Sunday, August 3, 2014

On the road again....

Well I was drivin' down the road trying to loosen my load I got a world of trouble on my mind. Actually, to be blunt, a world of trouble on the road in front of me. My main goal every day as I get behind the wheel is to get from point A to point B, (with a quick layover at point C, where I discuss the possibility of Point D with person of interest A) as quickly as possible. Got that? Where was I. Driving. Yes, it is the bane of the Guitarman's existence. I have had enough. I want to sit in the back seat having a martini while my chauffeur drives me around like a peacock on parade. I want to wave my Grey Poupon at some unsuspecting soul on the sidewalk eating a hot dog. And it has nothing to do with me somehow being rich. I just don't want to drive anymore.

It all starts with one inevitable truth: something will piss me off today. And more times than not, it is someone in the left lane. Not just some clueless cell phone yacker, but some who suffers form SISRFAS. Yes, yes, I know, you see it too right? I mean one minute, you try and overtake them, and the next, they suddenly decide that they want to speed up and deny you your God Given Right to pass a slower vehicle. They can't be doing it on purpose, so it must be SISRFAS. (That's pronounced, as if I had to tell you, SISSER-FASS) Still confused? Sudden Involuntary Spasmodic Right Foot Acceleration Syndrome is nothing to laugh about. It afflicts a good 25% of the general population, which means about 75% of our friendly cheese curd loving, Packer backing friends to the north.

Think I am exaggerating? Think I am picking on a certain group? Quite possibly. But I will tell you this: be it the 8 lanes of the tollway, or a simple 2 lane back road, if I am overtaking a slower moving vehicle, and I see the license plate says WI, I punch it. It's like some innate sense of insecurity or pride or stubbornness or infallibility or hell I don't, maybe they just hate us, or me, that causes them to speed up just enough to force me to get behind their slow moving carcass. Is there something in the WI rules of the road that obliges them to hold off IL drivers at bay? Is there something that young mothers slip into their formula when they are babies? Were they abducted by IL hating aliens and forced to undergo cranial re-configuration? All of the above? No, no, it's SISRFAS. They don't know why they do it. Some don't even know they are doing it at all.

True story. Coming back from a Dells weekend long ago, in which a complete stranger on the street turned around and screamed "Bears suck!!!" at me for the vile offense of wearing a Bears t-shirt in the holiest of WI shrines, I had an encounter with a WI driver. 2 lane road. Late at night. 55mph speed limit being strictly adhered to by the driver in front of me. I, unwilling and unable to do the same, waited for a safe spot in which to pass. And as I did, we went from 55, to 65 to 75, and I to finally well over 80mph to finally overtake him. And of course, he immediately got right on my tail, stayed with me at my accelerated pace, long enough to pull up next to me at a light and scream vulgarities at me like I had just run over his mother. All for the hellish crime of not wanting to drive behind him at his pace.

Look, I am no angel. I am not the devil either. I refuse to be taken hostage by the current wave of clueless drivers that cannot follow simple unwritten rules. Driving for me now has become a daily struggle. Avoiding the idiots and assholes has become a futile endeavor. It's like driving through a forest of redwoods. They are everywhere. I should probably feel sorry for those afflicted by SISRFAS, as they have a disease and don't even know it. But I don't. I want to trade in my car for a tank, and squash them into road kill. Love your fellow man, yada, yada, yada. But what if your fellow man has some little insecurity that won't allow this fellow man to drive his car faster than them? Where is that in the bible? I am sure that if I got to ask God one question, it would be this: why won't drivers from WI let me pass them? And I am sure his answer would be something like, "Because the Bears suck!" Maybe the little image of Calvin urinating on a Packers helmet on the back of my van has a little to do with it. But they don't see that until they are sucking up my exhaust fumes. Where is that jar of Grey Poupon?

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Say it ain't so Melo.

I think I am going to puke.

Now before you assume I have launched into a new expose on bodily functions that involve smelly piles of goo, let me assure that is not my intention. But after reading what I did in the paper today, and then seeing it as Yahoo's number one story at that moment, I was sick. Rampaging murderous thugs and terrorists aside, it was the sports section that got me today. And I can sum it up in one word, Melo.

Who wasn't sick when the big 3 decided to amass together one of the finest teams ever bought? It didn't seem fair. When the Bulls had their run, they did it the old fashioned way: they drafted their team. Oh sure, there were the notable Bill Cartright and Dennis Rodman signings, but they were just pieces to the whole puzzle. No, we grew our own Big Three that won the first 3 Championships. Jordan, Grant, and Pippen were all true Bulls. But in today's market, it's all about the cheddar, and guys jump teams like rats jump a burning ship. And their sits the King, Lebron. The leagues best player that jilted his home team to form an All-Star team in Miami, and he isn't satisfied.

Just as I was beginning to believe that the Bulls now have a chance to compete by pursuing free agent Carmelo Anthony to play along with our home grown duo of Rose and Noah, it is being rumored that the Heat's stars are considering re-organizing their contracts to allow them to pursue Anthony. In the middle of the Championship, with back to back titles under their belt and a third on the way, they want more. And so, I think I am going to puke. If Anthony joins the 3 brats in Miami, he is a bigger sellout than they are. Where is the challenge in that? It will be like playing a college team every night. It will be a joke to the rest of the league.

I miss the days when you drafted your best players and they were good enough to win it all. It made it special. Walter Payton, Michael Jordan, Patrick Kane, Dan Hampton, Scottie Pippen, Jonathon Toews, Mike Singletary, Horace Grant, the list is long and proud. But will we ever get to see the names of Joakim Noah and Derek Rose reach that championship status? Are they good enough on their own? Maybe in a league where 4 rich assholes weren't allowed to decide the outcome of nearly 400 players.

Monday, June 9, 2014

Let's clear the air.

You ever hear, or utter for that matter, the phrase, "...he walks around like his shit don't stink?" Not to be taken literally, it does not assume the offender parades around with poop stained undies, but rather possesses an air of indifference that exudes, "I am better then you." But we all know that everyone's poop does stink. Some more than others, and at times, an adventurous dinner choice can leave one with enough gas and foul smelling detritus to make his or her presence felt in ways that it shouldn't. It might be even glamorous now to have stinky crap. Ever see the commercial for Poo-Pouri, with the hot Brit gal telling us about the motherlode she just dropped? Cracked me up. But dear readers I am here to inform you that yes, my shit stinks.

It's not that I go around crop dusting everyone in my general vicinity with built up noxious fumes all the time. I do on occasion, but that is not the point today. And it's not like I am some un-trained puppy leaving piles around the house because someone won't open the door in time. I use the lavatory for it's intended purpose: to dispose of my bodily excrement. Oh sure, there are plenty of other fine uses for the bathroom. To take a bath for instance, hence the name "bath" room. Or brushing ones teeth. Or combing one's hair. Or using makeup, hair gel, athletes foot spray, toe nail fungus remover, band-aids, nail polish remover, under arm deodorant, shaving cream, cake frosting, or whip cream. Hey, to each his own. But each of those uses CAN be done in the loo whereas the former HAS to be done there. It's not like I have some other option, wooded lot behind me with a pile of leaves not withstanding.

No, a mans home is his castle they say, and every castle has it's throne. And any good king sits on his throne once a day at his given time, dispensing his kingly duties. My time is every morning after a cup of coffee, somewhere in the business section of the paper. I am predictable, as much for the timing of the event as the odor that accompanies it. So it is with a dose of sincerity that I offer my humblest apology to anyone who has been offended my being human in the area of bodily waste. I will make every effort to quash the offending aromas with whatever means are available. Be it a ceiling fan, air freshener, a bottle of Poo-Pouri, a candle, or even an industrial sized laboratory chemical fume hood should I ever feel the need to relieve myself in a chem lab. But it's just me being human. Here's hoping the shit doesn't hit the fan.