scottsbluff – Page 3 – HappyStinkingJoy

My Stinking Dream Vacation… Part 2

I’m a happily married dude. I am about to embark on, most-likely, a once in a lifetime adventure with my family: a cruise to the Bahamas. However, when I discovered that almost a third of the guests on Royal Caribbean’s Majesty of the Sea were attendees of some sort of fraternity leadership conference that Royal Caribbean was happily ($$$) hosting, the wind in my sails diminished just a little. Even though I’m happily married, I am not dead. I had some preconceived notions of what the view around the pool on that cruise ship was going to look like.

the Dream — This is not what frat boys look like.

My “notions” were quickly replaced by reality.

the Reality — This... I'm afraid... is what frat boys look like.

Yeah. Disappointing, to say the least. Anywho, now I can try to focus on actually enjoying the family time, right?

The ship is amazing. It’s like 14-stories tall, and it travels across the ocean; this in and of itself is utterly amazing to me. There are two formal dining halls, a buffet, a pizza place, a deli, and a burger joint. Everything except the burger joint is included in the cost of the cruise (you have to pay an entrance fee of like $5 to get into Johnny Rockets). There was a full-fledged casino, two or three lounges, an awesome weight room with a spectacular view of the ocean (which I promised myself I would use… but never did), a teen hang-out area, a little kid hang-out area, two small swimming pools (constantly full of frat boys), two hot tubs (constantly full of frat boys), a basketball court, a climbing wall, a ping-pong table, and the Chorus Line theater which had nightly live entertainment. The center of the ship was kind of like a mall, with various stores selling various expensive items: a Caribou Coffee, a jewelry store, a liquor store, a gift shop and the like. Each day, in the area between the stores, they were selling different garbage that looked expensive and was ridiculously inexpensive. The wife and youngest son each got a watch for like $10 each, and they looked like they were worth much more. We’ll see how long they actually last 🙂 Needless to say, the ship itself was pretty cool. Our room, on the other hand, not so much.

Standard rooms on a cruise ship are extremely small. I cannot stress enough how small these stinking rooms are. It’s a good thing you pretty much just sleep in the rooms, because, in a family of four, someone would end up dead if you had to spend too much time together in those stinking rooms.

So, we check in on the ship and go through a “muster drill”.

A muster drill is where they make everyone get outside by the lifeboats and tell you what to do to avoid dying if the ship starts to sink. Great! Now that we are all now terrified, let the fun begin.

We spent the first night at sea and just enjoyed the boat and tried to avoid the drunk, potty-mouthed frat boys. Man, when the frats were sober, they were bearable, but once they got liquored-up, we pretty much had to walk with our hands over our sons’ ears to block the f-bombs. Thanks, Royal Caribbean! Thanks for not warning us our cruise was going to be a floating college party full of frat boys with no chicas for them to concentrate their alcohol-fueled, testosterone-driven horn-doggedness on. I actually overheard a frat boy talking to a girl who appeared to be about 16-years-old, and he was trying to talk her into going to one of the lounges with him. She kept shaking her head, looking around for someone to rescue her, and I heard him say, “I keep forgetting you’re under age.” Man, that girl’s parents (as well as almost every parent with a daughter on that cruise) had to be loving Royal Caribbean for that week.

The next day, we ported in the Nassau. Pretty cool, if you could look past the poverty that was prevalent everywhere. We got off the ship and were immediately accosted by numerous people trying to get us to take a taxi or go on a tour or buy stupid toy turtles. One old guy even asked me if I needed something to smoke, and when I told him I didn’t, he got pissed and stormed off. We walked around the streets of Nassau. Me loving people the way I do quickly grew tired of the people constantly in our faces, and we returned to the ship after a short time.

Later that afternoon, we went on a snorkeling tour. We got on a boat and left the port area to an area where we could check out the corral. We boated past a lot of really nice houses and the tour guide dropped a few names while cruising past these mansions. Oprah Winfrey and Michael Jordan had houses there, along with a bunch of other people whose names I don’t remember. Can’t imagine owning a mansion of such incredible grandeur surrounded by such intense poverty. Nothing like rubbing it in the face of the locals, huh?

The snorkeling was kind of lame. On the way, they warned us that people had seen lion fish in the area we were going to, and lion fish are apparently quite poisonous. Coolest thing about snorkeling was that I actually found a lion fish.

I got both of my boys and the wife to see it before one of the tour divers discovered it and scared it away. Bastard!

That was pretty much the day in Nassau. The next day, we relaxed on the beaches of Royal Caribbean’s private island, Coco Cay. This was, by far, the most relaxing day of our adventure.

Swimming in the ocean…

… playing with the conch…

Good Eating — These ugly suckers are surprisingly good eating

…tearing it up at the water park

… avoiding the killer seagulls…

Killer Seagulls of Coco Cay — These suckers will attack a hot dog like their lives depend on it

… or hanging out in the hammocks…

…oops, I forgot… stinking frat boys…

Overall, a very good day. Then, back to the boat for a relaxing evening and lots of eating.

The next day, we ported in Key West, FL. Can you say “tourist trap?” Of course you can. I really felt for all of the foreign (non-US) guests on the Majesty of the Sea when we ported in Key West. Every single one of them had to take part of their day to go through US Immigration, whether they were getting off the boat in Key West or not. The immigration officers apparently set-up shop in the theater and the lines were horrendous of families waiting for immigration’s approval. I imagine those vacationers wasted hours of the last day of the cruise waiting for US Immigration to check them out. Honest to God, it’s no wonder why so much of the rest of the world hates the United States. Sometimes, our laws are just retarded. I really thought it was cool how there were different people from all over the world on this cruise and, except for the frat boys, we all got along just splendidly… up until “Homeland Security” kicked in and the US made sure there wasn’t someone vacationing from Japan or France setting off a dirty bomb in Key West (or someone who has just spent thousands of dollars on a vacation trying to sneak into the country… if they can make that kind of money, they have brains and a good work ethic… let ’em in!) by making every man, woman and child go through an immigration checkpoint. I didn’t feel safe, I felt embarrassed for our country. Why not allow these people to enjoy the last day of their vacation and check them out after the cruise in Miami? I didn’t have to go through immigration in the Bahamas… and I could of been planning to buy some crack from that dude who wanted to know if I needed a “smoke”… or something!!!

Anyway, back to the non-crappy part of the Key West visit. We did a little sight seeing

ahhh... art — Nothing says "art" like naked chicks... and NO, that's not me lying on my back looking up. He's part of the "art"... and my wife wouldn't let me lie beside him...

… did a little shopping…

… ate some conch fritters…

… enjoyed frozen chocolate-covered Key Lime pie on a stick…

and overall had a touristerrific, sunshiny day!

Then, back on the ship for the last time. We had a wonderful evening of eating lots of food and swimming with the frat boys… and then eating some more. I crap you not, I gained 10# on that stinking cruise!

When we woke up the next morning, we were in Miami. Up and at ’em and off the ship. We spent an entire day at Miami International Airport (’cause we had to watch our luggage… we could have “checked” it at this storage place, but they want to rape you and kill your first born as payment for that, so we said “screw it, airports are fun”). We discovered that Miami isn’t too exciting when experienced from the airport, so airports aren’t really that fun. Didn’t even get to see Tubbs, let alone Crockett 🙁

Finally, a turbulent flight back to Denver, a late-night hotel stop on the way home, and finally back to the Craphandle. And then, back to work with another year until the next real vacation.

Crap man… I just realized how much I miss my ΣAE buddies…

Why I Don’t Go to the Dentist…

I haven’t been to a dentist since I was 18-years-old. I’m now 41-years-old. For those of you bad at math, I haven’t been to a dentist in 23 years. The last time I went was at the urging of my parents before I went off to college. I was still on my parents insurance and they paid for the whole shebang. I remember it being painful, full of screeching drills and the smell of smoking teeth. I remember shots (notice the plural) in my mouth that didn’t seem to numb everything the way they were supposed to. I remember thinking to myself that the dentist was a skinny little preppy dude, and my 18-year-old body, fresh out of four years of high school football, could kick this jerk’s ass. I’m pretty sure that dentist was about one drill insertion away from having a little dental work done himself… at no charge. That was then.

This is now. I no longer fear the pain. The thought of having some dude sticking his hairy fingers in my mouth is unsettling, but it doesn’t prevent me from having my oral orifice examined. I don’t go to the dentist for the same reason that I don’t see a psychiatrist (of which I am plenty in need of seeing), I don’t go to a chiropractor, I forgo the use of an attorney, and I seldom set foot in a doctor’s office; I hate senators and school superintendents and city managers and CEOs and Hollywood actors and rock stars and successful entrepreneurs.

I have a severe case of class envy.

I hate people who are successful and make a lot of money. I don’t hate them for what they have… I hate them for making me realize what I do not have. I don’t hate them for their outgoing personalities and successful traits… I hate them for making me realize how low my self-esteem is and how my traits all suck. I don’t hate their money… I just do everything I can to not add to their wealth by sacrificing any of my lower-middle-class income to them. That’s one of the main reasons I hate paying taxes… because I know part of what I pay goes into those $150,000 salaries of those morons in Washington who can’t pull their heads out of their asses for long enough to do what’s right for the country.

I remember when I first moved to Scottsbluff, NE. I was in my early 20s and pretty fresh out of college. I was an assistant manager at Sherwin-Williams… you know… the paint store. That’s right… first job out of college was in retail management. Explains a lot about why I think life sucks, huh? I remember my college professors all warning about jobs in retail. “Once you go into retail, it’s very hard to get out… or to do any better.” I was hesitant to go into retail, but after sending out hundreds of resumes with only a handful of resulting interviews and only one actual job offer, I didn’t feel I had much choice. I took what was offered. So, I end up in Scottsbluff, NE making a salary of like $17,000/year working 45 to 55 hours per week. I knew this wasn’t a lot of money, but I could afford a crappy, mildew covered, bug infested little basement apartment, and I could pay my bills and put food on the table. Not good food, mind you, but food. I was also able to keep up on the repayment of the thousands of dollars in student loans I had accumulated. College… funny huh? You spend thousands of dollars on an education that never really seems to pay for itself. Where’s the ROI on a stupid business degree? I guess if you’re a doctor or lawyer, you must finally realize some return on that investment, huh? Anyways, even though I was making pretty crappy money for a college graduate, I was still pretty naive and felt that life might still work out and that hard work would provide it’s benefits in the future. In other words, I was still stupid

I can remember when my attitude started to change… when I experienced my “awakening”. I was driving in downtown Scottsbluff (it’s about five blocks long, so it was a short drive), when I was passed by a car. This was not just any car, this was a fancy little BMW sportster. You know, a silver little two-seater convertible jobbie. And it had vanity plates.

Vanity plates.

And guess what vanity was expressed on those stinking license plates?

“DRTOOTH”

I crap you not. Some dentist was driving around town in a $40,000-plus sports car and was letting everyone know that he bought that car through the cavities of the little children. That is the exact moment that I decided that I was never going to go to a dentist again. I was never going to help some arrogant SOB buy his next Mercedes or Beemer or country club membership or vacation condo in Las Vegas or Miami. Thanks for the invitation, but I’m afraid that doesn’t sound like the kind of party I’m interested in attending. Gather your wealth through the teeth of some other miserable assistant manager at some other crappy retail establishment, I’m gonna peace-out on this one.

And I have been peaced-out ever since. My teeth, of course, are falling apart. They are stained and cracked and filled with cavities. I don’t think there is much enamel left, because sometimes too hot or too cold makes them hurt. One of my back teeth that was filled decades ago when I last visited a dentist has had a huge crack down the side of it for almost 15 years. Finally, a couple of nights ago while eating spaghetti (spaghetti, for crying out loud), that back half of the cracked tooth just disappeared. I must have swallowed it. Better I use it as roughage then let some dentist charge me hundreds of dollars to fix. I have a wisdom tooth that has been trying to come in for the past 20 years, and it’s growing out of the side of my jaw. It gets a little sore and leaks a little pus from time to time (I originally wrote that “my tooth gets a little pusy from time to time”, but I originally thought “pus” had two s’s… and that sentence made me laugh for longer than was appropriate, so I changed it… and then I pointed it out again here, because… damn it, it’s just funny).

The strange thing is, my mouth never really hurts. Aside from the occasional sensitivity issues, and the wisdom tooth acting up on occasion, I feel little pain. I know there have to be tons of cavities in that sucker. I know all of the crack and chips should probably cause some discomfort, but they don’t. Even when that stupid wisdom tooth starts acting up, I just gargle with some peroxide, and it feels better. I brush at least twice a day, and I floss… I floss on occasion (special occassions, like Christmas and Martin Luther King’s birthday).

I know that I should probably go to see a dentist. Modern dentistry is what sets us apart from neanderthals… like the British. I know I could probably extend my miserable existence (oh yeah) by taking better care of my teeth. I can just picture the look on the dentist’s face the first time he gets a gander inside my mouth. You know how in cartoons the eyes roll like slots into dollar signs? Well, my dentists eye’s are gonna roll into Beemers. I just know it.

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.

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!

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…

A Manly Recipe: Pear/Jalapeno Jam

A lot of guys like to cook. I like to cook. There is nothing wrong with a guy cooking, especially when he cooks something that ROCKS! I like cooking with heat… and I don’t mean on the stove. I like peppers. Hot peppers of all kinds; jalapenos, habaneros, serranos, green chilies, red chilies, yellow chilies. I usually grow peppers over the summer to can or dehydrate to have on hand for cooking spicy food.

My love of spicy has been passed on to my two sons. I guess my constant talk of, “real men like it hot,” and “only wimps don’t like spicy food” has probably helped develop this taste. I think they are afraid to not like things a little spicy. They will try about anything, and hardly ever admit that something is too much (although they aren’t afraid to ask for milk while testing.)

My wife has even developed, to a lesser degree, a tolerance for my cooking. She, however, isn’t afraid to tell me something is too much. She’s such a girl.

I’m always trying new recipes and new takes on old recipes to spice them up. I decided that I need to document some of them here to share with fellow lovers of all things spicy. I’ll throw an occasional recipe into the Happy Stinking Joy mix from time to time, only if I think they are worthy. Some will be pretty simple, and some will take some time and effort. I try to make things mild enough that the wife will eat them, yet with enough heat to make it worth my while. I hope some of you try these out, and let me know what you think!

To start it off, I’ll go with a recipe I made over this past weekend. We went to a farmer’s market and picked up some jams made with hot peppers. We bought some strawberry/jalapeno jam and some peach/habanero jam. $4.00 for like an 8oz jar. Pricey! So, I figured I’d make some on my own. I’m guessing the overall cost is about 1/2 of buying it at the farmer’s market. A little more work that driving to the market, and you end up with more than a bottle or two, but this stuff will last like a year if you can it properly.

Please read the whole thing through before trying this recipe. I’m not a professional recipe writer, and things may be a little out of order. I’d hate for anyone to start and then figure out that there was something they were supposed to do before they get to a certain point.

Good luck!

Adventurer Rich’s Pear/Jalapeno Jam

What you’re going to need:

*6 medium jalapenos (approximate)

*4 pears (approximate) [pears + jalapenos need to yield 4 cups uncooked]

*1 Tbs margarine or butter

*1/4 cup lemon juice

*7 1/2 cups sugar

*1 3oz pouch liquid Certo

*canner

*1/2 pint or 1/4 pint jars with rims and lids, sterilized

Now, the first thing you’re going to want to do is chop up pear and jalapenos. Peel and core the pears, and chop the jalapenos.

I cut up the pears and jalapenos with knife and then dice them. I use one of those fancy choppers that you can get in the infomercials… you know, you stick the stuff in and then pound on the top of it to dice the contents. You want pretty close to exactly 4 cups of diced pears and peppers. If you want it a little hotter, add more jalapenos and less pears. If you want it a little milder, go to a different website. I removed the seeds and white membrane from the jalapenos (to make the wife happy), but if I were to make this again, I would leave them in to add more heat. Once they chunks are the size you think you would like in your jam, throw them in a pot on the stove.

Add the sugar and lemon juice and throw the slap of butter or margarine on top; the fat helps prevent the mixture from forming an undesirable foam on top… and fat just makes everything a little better. Most hot pepper jellies and jams call for vinegar (and even pickled peppers), and many people like the certain tanginess that vinegar adds. I like the vinegar flavored jams and jellies too, but with this recipe, I wanted the fruitiness of the pear and jalapeno to be the centerpiece of the taste… thus the lemon juice as an acid instead of vinegar. Look at me, I’m writing like I know what in the hell I’m talking about! Don’t be mislead… I’m as confused as ever.

Once you have everything in the pot, turn the heat up to medium on the burner and bring the works to a rolling boil. A “rolling boil” means that the mixture’s boiling can’t be stopped by you stirring it. Speaking of stirring, you want to stir this pretty constantly. Sugar burns very easily. Speaking of sugar… that crap gets very hot. As soon as the sugar is melted, I’m pretty sure it is about temperature of the center of the earth. Once it boils, I’m guessing it would make the surface of the sun feel like a day at the beach in Canada. In other words, don’t touch the hot sugar. Seriously. You’ll be sorry (I was).

Once you have that rolling boil, it’s time to add the fruit pectin. For this recipe, I recommend (’cause it’s what I used… and it worked) Certo Liquid Pectin. One three ounce pouch is just right for this recipe. The cool thing is, I bought a box of the stuff, and there were two pouches, so I have an extra pouch to make something else.

Once the pectin is added, bring back to a boil and boil for as close to exactly 1 minute as possible (stirring constantly). I’m guessing that if you don’t boil it long enough, you’ll have syrup instead of jam, and if you boil it too long, it will be more like rock candy; both of which are great ideas, just not for this recipe.

Now it’s time to fill your sterilized canning jars. Remember, this crap is HOT! Be careful. If you get it on your hand, you will cry like a little girl (I did), and the pain will last FOREVER! Fill the jars to about 1/4 inch of the top. If you get some of the mixture on the lip of the lid (which you will), wipe it away. You want the lip clean to ensure a proper seal and prevent icky stuff from getting in.

Alrighty, now it’s time to put the lids and rims on. Again, make sure the lips and threads of the jars are clean. Keeping the lids in hot warrm until you are ready to place them on the jars is a good idea. Why? Who knows. It’s just a good idea.

Now the jars are ready to go into the canner (which should be filled with boiling water). Make sure there is enough water to completely cover all of your jars.

Lower the jars into the water, place the lid on the canner, and boil those bad boys for 10 minutes.

Remove the jars from the canner and set them on a dishtowel on a counter to let them cool. If they are canned properly, the lids should pop down and not pop back up when you push on them. It jam may have to cool quite awhile before the lids don’t pop back up. If you have a jar or two that the lids refuse to seal on, that’s ok; those just need to go in the fridge and be the first ones you eat.

Once the jars are sealed, place them in a cool, dark place and you can store them for up-to about a year (but I doubt they will last that long… ’cause you’re gonna eat this slop up way before a year).

Once of my families favorite way to eat this stuff is on cracker with cream cheese.

You know what’s really cool? Not only do the flavors of the pears and jalapenos compliment each other nicely, and the mild heat of the jalapenos make this a solid spread for pepper-heads… but the jam looks kind of like something you might clear from the back of your throat! Now, that’s a jam a any real man would be proud to eat!

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!

Social Etiquette… Sucks!

The worst thing about being an adult is not being able to speak your mind at all times. There is a certain social etiquette that dictates times when we have to internalize our thoughts. I don’t know who came up this social etiquette, but he or she and all of their relatives should be flogged with wet noodles throughout eternity. Social etiquette sucks. In fact, many aspects of our current society suck. At least to me, and that’s all that really matters. See, we all feel pretty much the same, but we aren’t allowed to say so, because social etiquette dictates that it isn’t proper to say that you only want what’s best for you. We have to think of the good of the whole. Did I mention that social etiquette sucks?

Oh sure, I care about others. I don’t like children suffering around the world, and my heart goes out to the people of Japan. I wish that everyone had a decent job, and I wish poverty and war could be eradicated from the face of our planet. But none of this changes the fact if I want to send out a smart ass email at work, I shouldn’t have to worry about who I offend. I’m a smart ass. Period. When I send an email, having to hide my smart-assness only limits me from being who I really am. But social etiquette dictates that I cannot be a smart ass in business related email… or with coworkers… or with customers. Screw that. Life is too short to have to pretend you are someone you really are not. But, I will continue to be polite and try to hold back on the smart ass comments while at work. We all need a job, right? And social etiquette dictates that we have to behave a certain way in order to perform that job, right? Did I mention that social etiquette sucks?

Part of the training for social etiquette begins when we are young. Schools, at times, seem to like focusing on social etiquette more than teaching things of real value. I have a son in middle school. That son recently fractured his foot in PE. So, he can’t participate in actual PE activities until his foot heals. In order to pass PE, he needs to show up and pay attention. Sounds pretty fair, right? Well, the son recently was docked points in PE. Was he docked because he didn’t show up on time? No, he arrived in a timely manner. Was he docked because he wasn’t paying attention? No, he was paying as much attention as could be expected from someone sitting on the sidelines and not able to participate. He was docked points because he didn’t have his shirt tucked in. Seriously, because he didn’t have his shirt tucked in, he lost participation points for that day. Social etiquette dictates that if your teacher makes a rule, you must follow that rule, even though the rule was put into place so that middle school boys can’t look up the shirts of middle school girls during various middle school PE activities and said rule really doesn’t apply to you… because not only are you not participating because of an injury you received in PE… but because you are not a girl. But, of course, social etiquette dictates that you can’t have a rule for girls that you don’t have for boys; that wouldn’t be fair. Social etiquette is all about fairness for the masses and doesn’t really allow for individuality. The whole incident hasn’t really led me to question why my son didn’t have his shirt tucked in. This incident has got me to thinking about why I had to pay my son’s medical expenses. I mean, if I were hurt at work during a work related activity, my employer would pay my medical expenses. My son was hurt at school during a non-optional school activity, shouldn’t the school pay for it? Just wondering.

Social etiquette is all about learning the rules and learning to do things in a manner so as to not upset someone else. Often, following social etiquette prevents someone else from being upset, but it leaves you really pissed off. In my 41+ years of life, I have usually tried to follow the rules of social etiquette. How has it benefited me? Well, high blood pressure and a constant upset stomach seem to be about the only things I can think of that have been the result of following social etiquette. In other words, social etiquette sucks. I haven’t made a fortune following social etiquette. I don’t have a plethora of adult friends because I have followed the ways of social etiquette. I don’t feel personally or professionally fulfilled because of the wonders of social etiquette. I haven’t gained respect through following the mystical ways of social etiquette.

I desire for my kids to think outside the box… to be independently successful on their own terms… to never have to answer to someone they have no desire to answer to. I want them, if someone is pissing them off, to be able to tell that person to take a flying leap. In my mind, this is the way to true happiness in this life. Selfish? You betcha, and each and every one of us would like to be able to do it. The schools are going to keep right on teaching social etiquette. The schools are going to keep enforcing the same rules that I thought were stupid when I was a kid… and I still, as an adult, don’t see the value in. I guess if we all want the same cookie-cutter society that we have had for the last century, this is fine. But we aren’t given the same promises in life that our parents were offered. My employer doesn’t offer a guaranteed pension, does yours? Social Security isn’t looking like it’s going to play much of a role in my retirement (even though I’ve paid into it every year since I’ve started working). I have a retirement plan, but not much is going in, and it sure isn’t growing too fast. At the current rate, I will not be able to retire (which, as far as I can tell, is when you can tell the whole social etiquette thing to take a hike). I want to be the crotchety old man who always speaks his mind and doesn’t give a crap what anyone else thinks. I may never get to that point, so at least I can wish that for my kids.

The Dreams of Our Youth

Ahhh… remember back to the days of your youth. These were magical years where your future seemed so bright. Remember? From the end of August to mid-May, you learned and played sports and hung out with your friends all day. But summer was when the true magic happened. Summers were a seemingly endless period of long, hot days and cool, enchanted nights. You could ride your bike with your friends day after day and it never got old. As young boys, my friends and I would ride bikes and play catch and start a pick-up game of kickball of football and hike paths and climb trees and hang-out at our favorite stores (… uh… it was Fort Peck, Montana, so there was only one) and swim at the pool or at the lake and, as we got older, appreciate the way our rapidly-maturing female friends were filling out their bathing suits in spectacular new ways… and the summers seemed to last an eternity.

As we got older, some of us started getting summer jobs, and some of us got jobs year-round. School got harder, and we had to start really thinking about our futures. Then, college called to some of us, and some of us went straight to full-time, real-world work; but we still held tight to our dreams. Those of us who went to college soon joined our working friends. During these years, many of us fell in love, got married, started families; the dreams were still there.

Our kids started to grow up. Soon, we could see our kids enjoying many of the same things we enjoyed in our youth, and we were starting to feel a little old. The dreams were still hanging on, but we began to wonder how we were going to accomplish them with a full family life. Oh well, maybe after the kids are grown and on their own.

Soon, we start living vicariously through our kids. Maybe we want our kid to be that great sports star we never were. Or maybe we want our kid to be the genius we were never smart enough to be. Or perhaps we want our kid to be the singer or actor or musician we never had the confidence to attempt to find within ourselves. Our dreams migrate to the purgatory of our consciousness, awaiting the day when they will either realize the joyous fruition of heavenly accomplishment or be cast to the inescapable torment of hellish failure. We start trying to help our children with their dreams, which are merely extensions of the dreams we had in our youth. We start to realize that our age is actually catching up with us.

We become obnoxiously proud parents, praising the accomplishments of our children as if they were our own… often to the major annoyance of most other adults around us. Soon, we find that other adults begin to avoid us because they really don’t care how good little Jimmy’s baseball team did… or how excellent little Susie’s dance recital went. We become monsters who seem intent at driving everyone away from us… everyone except our families. We scream at the umpires or referees at a game because their calls made our kid’s team lose. We badmouth the teacher who doesn’t truly see our child’s intelligence. We harbor ill-will toward the second-chair trumpet player who screwed up during the concert and made our first-chair child look bad. We become bearers of vehement hate toward every single person or thing that interferes with our child’s success. Our age is no longer catching up with us; it has caught us and is a driving force in our lives.

Our children, meanwhile, are oblivious. They are focusing on having fun and creating their own dreams.

Soon, the kids are off to college or work, and we have the houses to ourselves again. We are still focusing on the dreams of our kids. We give career advice. We warn them of the mistakes we made along the way. We tell them what they should do to be happy, which is really what we should have done to be happy. Our hindsight is, for the most part, ignored by our children.

Our kids are now adults, they are working full-time, many of them are happily married… and before you know it, we’re grandparents. Our kids seem to have put their dreams on hold in an attempt to help their kids create new dreams. Finally, there is time for us to focus on our dreams once again, so we search. We search our consciousness for those dreams of our youth. We search for the motivation to once again bring them to the front of our minds. Funny thing is, when we search for our dreams, the smell of brimstone becomes overpowering, and just the thought of trying to accomplish those dreams makes us very tired. We have moved beyond old and are now ancient.

Ahhh… it was nice to have dreams. Too bad we never found the time or will to accomplish them. What to do now? Ooooh… looks like the grand kids could use some help with their dreams…

How To Make Money With A Blog… yes, that’s a question…

I have really big plans for this blog. Someday, I will make enough money with this blog that I can spend all of the time that I now devote to my job doing nothing more than bitching about stuff here all day. You know what they say, do something you love, and it won’t really be “work”. Well, bitching is about the only thing I do that I really enjoy, so this has to be the answer to my prayers… at some point… right? Oh please, let it be so.

Okay, so to make money with a blog, you have to… uh… COME ON! There has to be a way to make money with a blog! Every once in awhile, I put a link to something on Amazon on here. I’m an Amazon Associate, which means I can get commission if someone clicks one of those links and actually buys something from Amazon. I have been an Amazon Associate for about two years, and I have actually made some money doing it. Of course, I haven’t seen any of that money yet. Amazon won’t actually pay anything out until you have built up at least $10 in commission… and I haven’t hit that mark yet. In another three or four years, I should get my first $10 check from Amazon.

I’m stoked!

There is also Google Ads. I could have a list of stupid links on the side of my blog with Google ads and I would get paid every time someone clicks one of those links. Happy Stinking Joy doesn’t really have a lot of visitors, and, at this point, I’d rather have you stay and read my thoughts than get distracted by the ads on the side and leave my site. Also, it would mess up my ultra-professional layout… or something.

I haven’t exactly had an onslaught of individual advertisers approaching me with bids for some of the precious real estate on my site. I guess rant sites aren’t real popular with traditional advertisers. Before I’m going to see any real revenue from this site, I’m going to have to get more than a handful of people coming here on a daily basis.

Most popular blogs seem to fall into a couple of categories, the first of which is the “expert” blogger. You know, these are the Seth Godins of the world who share all kinds of free insight into crap that they are experts about. Their whole ploy is to give you “free advice” to make you feel like a friend, and then they try to sell their books to you or try to talk you into hiring them to do consulting or speaking engagements. Well, my forty-one-years of life have not exactly led me to become much of an expert at anything. I know a little about a lot, but a lot about little. I have been too busy chasing the next-step-up in middle-class pay to stay with any one company in any given field for more than a couple of years. If your current promotions and pay increases aren’t getting you where you want to be: quit, and maybe the next job will take you where you want to go. Of course, the next job never does. So, I’ve had the opportunity to work with all kinds of interesting people in many different fields, but I haven’t stuck around any of them long enough to actually have become an expert at anything. I’m an expert bitcher, but companies aren’t going to hire me to give a “bitch seminar” to their workforce… at least not yet. I figure if I pray about it long enough, God, if nothing else, will get tired of me asking and either give it to me just to shut me up or strike me dead…

… either of which would lead to no more Monday mornings dreading work.

The other major category of successful bloggers seems to be those who cover current events. Whether it be Perez Hilton covering the latest embarrassments of the rich and famous, or any of the slew of Yahoo! bloggers covering the latest in world events; people who get the story first tend to get a following. I think this may be the route I need to follow. I need to get the hot stories first. Of course, I live in Nebraska, so the celebrity fodder may be a little out of my grasp.

Ooh… Ooh… Miss America is from my part of Nebraska, so I could dedicate my blog to digging up all of the crap I can to humiliate Miss America I did a little blog about Miss America right after she won and it was actually one of the most visited rants I have posted! But… I have a pretty strong suspicion that Teresa Scanlan is almost as squeaky clean as you would think a Miss America should be. I bet she actually believes what she says she believes, and I don’t think that “Miss America thought about skipping church once because she was just too tired to go, but then she prayed about it and changed her mind” will draw a lot of visitors to my little site.

So, I’ve got to find a way to get the latest and greatest news before anybody else. This is a “must” if I ever want to make this thing my sugar daddy. Okay, so here it goes:

Breaking news… Charlie Sheen has gone insane! The impact was devastating. Damages are estimated… oh, great, my kid just looked over my shoulder and informed me that this is old news. Okay, I guess I need to find something a little more “hot”.

Alright, I just did a Google search for “breaking news” and I don’t think I’m going to be able to go this route. It seems that all of the “news” sites already have the breaking news covered. The news sites and a bunch of Twitter people. I don’t tweet or chirp or cockadoodledoo… or whatever it is that those people do. I’m not quite hip enough for that. Besides, all I’d be able to add to the Twitter conversation would be unique things I’m experiencing.

“It’s windy in Nebraska… again!”

See, it just doesn’t work.

Hmmm… I gotta figure something out. Okay, I know, I could just make kind of creative news stories. No, that wasn’t “make up news stories”, it was “make kind of creative news stories”. There’s… uh… sort of a difference.

Breaking news…. There is a humongous oil leak in the… uh… Gulf of Istanbul. Yeah, and it’s causing infertility in the… uh… Great Northern Spike-Backed Whale. Oh, you should hear the sad song those poor whales are singing at this moment. It would make you cry.

PETA — Okay... yeah... I don't know what Alicia Silverstone being a Vegetarian has to do with "funny whale oil leaks" either, but a Google image search came up with this. I love Google...

This just in… apparently the oil spill was caused by… uh… Miss America! Yeah, that’s it! Apparently Miss America was on a diplomatic mission to Alderan and she and her entourage accidentally knocked over a big oil thingie in the Gulf of Istanbul. Anti-American sentiment is through the roof in the countries bordering the Gulf… and by Great Northern Spiked-Back Whale lovers around the world! Check back to this site often for more of the latest…

This just may work 😉