Doctor Strange Tounge: Or, How I learned to stop worrying and love the scrotum.

Over my life, my tongue has grieved me many times. I remember all those times that my tongue just would not function. Usually there were girls involved. Sometimes job interviewers. Then there were the times that my tongue worked too well. It said things that I thought I was only thinking inside my head. In hindsight  the latter has provided some pretty good memories. My tongue DOES have some wit. Once or twice my tongue decided to park itslef right between my teeth  mid bite. A few years ago half of my tongue went completely numb. I probably shouldn't single my tongue out on that one as the rest of my face had gone frigid too.

Worst of all, my tongue is gross. Deformed. It could easily be mistaken for a map of all the fault lines here in earthquake prone California. It's CRACKED!! It's a soft pink Rorschach test. It's been that way forever. One more reason I should keep my mouth shut. Though I rarely do. 

Yesterday I was at the dentist and he, pointing out the obvious, asked if I knew about the cracks in my tongue. I said I did. 

   "Do you know why?" he asked. I didn't, but suspected that I would soon find out. Great!! I've always been curious as to why it's that way.

   "I don't know either." he told me. "I do see it now and then though."

  Damn. Still a mystery. I decided to google the subject as soon as I got home. Let me just tell you that I am in no danger. What I have (it's a full blown syndrome apparently) is not at all harmful. Except maybe, to ones ego. For it seems that I am afflicted with Scrotal Tongue!!! It's fantastic. I'm SO ok with it. I want to run around town with my fissured tongue hanging from my mouth screaming "Wanna see a scrotal tongue?? Five dollars please!" I'm a freak show. I will probably never get rich from this, but I am certain that my tongue will have some great stories to tell! 

Walk Hard: A Sweaty Sox Story

Today I discovered something very exciting about Visalia. It seems that a group of middle aged women gather every morning in our local mall and race a Mall Walker Criterium. I was standing in line at the food court the first time I saw the group go by. I noticed they were in a hurry, but assumed there must be a sale on whatever it is that women find SO exciting in a shopping mall. I grabbed my food and started to head out of the building when i saw them coming at me again. Were they going a little bit faster? This was a race!! I decided to grab myself a seat and watch. As anyone who has ever seen a race knows, the action is in the corners. So staked myself a position between Hot Dog On A Stick and Footlocker. If anyone was going to crash....or throw a shoe this would be the place. The tightest corner in the mall. At lap three I started keeping track of the position of some of the athletes. At lap four I realized that none of the positions had changed. They just rounded the mall, none strong enough to overtake the others. In the straight-away approach of lap five I noticed that the two women who had been leading during the entire race were really starting to smack talk each other. I couldn't hear what was said, and their expressions seemed friendly, but I am sure that they were really trying to get into each others heads. LAP 6! LAP 7! These ladies were bringing it. I realized my lunch hour might not see me through to the end of the race. I had to make a call. At lap 9 I let them know that this was the bell lap. One to go! They were so focused that they hardly seemed to notice. I did see a look of  OLD SCHOOL FURY in the face of the woman in the third position. I had high hopes that she was a sprinter and just waiting to pounce.  Minutes later, the entire group rounded the turn again. Old School Fury had acctualy lost ground. She must have blown up somewhere around Gymboree. The two wire to wire leaders finished in an almost dead heat. Unable to declare a winner I tried to high five them both, but as any good pro walker would, they kept right on moving. They needed a cool down lap. Being a walker myself, I gave them their space. It must be tough with all the walker groupies bothering them anyway. Before they finished their victory lap my lunch hour had ended. Lunch AND a show today. And all for $6.42! What a bargain. 

What's Your Sign?

Every day I drive by a middle school. At the edge of the property stands a thirty foot tall sign. It's an old marquee style sign that boasts the schools name. Divisadero Middle. Home of the Trojans. I love this sign. Whenever I pass it I take a peek at it, just to see the Happenings of the school. It really takes me back. The school dances that i never attended. The upcoming Holidays that I couldn't wait for. Each spring, the best of all: See you next year!

Sometimes I see students standing beneath the sign with a giant pole, rearranging and removing letters, letting the other kids know that they are IN THE KNOW. They are the keepers of the information until the sign is finished and reveals to the world when the next Sadie Hawkins dance will be. That would have been a great job. Sometimes there are misspellings or upside-down letters. I wonder how that happens. No proof reader? I like to believe that some little social deviant did it on purpose.  A big F-YOU to the man!!!

Today I drove by and the sign was gone. It's been replaced by a brand new digital sign. Programable. Probably has spell check. It's awful. It's completely impersonal. Today it only said that it was currently 3:15 PM. Except that it was 2:35 PM. Awesome. I'm sure that this sign will do so much more than the old one, but it will never do it as well. With any luck, maybe...just MAYBE, the perfect allignment of bulbs will burn out and we might still get a big F YOU up there once again. That would be a message I could get behind.

Snow: Perfectly Rated

I live in an area where the snow very rarely comes to me. So occasionally I have to bring the mountain to Mohamad. This can be exceedingly difficult. On my most recent hunt for the Great White, problems where everywhere. My neice was visiting from another mostly snowless area so my wife and I decided that a snowday would be a good time. We loaded up the Element with sleds and warm clothes. Off we went. Long before we saw even one snowflake, we saw signs. CHAINS REQUIRED AHEAD. Damn. I don't own snow chains. Luckily, at the base of the mountain  there was a Price Gouging Thief renting snow chains to poor suckers like me. Parked everywhere, were  dozens of cars with disembodied legs sticking out from under them. Newbies like me learning to use tire chains. There is no acctual CHAIN involved I found out. The things looked more like they were made by an industrial strength jewelry maker like I might have had when I was nine, were I a girl. "Look mommy I made you a metal....monochrome...belt?" Thats what they looked like to me. I paid the thief and headed off to the mountain, chains in tow. When it finally became apparent that there WOULD be snow on this here trip, I climbed out in the FREEZING cold to put my new found chain installing skills to the test. First tire....Check. Second tire....damn. The "chain" was missing a buckle that held the whole contraption together. Surprising my wife (and myself) I MacGyvered it and we were once again on our way. It was slow go. This is when i started thinking "snow is SO overrated." We drove for about an hour and finally reached the snowplay area. It was COLD!! It was also so beautiful. Amazing really. Devon and I climbed up the hill dragging our sleds behind us. I'm not shy! I couldn't wait to ride that snowy hill. It was Great! So fun. If what your mom said about your face freezing that way was true, this would have been ok with me. I was smiling! Wouldn't mind looking like that for a long time. Devon took some encouraging, but she slid down the hill as well. More smiles. This was a GRAND time. It really was. Just a half hour earlier I was sure that snow was over rated. I realized then, that it wasn't. It was Perfectly Rated. It was the exact amount of fun that would motivate me to go through all the trouble that was the trip there. Ten percent less fun and I might not ever do it again. But it was perfect. Memorable. I would do it all again.....just not too soon. 

Death of a Taco

        I was greeted this morning at my local Jack In The Box by the counter girl I see there on a regular basis.

         "I was just thinking about you" she said. "Seems that our Monster Taco is being deleted from our menu. You are the first person I thought of."

         This was problematic in more than a couple of ways. First, I am apparently known for my gluttony. Sure I could order a taco that is more size appropriate to feed a person, but I don't. I want BIG. I go Large! Not something to  be known for. Second, I am SO boring. I order those damn Monster Tacos every visit. I'm certain that I am known as the Monster Taco guy. Or perhaps Monster Taco Dude, which is a monicker i wouldn't self apply, but does have a certain ring to it. Third, the Taco was being "deleted" Not discontinued. Not removed. Has the whole world gone digital? I hold those tacos in my hand. Well, two hands, they are Monster after all. They are real physical things. They can't be deleted. I can make then dissappear, bite by delicious bite. They are never gone though. I feel them with me for hours some times. I am preparing to spearhead two campaigns. One: Save the Monster Taco!!!!! Second: Digitize food. Oh my GOD how great would it be to log on and just download yourself a nice #1 combo with extra sauce? I really feel trapped. I am an analog person living in a digital world. I don't know which side i will finally chose, Virtual Reality, or Real Reality, but i bet that my computer would never recognize me as "The Monster Taco Guy"

Music heals the soul

 I woke up this morning  to my blaring clock radio. Even though it was 6 AM i was pretty damn sure, this music BLOWS! I'm not sure when it happened, but I hate music! Not all music mind you, Just music made since....ohh...1999. Someone asked me a while back who my favorite band is. "Nirvana" I answered. A good answer. Solid. But I realized that, for obvious reasons , Nirvana hasn't made a SOUND in 15 years. I hate to sound like a  mosh pitting, flannel wearing GrandPa here, but the music today is awful!  I don't set out to hate it. In fact I want it to be good. I want it to move me. Sadly, it just doesn't. Sure there have been a few songs in the last decade and a half that I have enjoyed. And many more that I just "didn't hate."  Nothing has grabbed me though. Nothing has made me feel like flinging myself into another person. I miss that. Are the musicians today just not angry? Or is it me? Am I so comfortable that I can't suffer along with the angst ridden whippersnapper wailing from my speakers? I think it is me. I am now resolved to be miserable. To suffer. It won't be easy. The rewards, I hope, will be great though. I will be able to listen to a new song again and feel the singers pain, because, i know he feels mine. This of course will make me feel better. Sweet Irony! If I start feeling to happy there is always some Jonas Brothers or Miley Montanna not far away that I'm sure will bring me right back to a nice comfortable state of Irkyness. I'm off to iTunes. Pray for my misery. No too hard though. I could end up in a death metal spiral.