addled state.
• Think before you act. Last year the wife and I went out on Black Friday because we had a coupon to save $5 on hockey tape. This coupon was only good at one store and so we went there. It just so happens that this one store is located within the confines of the largest mall on the Eastern seaboard. The blood of many innocents was spilled that day, if such things exist on Black Friday. Sure, we got our discounted hockey tape. But at what cost? Nothing on the coupon compelled us to go there on that day. We could have gone on any Regular Day and gotten the same discount. We did not think and we ended up in a feeding frenzy. Know what you’re doing before you do it. Structure is the key to survival. Your instincts must not be trusted on that day.
• Go against the grain. Everyone will flock to the Wal-Marts and the Best Buys of the world the second they finish their Thanksgiving meal. It is from these stores that all of the day’s viral videos of fistfights and chaos will emerge. If you must go shopping, shop against the grain. Research deals in unexpected places. Is the local, family-owned cigar store selling something on the cheap? Go there. Buy all that you can. Don’t smoke? Are there no smokers on your list? Don’t let that get in the way of a good deal. They can learn to enjoy it.
• Remember those who have come before. No truly great Black Friday shopper has hands that are blood-free. Many have fallen in pursuit of a hot deal. Many have likely fallen directly as a result of you punching a fist through their torso. Remember them. Before you leave your home, pour out a few pennies on the sidewalk in their honor. Perhaps if the requisite number of pennies are left, their spirits will elect to watch over you that day and see you to safety. Or so you should pray.         

Choose Your Own Adventure: Lunchtime Microwave Edition

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I’ve spent a lot of time, some would say too much time, writing out the things people do at work that bug me (For proof, please see here, here, here and here). More than a few of these involve the bathroom. Actually, a good chunk of my problems with society in general stem from others’ inability to follow a few, basic and simple Water Closet Protocols as I call them.

Recently, I’ve discovered a new thing that happens at work to complain about. Good news, it has nothing to do with the bathroom! Nope, if the story of a meal ends in the bathroom, then this issue concerns the place where that story begins: the kitchen.

                Lunch. For most of us, it’s the midpoint of the workday. A time when you can either look back and say: “I’ve done some good things here today” or “It’s what time? Sweet Jesus. Well, I’ve still got all afternoon to finish that up. Should be fine.”

                I’m a creature of habit and so most days at work my lunch looks a little something like this: container of plain Greek yogurt with a few assorted berries sprinkled in, an apple and either leftovers or a container of plain chicken and veggies. It’s a boring lunch for a boring gentleman. Just like our forefathers intended when they built this great land of ours.

                That last element of the lunch, the container of either leftovers or chicken, that’s where the trouble resides. See, 19 out of every 20 lunches I eat require whatever is in here to be microwaved for somewhere between a minute and a minute and a half if I’m feeling froggy. It’s not a big deal. The kitchen is directly next to my cube so the walk is short. Plus, the fact that I can see the kitchen allows me to time it to minimize awkward social interaction should I so choose.

                However, twice in the last, let’s say two weeks, the following has occurred. I’ve been hard at work, noticed the time and the rumbling in my tummy and, after a quick glance over at the empty kitchen, have decided: “OK, let’s do this.” I grab my lunch from my lunchbox scurry over to the kitchen, go to place it in the idle microwave and BAM! There’s someone else’s already-nuked lunch sitting in there.

Infographic: America's Taste in Candy is Suspect

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Halloween is gone, leaving in its wake naught but candy wrappers, empty bottles of pumpkin beer and a few mutilated pumpkins. For those of us for who hold Halloween as sacred, myself and druids mostly, these are dark, depressing days. The longest possible time until we get more Halloween. Not even the promise of the impending Thanksgiving and Christmas seasons can cheer us up. Not right now.  

                In this awful, depressing wasteland of early November, there’s only one thing to do: go back in time and pretend it’s still Halloween. Bingo. Done. So, let’s talk about this pre-Halloween infographic I just stumbled upon today. It concerns a study done on the favorite candies of each of the fifty states. More than 40,000 Americans from all states were asked to name their favorite Halloween candy. This is what they came up with.

 

                That comes courtesy of Influenster.

                To be perfectly honest, there are a lot of things mortally wrong with that picture. I’m going to pick out the six that stuck in my craw the most.

1. No Mallow Cups. The only acceptable reason for Mallow Cups to not be included on this infographic is if the question was: “What’s your favorite Halloween candy? You know, besides Mallow Cups, which are number one on everyone’s list because this is America. So besides that given, what’s your favorite?” Last year, Mallow Cups took home the top spot on my own Halloween power rankings, as it has done every year of my life. Its absence from this study is a sad testament to the decline of this great country. Click here to view the Jeff Daniels rant from The Newsroom and just imagine he’s talking about candy.
2. West Virginia Doesn’t Know the Difference Between Candy and Cookies. Seriously, West Virginia? It’s not hard. You’ve got a cookie aisle in grocery stores and a candy aisle. One of them is a thing you bake or something and the other one is made from the bones of elves or something. Look, I’m not a chef and I’m not a scientist, but I know one goddamn thing: an Oreo is not candy. I expect this kind of crap out of Florida, but not you, West Virginia.
3. Speaking of Which … What Happened to Florida? Look at it down there. Picking a great candy like Nestle Crunch, being all normal. Florida, no offense, but anecdotally-speaking, you are the dumbest and weirdest state in the Union. I half expected to scroll down and see a picture of John Candy smiling back at me because every single one of your citizens misunderstood the question. But no. You made a great pick with Nestle Crunch. Meanwhile, West Virginia is sitting up there dunking M&Ms in a glass of milk.
4. Arizona Picked Toblerone. I know two things about this candy: I’ve never had it and it comes in a long triangle box. My guess is, judging by that box, they’re super expensive. I have no science to back that up. I’m not sure how these are better than milk chocolate cups filled with marshmallow but whatever.  
5. Pennsylvania Picked Swedish Fish. Really? Swedish Fish are fine I guess, but they should not be anyone’s favorite anything. I’m going to chalk this up much in the same way I chalk up all things that are wrong with Pennsylvania: Philadelphia and Pittsburgh tried to do the right thing and then the entire middle of the state took a big dump on their good intentions.
6. What’s with that Kit Kat Logo in Montana? A quick Googling tells me that is the international Kit Kat logo. Since this survey only concerns these here United States, let’s just stick with the logo we all know and are comfortable with, yes? Yes.

The 12 Half-Marathon Training Tips THEY Don't Want You to Hear

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I’m going to be running my first-ever half marathon on Saturday. I’ve been preparing for this for quite some time – longer even then I’ve been preparing for Halloween if you can believe it. During my months and months of rigorous training, I’ve sweated, I’ve bled and I’ve learned a few things about distance running which I would like to share with you.  

Now sure, a quick Googling will turn up a few hundred million websites all purporting to offer the best and most valuable tips for surviving – and even thriving during – your half marathon. All of those things are great. Who doesn’t want to survive and thrive? However, I’ve noticed there are a few things they, the running literati, won’t tell you. While they may not be on the tips of anyone’s tongue, these things are just as important to survival.

I will impart this wisdom to you now in the form of a bulleted list:

My Adventures Doing the Exact Opposite of 'Speed'

I’m a slow driver. Some have said I drive the way old people make love – often using much more colorful terminology to do so. Usually, I retort with something along the line of “Yes, carefully and with years of experience.” It’s not a mic drop moment, it’s barely even a place the mic slowly back into the storage closet at the end of the night, sign it a lullaby and put on its Chris Rock nightlight moment. Still, it usually gets a chuckle and life goes on.

                I mean, I’m not going to argue. I am a slow a driver. I have been since the days when I carefully pushed my Matchbox cars around fake cityscapes, following what my 8-year-old brain understood to be “The rules of the road.” It ain’t going to change – well, not for the better anyway. Pack on 10-20 years and I’m going to be in danger of being thoroughly lapped by children on big wheels.

                I – and the drivers in between my place of business and my place of residence – got a sampling this past week of just what he future entails for me as a motorist.   

                First, a little backstory. I was finishing up my business at a local gas station the other morning. I needed to turn myself around in the lot, so I attempted to execute one of those three-point turns. It was empty so I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal. I pulled forward and though “Huh, I might make this in one go.” Naturally, the second I thought that, I heard the thing everyone who has ever thought that hears: the sound of tires or plastic or something scraping on something else. In this case, it was my tire and a curb. I sighed. The thing was, it didn’t sound that bad. It sounded like I was just sort of very lightly grazing it. I did what anyone would do, I dumbly pushed through it. My car didn’t flip, soon the scraping noise stopped. I made my way to the gym and that was that.

                But that wasn’t that. If that was that, this wouldn’t be a blog post. It would be a story I tell my wife when she asks me how my day was and I blank on the hours between 7-5. 

                A few hours later I exited the gym (No car cats, by the way) and found my tire, the one I scraped, mostly flat. I wasn’t totally surprised by this. I noticed it was looking a little light the day before and had, lazily, decided to let it go. I thought it must have been on its way to flat and then the incident from earlier in the day had pushed it along the rest of the way.

                It wasn’t so flat that I couldn’t drive it, so I made my way to the same gas station from earlier to get air. The air pump was broken. I went to a different gas station, slightly less nearby, and proceeded to refill the tire. While I was doing this, I noticed a slight tear on the side wall of the tire in the middle of an uneven, bubbly bit. Knowing that probably wasn’t a good thing, I finished the short rest of the trip to work.

               

Camping: How to Show Your Ancestors Who's Boss

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Recently the wife and I ventured into the cold, dark heart of nature in order to prove to our long-gone ancestors that we are capable of surviving as they did, in harsh and angry world devoid of modern comforts. Just as they did, we spent our days walking and our nights under the stars. We cooked our food over a roaring fire and raised a toasted marshmallow in tribute to those who came before us.

                Oh and also like our ancestors, we kept a car close by. You know, to keep us and our food safe from marauding bears and to drive in case we wanted to go somewhere that was really far away and we didn’t feel like walking.    

                Alright fine, so maybe our ancestors wouldn’t exactly have been bowled over by our definition of roughin’ it, but still, we did survive a weekend spent predominantly outdoors. That has to count for something. Get off my back, ancestors.

                Probably the most important part of any camping trip, after the tent, a knife and finding a cool walking stick, is the fire. Without a fire, you got nothing. No s’mores, no light, no warmth. (Editor’s Note: These things are listed in order of importance from most important to least important.)

As I’ve found out from past camping experiences, lighting a fire without the benefit of electricity or propane or what have you can be trying. Very trying. You got to find the right blend of large and small bits of wood, you need something to get it going with, be it matches or flint, etc. So this time, I planned ahead. On the way home from work on the day we were set to depart, I stopped at a local grocery store and picked up two Duraflame logs. Duraflame logs are amazing. They’re what Prometheus got busted stealing from the gods. At my wife’s suggestion we also packed a bunch of wood that’s been collecting in our backyard. We had prepackaged corporate/Ancient Greek fire and we had lumber. We were set.

Halloween Planning and the Return of a Beloved Gym Mystery (with pics)

Right off the top, I want to apologize for the sudden scarceness of posts on the site. No, I didn’t get too “Hollywood” for this blog, despite what the buzz on the Internet may say. The actual story is that it’s late September which means I’ve been in full-blown preparing for Halloween mode for the last … I don’t know. July? Since July. All of this planning and such has finally begun to eclipse my devotion to my other favorite pastime: writing nonsense on the Internet.  

                Some years I handle my spooky season business a little bit better than others. This year not so much. I’ve got three trips to the hardware store invested into my Halloween costume (making a T-800 arm, dressing as Arnie from Terminator: Genisys). I’ve also got some designs worked up in my brain for new homemade outdoor decorations. It’s just, it’s a lot. I don’t want to say planning a wedding was easy compared to planning Halloween … so I’m just going to leave it at that. Hahaha kidding … or am I?

                Anyway, so even though blogs are light right now I still love you all to bits and pieces. And that is precisely why I felt it was imperative to interrupt my Halloweenings to share this news with you.

                So, remember my classic blog post from August 29 entitled “Gym Mysteries: The latest and most adorable new chapter?” Here’s the link in case you don’t. The long and the short of it was I walked out of the gym one morning and saw a cat napping in the rear window of a car. This sent me off on fits of wild and rampant speculation about the true nature of the car’s owner, life in general and cat’s place in it, etc. Then I didn’t see the cat anymore, Halloween took over my life and that was that. 

Transforming Labor Day into the Greatest Holiday Ever: 6 Easy Steps

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Happy Labor Day to all! For over a hundred years now, the good citizens of the US have celebrated Labor Day. It’s a day designated to honor the hard work and sacrifice of the American workforce. That sounds just dynamite … in theory. In practice, however, Labor Day is a little bit blah.

                Allow me to explain.

                See, Labor Day is the third holiday is a row that’s celebrated in essentially the exact same way. We wave American flags, shoot off fireworks, go to the beach, hold a BBQ and maybe watch a parade. In practice, it’s exactly like Memorial Day and the Fourth of July, except it’s worse because while those fall at the beginning and middle of summer, Labor Day falls at the end. So it’s exactly like those other summer holidays, except that it’s also the unofficial start of the school year.

                I’m not saying we ditch Labor Day. I enjoy days off from work and celebrating America as much as the next guy. In fact, Labor Day can easily become our greatest holiday. It just needs a slight face lift. Here’s what I’m proposing:

                Step 1: Reformat all Labor Day parades. Typically in a parade, at least the smaller ones, you get a bunch of kids riding their bikes in red, white and blue, maybe chucking candy at you. This is nice, but it’s too Memorial Day-y and Fourth of July-y. For Labor Day, how about we keep the kids, but dress them from head to toe in rags, cover them in grease and have them throw severed fingers and hands at onlookers? You know, to symbolize how all of our children could be spending their youths crawling around inside machinery, losing digits left and right? I mean, the fingers and hands could be gummies at least. That might be fun.

                Step 2: Put some Union classics in theaters. Movie studios tend to shy away from Labor Day weekend in terms of big releases. The most successful Labor Day opening of all time is Rob Zombie’s hot pile of garbage “Halloween.” Since new-Hollywood isn’t using Labor Day correctly, let’s flood cinemas with some old school Union classics like “How Green was My Valley.” No non-workforce-related movies allowed! Make it a day of learning. If this so happens to give movie theater people a slower holiday, well then don’t say I never did anything foryou.

                Step 3: Do something with costumes. Adults, kids, we all love dressing up as stuff. What if on Labor Day we all dressed up as our favorite labor leaders? Imagine going to the grocery store decked out in your finest Samuel Gompers attire and seeing your typically straight-laced neighbor rocking a Cesar Chavez ensemble? You two can ask questions about each other’s outfits, maybe share a laugh. Fun and educational.   

                Step 4: We need some sort of game. Easter has its egg hunts. If I was a less politically correct man, maybe I’d suggest some sort of game where someone hides a Jimmy Hoffa action figure and then others have to go find it. But I’m very politically correct and thus I will not suggest that. Not. At. All. Not suggesting it.

                Step 5: Needs a signature horror movie. All the great holidays have them, Labor Day needs one. I’ll tweet at Eli Roth about this. Maybe my bestie Alex Aja will want to help.

                Step 6: Must-have TV tradition. After a long day of cos-play, union movie marathons and morbid child parades, families may want to settle down together in front of the TV. What better way to do that than with one of the greatest “Simpsons” episodes of all time?” An episode which may also be one of the greatest pro-Union works of all time? That’s right, from season four, episode 17, 1993’s “Last Exit to Springfield.” Homer as a Union head battles Mr. Burns over the nuclear plant’s dental plan. It could easily become Labor Day’s answer to the Charlie Brown Christmas Special or Rudolph.