General Stench – Page 9 – HappyStinkingJoy

Don’t Mind Me, I’m Just Staring at Your Butt

I was at the YMCA a few weeks ago and something caught my eye. Actually, my eyes were drawn to something. It was a woman’s butt. No, I’m not a pervert… well, most of the time I’m not a pervert… but this lady had on a pair of shorts with writing on the butt. “Surf **something**” was written right there in large letters on the bottom of this woman’s shorts. It wasn’t so much that I was infatuated with the woman’s butt, it was that I couldn’t read what came after “Surf”, and it was driving me nuts. What was this young woman encouraging others to “Surf”? “Surf” on the butt made me think of a band that was had some modest popularity in my younger days, but I figured this gal was probably a little too young to be a Butthole Surfers fan. She was on an elliptical in the front row, and there were several people on ellipticals in the row behind her. I could tell she was self-conscious about the writing on her butt because she kept pulling her t-shirt down over her butt and blocking the words. This made me stare even harder, just waiting her t-shirt to ride up so I could see what came after “Surf”. I wasn’t the only one staring. I noticed two men and a women beside me who all had their eyes locked on that woman’s butt… and none of us ever found out what came after “Surf”. The young woman pulled her t-shirt down one final time, got off the elliptical, and left the circuit room. I was disappointed and a little upset. Why had she left the house with those stupid shorts on if she didn’t want anyone reading what they said.

Ok… I know you’ve seen this: females of all ages, shapes, colors and sizes with writing on their butts. What in the hell are these women thinking? In many cases, what are the parents (especially the fathers) of these girls thinking?!? Do you realize that you are giving every male that you women (or your daughters, for crying out loud) encounter absolute permission to stare at your butt for an inexcusably long time. I mean, seriously. We can’t even really get in trouble for it.
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Wife/Girlfriend: What are you staring at?

Dude: I’m just seeing what it says on the back of her shorts.

Wife/Girlfriend: Quit staring at her ass.

Dude: Seriously, I’m just reading what it says.

Wife/Girlfriend: It says “Juicy”… just like the last five girls whose asses you stared at.
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Dude: They weren’t all “Juicy”. One was a “PINK”.
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Dude: And besides, I’m pretty sure that’s a different font? Isn’t that Old English Text MT? I’m pretty sure the last butt writing was in Algerian. I’m really going to need to take a closer look…

I’m going to let you in on a little secret: guys look at girls butts. No, seriously. I’m not joking. All ages of guys, from the young adolescent just hitting puberty to the old dude with the walker and the glasses so thick you can’t imagine how he can actually see anything, if you are female, will look at your butt. I don’t know this for a fact, but I’m pretty sure even gay guys check out girls’ butts.

I know, I know… it’s hard to believe… but we really do look at butts. We’ve been known to look at boobs as well.
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At least there is an explanation for why we look at boobs.
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We’re dogs, and we look at butts and boobs and we probably should feel ashamed for doing it, but we don’t. It’s just the natural order of things. It doesn’t necessarily mean that we’re perverts or that we’re thinking naughty thoughts. It’s kind of like when you go on a hike up in the mountains and you see a waterfall cascading into a calm pool below.
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You’re going to look at that waterfall and think, “nice waterfall.” It’s a natural wonder. Female butts are pretty much the same thing; we look and smile and think “nice butt.”
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To be perfectly honest, I believe that these females want guys to look at their butts. Otherwise, why would they wear what they wear?

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I think the women want guys to look at their butts, but I think they only want certain guys to look at their butts. They want guys they are attracted to to look at their butts.
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It’s like a flirting thing. Problem is, once you are out in public, you really don’t have any control over who is looking at your butt. Sorry, that’s just the way it works. You are probably going to have dudes that may or may not be Cuba Gooding, Jr. looking at your butt.
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This seems like it should be common knowledge, but if you are anywhere close to just about any male politician from the United States, you will have your butt looked at.

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Old dudes, teenage boys, ugly, hot… we’re all gonna check out your butt when you are walking around with a billboard on your fanny. Even if you try to dissuade us by putting false advertising on your rear-end, we’re gonna look.
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So, if you don’t want every dude and his dog loking at your hiney, don’t leave the house with writing on your butt. If you don’t mind hundreds of eyes checking out your bunnage, keep doing what you’re doing. As far as teenage girls with the butt writings goes, do you girls have parents? Do you have a dad? I know parents have to pick their battles… but I think this is probably one worth picking. Don’t let your daughters leave the house with clothes on that are going to draw eyes to body parts that you don’t want being the focus of intense scrutiny.

Sometimes, however, the writing on the butt can be helpful. It alerts us to something we may need to know. For example:

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I believe the young lady above is telling us that she just ate Ben Roethlisberger, and she is pointing out where his remains will soon appear.

The Life Cycle of Having Friends…

Remember when you were a kid and you had all kinds of friends? Well, unless you were the kid who accidentally pooped the pants in 3rd grade during math and everyone knew about it; then you maybe didn’t have so many friends. Maybe you were the girl who had her first “Carrie” moment during 6th grade English, and none of the kids understood why you left school early, upset and crying; until someone spotted the evidence of the early dismissal on the seat of your chair… your adolescence may have been a little rough. Or you were the boy who got caught enjoying Baywatch just a little too much when you thought no one watching… you may have had a few rough years. But aside from those few sad instances indicative of the cruelty of other children, many kids have lots of friends. And as you grow from adolescence into high school and up through college, you make more and more friends. By the time you get out of college, you probably have tons of friends… and I’m not just talking acquaintances, but real friends… you know, the kind of people you wouldn’t hesitate to call if you needed a good bailing out of jail.

At this point, we’re set! We have a plethora of friends and a brand-spanking new education just waiting to be developed into a life-long career of happiness! Guess what happens to many of us then. We pack up our belongings and move half-way across the country and start completely fresh in a community where we don’t know a single soul! Sounds exciting, right? Sounds like a true adventure, doesn’t it? Yeah… not really. It sucks, and years later, you will find yourself pretty much friendless as you roll through mid-life.

When I first moved to the panhandle of Nebraska (almost 20 years ago), I figured I would fast make new friends. And right out of the gate, I met a few people my age and we became buddies. Considering that the people in this community are very cliquish (which is something I didn’t discover until later), I was lucky. One of these buddies actually introduced me to the woman who is now my wife. So, yeah, I thought I was on a roll. Now see, where the problem comes into play in my example is the fact that I moved to a community where the young people are anxiously leaving in droves. In the small town of Glasgow, MT where I grew up, all of the kids always talked about how they wanted to get the hell out of Glasgow and actually do something with their lives. Scottsbluff and Gering Nebraska are much the same. Kids see what their parents have accomplished living here, and the kids want nothing to do with it. The kids want to actually find some measure of success in their lives, so they bail on the communities at pretty much the first available opportunity. My problem: I moved in as everyone else my age was trying to get the hell out. I escaped from one community where all the kids and young adults wanted to get away to another community where all the kids and young adults wanted to get away. The destination of my escape was another destination from which to seek escape. Most of those original friends that I made when I moved here have long since found more fruitful paths in other areas of the country. There are still a couple in the area, and I really enjoy hanging out with them, but the second thing to come along and disrupt the friendship cycle is kids, and I’ve got them.

Having children is one of the most rewarding things that a person can do. I don’t want to make it seem otherwise. However, having kids puts a huge crimp in any sort of social life that you may desire. You aren’t able to go out in public nearly as much once you have kids, especially while they are young. You’re at home trying to catch some sort of rest and instill in your kids the basics of being a functioning member of society.

Then the kids hit school, and through school and other extra-curricular activities, you are forced to confront other parent of other kids who are pretty much in the same boat as you. Once again, you start forming some relationships. Maybe you find a church or other civic organization, and you begin attending regularly, and you form some relationships there as well.These relationships, however, are more along the lines of “strong acquaintanceships” than they are the true friendships you had in your youth. In other words, these are people who are fun to hang out with while the kids are off playing and whatnot, but these aren’t people you would feel comfortable calling to bail you out of the joint.

Even these strong acquaintanceships you have developed through the parents of your kids’ friends and through your civic activities (and maybe even co-workers from your job) soon seem to slightly dissipate as your kids grow even older and their activities seem to encapsulate more and more of your free-time.

My wife is from the panhandle. Once she finished college, she really never had a strong desire to leave. However, neither does she have a strong desire to stay. She is constantly telling me that if I can find us a life somewhere outside of the panhandle that would make me less… uh, “grumpy” would be a polite way to put it, I guess… she would be more than happy to make a move. She, however, actually has some of the friends from her past here. Not many (most moved away), but she is occasionally able to have a “girls night out” or get together for coffee with a friend or two. I still have a lot of really good friends, but, for the most part, they are spread out all over the nation. If it weren’t for Facebook, I probably wouldn’t even know where most of them are. They sure in the hell aren’t close enough to bail me out of jail, if the need were to arise.

So, what’s next? You got me. My kids actually have some true friendships, and they are doing well in the local schools (even though the schools tend to piss me off from time to time). I’d hate to disrupt their potential growth in a selfish effort to find some sort of friendship or contentment in my life, so moving isn’t the most attractive option at this point. Doesn’t mean that it won’t happen, just means it’s not the most attractive option. I try to keep in touch with the friends of my youth… at least those on Facebook.

I’m guessing that once my kids have joined the mass exodus of young people who leave the panhandle of Nebraska to better themselves in different areas of the country, the options for the wife and I will increase. We will be free to move wherever on God’s green earth we want to live. We will be short two mouths to feed as our college-educated boys head out into the world to try to figure out how in the hell they are ever going to repay all of those student loans. Of course, our bodies will have deteriorated even further, and God only knows what the status of our health will actually be in 10 or 15 years. I’m guessing that will be the next point in the cycle where new friends are made. We will probably find them at the clinics and doctor’s offices and pharmacies and, later, in the retirement communities. We will all sit around and reminisce about our kids, about the friends of our youth, and about all of the opportunities we probably missed by living in the panhandle of Nebraska.

On Getting Old…

How come when your a kid, all you can think about is growing up, but when you finally grow up, you wish you could be a kid again? I think it’s irony just busting us over the heads. As kids, we want the freedom and responsibility of making all of our own decisions, and we see adulthood offering this to us. Then, when we finally get there, we realize that true freedom was an illusion and that responsibility sucks; but by then, it’s too late to do anything different because we are, after all, adults. And it’s not like we could have done anything about it anyway, right? There has not yet been invented a hormone that slows the aging process to the point that we could all live a perpetual childhood. Besides, I don’t think our parents would want to take care of us forever… and if our parents had access to the magical fountain of youth, we may never had been born. Oh sweet irony… thy true name is growing-up.

I run into people who disagree with my desire to go back to childhood. I feel sorry for them. They didn’t have enjoyable childhoods, and someone needs be held accountable. Childhood is meant to be a magical time in our existence, and anyone who denies us that portion of our life has committed an atrocious affront to not only the children and the adults those children become, but also to everyone who loves children. A child who suffers a horrid childhood leaves a scar on humanity.

So, you may be wondering, why is true freedom an illusion? Are you doing what you want to do, when you want to do it? Do you show up someplace because that is when you want to show up, or because that is the time someone else has arranged for you to show up? Do you only deal with people you find pleasant, or are there times when you have deal with people who are less than pleasant… and are you dealing with them by choice, or because someone else has told you that dealing with these unpleasant people is required of you? What time do you get up in the morning? Are you getting up at that hour because that is when you enjoy waking up, or has someone else set your agenda? We are all really nothing more than indentured servants. Even if you are self-employed, you are answering to someone else (customers, clients, vendors, advertising sales people, employees; whoever is involved with the generation of your income). We live by the rules of someone else in an attempt to gain a sense of real freedom at some point in the future after our servitude (retirement? death?) There is no true freedom as an adult in this life. Here we are, in the “greatest nation” on the face of the planet and we never can even really own our own property. Oh sure, you can pay off your mortgage. Do you really think you own that property after your mortgage is paid off? Really? Well, if you really believe that, try this: after your mortgage is paid off, try not paying property taxes. Really, see what happens. See who really owns that property. It’s not you. Freedom is an illusion.

“Well,” says the gung-ho simpleton who you often see commenting on blogs and articles all over the Internet, “welcome to life! Quit your bitching, grow a pair, suck it up and do what you have to do. No one said life was fair!” I love people who leave comments like this, and by “love” I mean “hate with every ounce of my being”. There are people out there who question the way things are and are looking for a better way, but they don’t fall into the mindless conformity that has become life in the USA: you know, work, die and pay taxes. Because they are looking outside of the box, they are “different”, and they make people uncomfortable, so they just need to shut up and conform. Ahhh… life it too short for that, my brainwashed friends. I’m sure the taxpayer-fed government loves your attitude, but I do not.

Wow… I think my rant just went off on a rant?!? Government sucks, but that isn’t where I meant to head with this post, so let’s try to get it back on track, m’kay?

Becoming an adult leads to more than just the loss of childhood innocence and dreams. Becoming an adult leads to, well, getting old. It’s kind of a strange trade-off; you gain more responsibilities and much more is expected of you, and you have less and less energy to tackle these responsibilities and expectations. It really kind of bites. Adults (especially those with small children) can often be heard complaining, “If I had half as much energy as my kids, maybe I could actually keep up with them…or… think of what I could accomplish!” And everybody laughs at the age-old joke. The sad thing is, the joke is not funny; the joke is reality. Youth really is wasted on the young. Our bodies get weaker and our minds begin to slip. The first memories we start to lose are those from childhood, which is sad, because those memories of our own childhood innocence can help us trudge through our adult lives. First, memories start to get a little fuzzy, kind of like watching an Andy Griffith re-run on a really staticy channel. You kind of know what’s going on, because you’ve seen it before, but there are parts you just can’t catch because the static is too bad, and you feel kind of gypped. The older you get, the more memories turn to bad re-runs, and before you know it, the oldest are lost forever.

Okay, maybe I’m being a little too harsh. Our minds are kind of like computers, and maybe stating that certain memories are “lost forever” is a little melodramatic. Maybe it’s kind of like that thingie you downloaded off the Internet and saved a few years ago and you just can’t remember where on your hard drive you saved it. You know it’s there somewhere, and you search every file and folder where you have saved stuff in the past, you just can’t locate that stupid thingie! Maybe our minds are like that. Maybe we just need to place an occasional call to tech support to help us relocate those memories. But, for the love of Pete, don’t actually call tech support of the company who provides your Internet service! Finding files on your computer that you downloaded from the Internet isn’t even the responsibility of your ISP’s tech support department. The last thing I need is someone accusing me of starting a trend of tech related calls for people with fading memories! “Tech support” is a metaphor, people. I know that explaining this seems silly, but I have taken tech support calls. Don’t ever underestimate the ignorance of your fellow man 🙂

Google Sucks

Stinking Google. I recently wrote a post about stupid Google and how they were giving away free netbooks for people to test their new Chrome OS operating system. Well, I never received my netbook. Apparently I’m not the kind of person that Google felt was right to test their netbook. I am, however, the kind of person that Google feels is right to purchase the new Samsung Chromebook. I believe Google may be mistaken.

I received an email from Google that read as follows:

Be the first to get a Chromebook.

Since we announced the Chrome Notebook Pilot Program back in December, we’ve been humbled by the amount of interest that we’ve received from users like you.

We’re excited about the brand-new Samsung Chromebook that goes on sale on June 15. Fortunately, we’ve managed to get our hands on a few machines a little earlier, and we’d like to make these available to you, our biggest enthusiasts.

When you buy your Chromebook, you’ll also be getting a limited edition, custom-fit Chrome sleeve designed by Rickshaw so you can carry your new Chromebook in style.

Our good friends over at Gilt, the premier invitation-only shopping site, have agreed to put these Chromebooks up for sale — but only for a very limited time.

These will go fast. See you over at Gilt.

Cheers,

The Chrome Team

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A few months back, you asked to be notified about the availability of Chrome OS, which is why we sent you this one-time notice. You will not be emailed again regarding the availability of Chrome OS.

I don’t remember asking to be notified about the availability of Chrome OS. I remember wanting a free netbook. I don’t want to buy anything. Nonetheless, I figured I’d check out Google’s friends over at Gilt to see what’s up. In the back of my mind, I’m thinking a Chromebook may be pretty reasonably priced. After all, I don’t believe the computer is able to run non-web-based software… everything is stored in “the cloud”. You can’t download software to the computer (like an office suite or accounting software or publishing software or anything like that). There’s not even a CD or DVD drive on this sucker, so forget having the kids watch a movie while you’re driving across the Nebraska interstate. Sure, there are some decent free online aps that can be used online, but I like to have a hard copy of some files and applications on my computer so I can access them when I don’t have Internet access or 3G coverage (remember… this is Nebraska). I’m thinking that I should be able to pick up a web-only Chromebook for a couple hundred bucks.

Do you know how much these stinking Chromebooks are selling for? The Samsung Chromebooks were selling for like $500! Seriously!!! I could get a decent real laptop for $500… why in the hell would I buy a web-only Chromebook for that price? I’m thinking Google and Samsung may have a little bit of crack-smoking going on at their corporate offices. Plus, now I’m getting all kinds of stupid spam from Google’s friends at Gilt (notice how close that is to guilt… and jilt?). note to self: unsubscribe from ~~Jilt~~ Gilt…

Of course… who knows… maybe these Chromebooks do some pretty amazing stuff. If they did, I’d be able to go on and on about how great Chromebooks are. But in order to rave about them, I’d actually have to try a Chrome OS machine out… and I’m not going to drop 500 hard-earned bills just to see if a Chromebook is actually worth $500 hard-earned bills (which I highly doubt). If only Google would have sent me my free stinking netbook when I applied for it…

If You Don’t Volunteer, Keep Your Stinking Mouth SHUT!

I just noticed on a recent edition of the local newspaper an article. “United Way in need of volunteers”, the headline proclaimed. Ahh, volunteering! What a wonderful way to give back to your community. I’ve been volunteering for the past several years, and it is a great way to give of yourself when giving a lot of money is not an option… unless you are a volunteer for Boy Scouts of America, in which you can give your time and lots of money, ’cause, you know, there’s actually people who make money doing this scout stuff for a living, and we gotta get their salaries paid somehow.

I volunteer as an adult leader for both Boy Scouts and Cub Scouts. I started with my oldest son’s cub scout den, and progressed with him to Boy Scouts. Now, my youngest has started Cub Scouts, so I’m helping there too. I am also a deacon at the church I attend. I have a little under a year left on a four-year term, then I have to take a couple of years off. I enjoy all of the positions to which I volunteer my time, but one thing I’ve learned about volunteering is that sometimes, you need a break.

I am looking forward to the completion of my term as a deacon. I have really enjoyed serving the members of our church and getting to know them better, but it is a time commitment that will be nice to see go away for awhile.

I was really hoping that I was about done with scouts. I always figured that if I could get my oldest son through Cub Scouts and into Boy Scouts, he could take it from there. I was wrong. Some how I was conned into helping there too. Come on! Can’t I finally be one of the parents who always just drops the kids off for someone else to entertain? And I did everything I could think of to keep the younger son from wanting to join scouts.

“They eat puppy dogs on camp outs,” I said to the little guy.

“But Brother did it, so I want to too,” he replied.

“Yep, barbecued puppy dog with fried spiders,” I said. “It’s pretty gross, and you have to eat it really fast so the smell doesn’t attract the vampires. You can hear the vampires searching for blood outside your tent at night.”

“But, I really want to be a scout like Brother, Dad,” he said, crying now but trying to be brave and hold back the tears.

I really think I could have talked him out of it. I was about to go into the poisonous snakes that like to crawl into the sleeping bags with the scouts at night when the wife walked in and put a stop to it. She then proceeded to lecture me on the fact that it is only fair that we support the younger son’s decision to participate in an activity that has been such a big part of his older brother’s life.

Crap.

So, I agreed if the wife agreed to be the den leader… at least to start. She agreed, if I agreed to be involved and do the camping thing. I reluctantly agreed. I love camping… in a camper with heat and air conditioning and a refrigerator and a toilet and a BED. Any form of camping that involves a tent and sleeping on the ground is for those fortunate enough to be under the age of 40.

The wife volunteers even more than me. She is more active in the younger son’s Cub Scout pack, serving as den leader and holding a position or two on the board. She is also active on our younger son’s elementary school booster club. She has volunteered for other organizations in the past, including a local MOPS chapter, our church’s AWANA club, serving on the board of a local investment club. She is also volunteering for stuff any time the schools ask for parents to help with this or that.

Volunteering can be very fulfilling… or so I’m told. One thing that volunteering has taught me personally is that if you aren’t willing to donate your time to a worthwhile cause, you have no right to complain about much of ANYTHING!

“But I’m just way too busy.”

What a load of CRAP! Every single person that I know has enough free time to volunteer for something. If someone tells you that they are to busy to volunteer, what they are really saying is, “I am very selfish and my free time means way too much to me to give it up for something bigger than my own life.” I really want to believe that there is some sort of cosmic feng shui crap that is going to bite these selfish bastards in the ass some day, but I don’t think there is.

What really twists my tighty whiteys all up-in-a-knot is those who don’t volunteer, but who somehow think they have some sort of right to complain about how those who do volunteer are doing things. You know, like the parent who never comes to the planning meetings and then throws a hissy fit because we planned the scout banquet for a night her son can’t come. Or the parent who is torked off that we aren’t having the scouts participate in some parade or another, but wasn’t willing to help as an adult leader at the parade… and the only reason we didn’t do it is because we couldn’t get enough adult volunteers.

Youth baseball is one of the areas where non-volunteering parents seem to think that because they were born with a mouth, they are entitled to open it without first engaging their brains. At my 7-year-old’s first game, the coaches were pitching. It is supposed to be a pitching-machine league, but somebody forgot to unlock the shed with the machines before the game. I’m not going to bitch, however, because I’m sure the person who forgot was a volunteer. Anyway, coaches aren’t always exactly the best pitchers. Not a big deal. These guys volunteer their time to teach our sons how to play a fun game. some of them take 7 and 8-year-old baseball a little too serious, and some of them take it not serious enough. I figure, as long as the kids learn something and have a good time, it’s all good. One of the boy’s dad on the opposite team apparently didn’t agree with me. His kid got up to bat and the coach started throwing balls to him. The pitches weren’t perfect. The coach kept trying and the kid kept swinging. Finally, the dad started to let his frustration show. He started hollering.

“C’mon, Timmy,” he yelled after his kid once again missed the ball. “Don’t worry about it.”

This parent and his kid were on my son’s t-ball team last year, and I remember this particular dad being overly vocal.

“Maybe if the coach could actually get one across the plate, you could hit it,” the red-faced father yelled. “Sooner or later he’s got to throw you one you can actually hit!”

Seriously?!? The coach is looking embarrassed and a little upset. Finally, little Timmy connects, and his dinkweed-of-a-father erupts into cheers and applause. Jackwads like this dad are one of the reasons I don’t volunteer for sports. There are too many parents who I would end up telling to “go to hell” in front of a bunch of kids, and that’s not pleasant for anyone. Meanwhile Mr. I-like-to-degrade-the-coach-in-front-of-all-the-kids-and-their-parents: why don’t you shut your pie hole and volunteer your time? I’m guessing because you think your “too busy” and you have too many other “very important things” to do that prevent you from putting your actions where your mouth is rampantly running. It’s just to bad that “business” and those “important things” don’t keep you away from the games as well…

So yes, in the world of volunteering (just like in the work-a-day world), you are going to be confronted with morons. The world is full of them.

To all of you who volunteer… thank you. Your sacrifice is not unappreciated, although at times it feels like it is 🙂

To all you too indifferent or selfish (I just don’t have the time) to volunteer… grow up and grow a set. As much as I bitch about it, volunteering is worthwhile, fulfilling, and proves to the world that you are not a vain, self-serving idiot.

To all of you who refuse to volunteer but like to complain when a volunteer organization doesn’t do exactly what you want when you want it… go suck a lemon, jerkwad!

Encouragement for Recent High School Graduates… I Guess…

In my last post, I pointed out how both high school and college graduates are often (usually) unrealistically optimistic. That’s me, destroyer of young dreams… but I only tell them for their own good. Better to have no dreams or to know that your dreams are probably unachievable than to dream and have those dreams shredded and left on the compost pile of life. Did I just quote Shakespeare? Wasn’t that in Hamlet? … maybe not…

I felt kind of bad for presenting the future of most of these graduates as the miserable abyss that, for most of them, their lives are going to become. I wanted to make a modest attempt, in my own very special and unique way, at letting them know that everything is gonna be alright. Here we go…

Sometimes, my family worries about the level of pessimism (or, as I like to think of it, “realism”) that I display on my blog. I spoke to my dad on the phone shortly after he read the last graduation post. He seemed slightly concerned.

Dad: “Son, I bet people who don’t really know you think you’re very bitter.”

Me: “Ya think?”

Dad: “You’re really not that bitter , are you?”

Me: “I thought you knew me.”

Dad: “I do, I just have a hard time believing you’re that bitter.”

Me: “Yeah, me sometimes too.”

Dad: “I mean… you’re really not that bitter… are you?”

Me: “Not always. Sometimes, I sleep.”

Dad: “… oh…”

Hahaha!

Nothing says “good times” like making your parents believe that they somehow failed you in your childhood and your current level of life-misery is all their fault. No worries, Dad. All of my pessimism is self-induced. Life has taught me that it often sucks without any help from you… although the short-gene that you have passed on to me hasn’t helped. How was I ever supposed to live out my dream of playing in the NBA when I come from short European stock? But, you just passed on what was passed to you, so not really your fault (I don’t want to piss off my dad… he’s one of 3 people who read this blog regularly.)

Ok, back to encouraging high school graduates. I think part of the problem I see with the whole free education system is that, by the time you are finished with it, you are still way too young to have a decent idea what you want to do with the rest of your life. “I’m going to be a doctor” or “I’m going to be a lawyer” you may say if you are one of them real smarty-pants-types… or you actually have parents with enough cash to help you get through medical or law school. But, do you really want to be a doctor? Do you really want to be a lawyer? You’re 18-years old. How can you really know what you want to do with the rest of your life?

You can’t.

When you are 18-years-old, you know you want an attractive person of the opposite sex to pay attention to you, you know you like hanging out with your friends, and you know that you like to eat food that, a couple of years in the future, is going to end up straight on either your gut or your butt; this is what you know about life. I’m 41-years-old, and I only really figured out what would have been pretty cool to do with my life a few years ago… and by then it was too late.

For my college education, I went the business route. 4-years and a lot of money went to Montana State University and the Bozeman community while I earned a bachelor of science in marketing. Now, I knew I could make more money if I chose something like engineering, but I always had issues with science. I didn’t enjoy it, so why would I want to apply it to my career for the rest of my life? Teaching sounded okay, but kids who took the teaching path seemed to be looking for the easy route. Besides, teachers don’t make squat, right? Business… no crappy science, and good money, right? Oh, how wrong I was.

There needs to be a large disclaimer when someone enrolls in a business program at the university level. That disclaimer would read:

This degree does not guarantee any kind of future success. This degree will most likely lead to some crappy job in sales or retail management. If sales and/or retail management aren’t what you are looking for, chose another program of study!

Of course, this disclaimer does not exist… until now. I am warning you, if you get a business degree (unless it is very specialized, like accounting) you will most likely wind up as an assistant manager at Walmart or trying to sell computer software to companies that don’t need it and who cringe every time they see you come through the door. This is a proven fact… well, I don’t have proof, but I’m pretty sure it’s true, which is almost the same as fact, isn’t it?

So, I went through college, got a crappy retail management job, and jumped from crappy job to crappy job every couple years. A few years ago, I realized that an education in literature would be more up my alley. I’ve always liked reading and writing. Maybe that teaching thing wouldn’t have been so bad. Besides, as crappy as I perceived teacher pay to be at the time I was making career decisions… in reality, I’d be making a hell of a lot more if I had been teaching for the past 20 years than I am now… and I’d have my summers off. Hindsight… it’ll kick your ass every time.

A few years ago, I figured, heck, why not try pursuing something that would be a little better fit with my personality. I enrolled in an online graduate program through Fort Hays State University in Kansas. I was gonna get me a Master of Liberal Studies with an emphasis in English.

“What could you do with that?” you may have asked. Well, boy howdy, I could have taught English at a community college.

“How does that pay?” you may have asked.

“Like crap,” would have been my response, but I was going through a brief period of insanity in my life where I thought maybe money wasn’t everything.

I enrolled, took a couple of classes, loved the classes, started to get a fresh perspective on life, and then reality smacked me upside the head. First of all, I stopped working for a company that had a really good tuition reimbursement plan, and college classes are not cheap. Second, I realized that taking these classes was interfering with family time (and my kids aren’t going to be around forever… they will get out of high school and, I’m assuming, move as far away from the panhandle of Nebraska as possible). Third, I realized that the odds of getting an actual job teaching English at a community college were pretty slim, and, even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to support a family on that kind of crappy pay.

See, even a seasoned pessimist like me can let stinking dreams and hope and all of that other positive garbage creep back in every once in awhile. I’m just glad that dream got smacked down before it grew too large. I was in my mid-30s when that one snuck in. I’m in my 40s now and any silly hope of getting an education that would lead to some sort of life-happiness is a thing of the past. Once you get family obligations and mortgages and car loans piled on you and once you get accustomed to a certain quality of life and start thinking about the prospect of being able to retire some day, going backwards financially to make silly dreams come true becomes what it really was all along… a pipe dream.

So, you may be wondering how these words can be construed as “encouragement” for recent high school graduates. I’m not exactly sure. I guess my words of encouragement would have to be:

DON’T STRESS IT!

Don’t stress the fact that everyone expects you to plan out the rest of your life through the choices you make at age 18. Plans change. Dreams change. Hopes change. And most importantly… YOU change. You will not be the same person at age 28 that you are at age 18, and 38 is going to make 28 look like a total stranger. You will see the world differently, you will value different things, and your passions may change hundreds of times before you leave life in this realm. Very few choices that don’t involve death are permanent, and any wound that doesn’t kill you will heal. Scars are badges of effort, and it takes effort to survive. Whether you accomplish your goals or realize your dreams, or if you end up living the disappointing life of the average mortal, you will get some scars along the way. Wear them with pride. They show that you made the effort.

Now, if you end up bitter and pissed at the world like me, I’m thinking I’m probably going to be looking for a protege to take over this blog in about 20 years (if I ain’t dead by then). If you are 18 now, you’ll be 38 then (which is how old I was when I started this bad boy) and we may have to get together and discuss you taking over old Happy Stinking Joy. See, even when your dreams are dead, you may still have something to look forward to… or not…

Graduations! Ahhh, what a waste of optimism…

WARNING!!!

Recent high school or college graduates, please don’t read this post. I don’t want to be held responsible for harshing your mellow at this time of great accomplishment in your lives. As you travel the road of life ahead, you will have plenty of time to discover the truths held in my words for yourself.

The wife and I took our boys to our niece’s high school graduation this past weekend in North Platte, NE. So, we spent a weekend watching young people being recognized for their accomplishments. This all got me to thinking… thinking how much people could accomplish with their lives if the stinking real-world didn’t have to come along and jack everything up.

I remember graduating from high school feeling like the whole world was out there waiting for me to conquer it. I remember having the same delusions at my graduation from college. At my niece’s graduation, I could read the same thoughts in the faces of all of those graduates. They were imagining their futures filled with limitless opportunities. Give them a few years. They will find the limits. Actually, the limits will hunt them down and stomp many of them into the ground. I know. The graduating class speaker was a well spoken young woman who reminded the graduates that they were solely responsible for their own futures. Graduates and school administrators say that kind of stuff at graduations. Graduates and school administrators believe that kind of stuff at graduations. Now, with graduates being young and naive, such dreams are expected. School administrators, on the other hand, should know better but are extremely biased in their perception of the true value of “education.” Aside from the field of education, I can’t think of a single line of work in the United States of America where further education guarantees higher earnings, seniority, and advancement. A large percentage of people employed in the field of education seem to have lost touch with what it is actually like outside of the field of education, and those people probably should not be allowed to speak at commencement ceremonies; they paint an unrealistically-rosy picture.
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Well, I guess we want to give these young people hope for the future, right? No need having them give up when a very small percentage of them are going to accomplish those dreams. As for those who will not accomplish their dreams, they will have plenty of time to figure out what their futures hold.

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Soon enough, most of these optimistic young people will be just like the rest of us… wondering why everyone misled us about how bright our futures were. For the kiddos, when someone tells you that you may need to set “new goals” or dream “new dreams”, this is them gently telling your dreams and goals are unrealistic (see, they lied to you at graduation… you can’t accomplish anything you want). Pick something less-hard to accomplish, or maybe just settle for what you have. Less hard and settling are what most of us do on a daily basis…

People in Positions of Power Piss Me Off!

You ever get the feeling that everyone and their dog is out to piss you off? I’m sure I’m not the only one to have those kinds of days on occasion. Well, several days over the last couple of weeks have gone that way for me.

To start things out, the administration and board of Scottsbluff Public Schools seem to have recently inserted their heads squarely into their butts. I understand that times are tough and schools have to reign-in spending and all of that garbage. Still, cutting positions on the front line of education (i.e. teachers) doesn’t seem to make sense.

Scottsbluff Public Schools is the only school district in the panhandle of Nebraska to offer an orchestra program. Well, it looks like the school administration plans on cutting that program. There has been a full-time orchestra teacher in the program for years, and the program has been available to kids beginning in 4th grade. The teaching position is being cut to part-time, is only available to those in middle school or higher, and they are considering getting rid of concerts for the students completely. Okay, so by cutting out the 4th and 5th grade participation, they are cutting off feeding the program. By cutting out the concerts, they will be cutting back on interest from students, parents and the community. Administration will not admit it, and they think we are too stupid to figure it our for ourselves, but it seems obvious that the orchestra program is being phased out. Just too darn expensive. Did I mention that our superintendent of schools makes $160,000/year? This is almost the same pay that the superintendent of the North Platte Public Schools makes, and North Platte has a much larger student and staff population to manage. I can’t figure out what exactly makes our school district so difficult that we would have to pay a superintendent the same as someone managing a much larger district in the same state. I have my own opinions about why it sucks around here, but none of the reasons have much to do with the schools. I guess it must have something to do with how much it just sucks to live here. We gotta pay top dollar just to get someone to live here. The last superintendent, upon retiring, immediately moved the hell away from the panhandle. He apparently hated it here and we had to pay out the wazoo to keep him while we could. He was kind of a pompous ass anyway (which seems to be the status quo for school superintendents), so the community is probably better off with his departure.

The second (more severe) cut that is really pissing me off is the board and administration screwing up the HALs program. HALs stands for High Ability Learners and is a program for students who aren’t challenged enough with regular classroom learning. We have had a coordinator for our HALs program and she has done an outstanding job. Her name is Merry Witzki, and she is not a normal “teacher”. Merry knows how kids learn. Her focus hasn’t been only on math, science and language arts (which seems to comprise the focus of our education system). Merry mentors the kids (high ability, normal ability, and low ability) she works with and focuses on creative thinking skills. She challenges the kids to think outside the box and the kids gain skills that will actually help them create a positive impact on the workforce once they join. I mean, it’s great to know that a water molecule has two hydrogen atoms and a single atom of oxygen, but how many people are going to have a career where that information is relevant. Good basic knowledge, but critical thinking skills and learning how to lead and be part of a team and all of the other things that Mrs. Witzki focused on were real-world skills that the kids weren’t getting anywhere else. Well, apparently the school district doesn’t believe real-world skills are important. Mrs. Witzki’s position has been eliminated. She will be a grade teacher. The HALs program will still be in place, but it doesn’t sound like the HALs kids will meet with their peers anymore for monthly workshops and yearly conferences. Instead, they will be assigned a “special teacher” who will visit them in their existing classrooms and make sure they are being challenged in their classes. What, make sure they are getting a little harder math homework in their math class than the other students are taking home? That isn’t going to encourage the HAL students. It may challenge, but it won’t encourage. What a crock of crap! The National Association of Gifted Students recommends this protocol, but our school district doesn’t want to follow this advice. The HALs program has been something that the HALs students look forward to: a fun and creative experience that helps them grow. I have a strong feeling that the HALs program is about to take a nosedive straight into the toilet. But whatever. At least the superintendent is still making $160,000/year. Hmmm… I wonder if the HALs program could still have a coordinator if the superintendent made what the average superintendent in a school district our size makes? Or if we didn’t decide that we need to hire a teacher to teach the Chinese language? Well, I guess since the US is pretty much owned by the Chinese now, we should probably start teaching our future national language.

One thing that really kills me is how the school board defends some of the stupid decisions it makes with, “If parents really cared more and came to the school board meetings, they could make their voices heard before we make decisions.” The school board meets normally once a month on Monday. Does the school board have any idea how many other groups meet on Monday night? My wife is on a booster club for an elementary school, and they meet on Mondays. I am at Boy Scout troop meetings every Monday throughout the school year. I guess if we all stopped volunteering in the community, we could monitor the school board that we put in office to help them make the decisions that we elected them to make in our students’ best interests. I know that I’m probably being a little hard on the school board, but I cannot for the life of me grasp why a group of educated adults would make a decision that is going to potentially have such a negative impact on our brightest students. I guess, for some children, being left behind is acceptable…

Alright, so those in power on school boards and school administration piss me off, but they aren’t the only ones. Other people with perceptions of power and authority piss me off as well. I know I have discussed my aversion to local politicians (especially small town mayors) before, but I keep coming back, don’t I? You know the types: county commissioners whose asses everyone kisses because of the hellfire of economic ruin said commissioners will rain down upon those who openly oppose them (or who don’t hook them up with free crap just because they are commissioners). Also, higher-ups in economic development-type organizations can be real jerks. Some of these people see themselves as “elite”, and I’m getting too far along in age to be talked down to by some jerk on a power trip. What really gets me is that the people who are supposed to be all about developing the local economy are the people you never see out supporting local businesses. If they actually do support local businesses, they constantly throw in your face how much your service “sucks” and how much better off they would be going with a non-local business, but they are supporting your business so you better do whatever in the hell they want you to do to make them happy. They are the kind of people who call in to complain that their toaster stopped working… and your business has nothing to do with the sale or service of toasters… and they want you to fix their broken toaster, because, “all of my smart friends tell me that I need to buy my products or get my service from someone other than you, but I keep my money going to you, so you better get someone out here to fix my toaster!” And, of course, you fix the stinking toaster.

I have never really held a position with any kind of real power, and I probably never will. People in positions of power will always talk down to me and make decisions that affect me or those I care about directly, and these decisions will continue to piss me off. There really isn’t anything I can do about any of this. Oh sure, I could always come up with an elaborate, diabolical plan to remove these pains-in-the-ass people from my realm of existence, but that sounds kind of messy. Besides, with my luck, I’d get caught. I have a feeling that the people on power trips in prison might make my life noticeably more miserable than the elitist jerks I have to deal with on the “outside”. Intimate relations with a tattooed child molester named Bubba, or a similar relationship with local people of “power”. I guess the figurative is better that the literal in this situation…

Stinking Google…

I like free stuff. I really, really like free stuff. Google has been giving away free CR-48 computers, and I want one, because they are free.

ChromeOS — Yeah... it looks like a plain old laptop

I want one. I have wanted one for awhile now. In fact, I sent Google my information so that I could participate in their “pilot program”. I think it was in January that I “applied” for one of these cool devices… which are absolutely free, by the way. Almost everything I do with a computer outside of my job is Internet based. I watch stuff on YouTube (owned by Google). I check my Gmail (owned by Google). I use the Google Chrome web browser (owned, of course, by Google). I read blogs on Blogger (owned by Google). Although this blog is not hosted by Google, I do use Google Analytics (owned by Google) to track traffic to this site. Most of the little short stories I have written I store in Google Documents (owned by Google) so that I can work on them from any computer with Internet access. Google Calendar (owned by Google) helps me keep my life semi-organized… at least in theory. My phone is a Droid (more Google). I put all of this information on my application to the pilot program. I figured I would be a shoe-in to test one of these little bad boys out for Google. Yet, I haven’t received one on my doorstep yet. Damn it!

I applied for the pilot program on a weekend. I remember coming to work the following Monday, and one of our phone techs was carrying a new netbook.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s one of them new-fangled Chrome OS computer thingies,” he said.

“Hey, I just applied for the pilot program this weekend,” I said. “How do you like it?”

“It’s pretty neato,” he replied. “It starts up real fast, and it’s quicker than snot on a skillet online. It even has one of thems fancy webcams.”

“Wow, cool,” I said, starting to feel a little jealous. “How long ago did you apply for the pilot program?”

“Oh, I reckon it were a couple a months ago.”

“And what did you say to impress them,” I asked, “you know, to get them to send you one?”

“Oh, I just said silly stuff,” he said. “I told them that it’d be neato to have one and that I’d scream it to the world how great they was and whatnot.”

I just stared at him. Seriously? He put something stupid like that and he got one? Now I knew I was a shoe-in, because my reasoning seemed so much more intelligent. I knew mine would arrive in the mail in a few short weeks.

Well, short weeks have turned into long weeks, and the pilot program is over. Stinking Google. I even own some of their stupid stock. Now I’m just pissed. In fact, my coworker doesn’t really talk like a redneck hillbilly, I just wrote him like that out of sheer jealousy.

Well, looks like I’m going to have to get rid of all of the Google in my life. Guess I’ll have to switch to Yahoo! for my mail and calendar… and stop watching YouTube videos… and stop reading Blogger blogs… and find a way to monitor my blog other than Analytics… crap. This is going to take a lot of work. You know, it would be a hell of a lot easier if Google would just send me a free CR-48.

Seriously, please send me a free CR-48, Google. I know that someone at Google will see this post, ’cause I’m gonna tag the hell out of Google in it. If you send me one… I swear… sigh… I’LL SCREAM IT TO THE WORLD HOW GREAT IT IS!!!

Scottsbluff Family YMCA

We have a local YMCA here in Scottsbluff, NE. I didn’t have access to a Y growing up in rural Montana. In fact, the Y here is the first one I had ever been to. I had heard of the YMCA as a kid, and I thought of the Y as kind of a place where a fellow who was down on his luck could get a cheap (or even free) room until he got back on his feet. Apparently, this isn’t what the modern YMCA offers (at least not in the USA).

Scottsbluff has a country club for the wealthy.

The Scotts Bluff Country Club is the kind of place where the rich can go to get away from the common filth of society (you know, the rest of us) and surround themselves with fellow rich people with whom to golf and dine and talk about what rich people talk about. I’m not rich, so I don’t know exactly what they talk about, but I’m assuming they talk about money… and how much those of us without a lot of money suck. At least, that’s what I’d talk about if I was rich.

The YMCA here in Scottsbluff is kind of like a country club for the middle class. Oh sure, they have some sort of reduced-rate program for those at a lower income level, they just don’t advertise it very prominently… and they don’t really tell you what it is. I guess you have to go in and ask so they can look down at you to convince you that you really don’t belong at the Scottsbluff Family YMCA.

My family has a membership to the Y; not because we can afford it, but because it is a benefit my employer offers. Hell, it’s almost $500 a year for a family membership. I don’t know if I could afford that on my own. Not only do they get you on the membership fees, they charge for everything extra that the Y provides. Want to have your kid play t-ball? Only $12 if you are a member. How about you and the wife doing the co-ed volleyball? Only $15 per person… if you are members. Yeah, I grew up thinking the Y was a place where those without a lot of money could socialize and get fit. I was wrong. The Y is a country club for those who can’t quite afford the real country club.

I go to our YMCA almost daily. I have done this for a few years now. I go and I get on an elliptical and I sweat and breath really heavy for about 30 minutes. I started doing this in an attempt to control my blood pressure and to lose a little weight. I burn 500 to 600 calories and get my heart rate up to around 170 beats per minute almost every day. I have not lost a single pound, and my blood pressure was 170/130 when medical people put me on blood pressure medication a few weeks ago. So, it looks like I go to the Y for nothing. Well, nothing except to see all of the skinny people and steroid-heads walk around looking at themselves in the multitude of mirrors that surround the circuit room. I hate these people. With a passion. Here I am, sweating my ass off (in theory, not in reality) and bringing myself to the verge of a heart attack almost every day for the past three years in an attempt to squeeze a couple more years out of my miserable existence, and I’m surrounded by skinny people in their designer work-out gear

and steroid-filled muscle-heads in their… well, their muscles and crap!

Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of fatties like me sweating at the Y as well, but why in the hell would I waste time looking at them.

If I wanted to look at a fattie all day, I could stay home and look in the mirror. No, I want to create the most severe case on envy imaginable. I want to look at the people who I will never resemble. I want to make myself feel as worthless and insignificant as possible. After all, hate is what drives me, so the more hate I harbor, the worse I feel, and the more I feel like I’m accomplishing what I was put on this earth to do… whatever that is.

Man, if being surrounded by the fit middle-class at the YMCA can make me feel this crappy, imagine what being surrounded by the snotty rich at the actual country club would make me feel like? Especially if I was in a position where the rich snotties could really talk down to me? Maybe like a dishwasher… or a janitorial position? Yeah, that’s it.

Some rich doctor would run into me in the hall and he’d be all like, “Boy, there appears to be a toilet clogged in the men’s room. Get on it, post-haste. Cheerio!”

And I, of course, would get right on Dr. Snotty’s clogged toilet!

And the hate would grow!

Man, I wonder if they are hiring? I put my current level of mid-life-crisis misery on par with about the 5th ring of hell. A servitude-type position at the country club could move me all the way up to the 9th ring, and the crisis could be complete!