It’s not about WHAT you know, it’s WHEN you know it. ~ danof89

. . . I could probably write “volumes” of books on what it’s like turning 40 in today’s young, aggressive, take-no-prisoners, show-no-mercy, dog-eat-dog, no-holds-barred, three-word-hyphenated world; but who’s got that kind of time at “my age”? Anyway, who’d read them? A bunch of 40 year old’s ?

Seriously, their days are starting to become numbered and they should really spend ALL their spare time thinking more about who they are going to be leaving their possessions to, when they’re “gone”. . .

I’ve been in seclusion for the last few weeks trying to make sense of where the last 40 years of my life went (Scratch that. . .The last 40 years and a few weeks) since, I myself, turned the “Big 4 0″. What were my findings? . . . That it really doesn’t matter, ‘cuz it happened. . . Now what the hell am I going to DO about it? It wasn’t the actual “turning 40″ thing that I had a problem with. The main “hang up” I had was that I’d convinced myself (while still in my 20′s) that by the time I reached 40, I’d have it  “ALL FIGURED OUT”. . . And as a result, now that I “AM” (40) and obviously “DON’T” (have it ALL FIGURED OUT) I am left a little discombobulated. . . a little disconcerted. . . a little pissed. Why would I have EVER listened to the “20-something” me? I was a frickin’ idiot!
So I’ve decided to blow a hole in the theory that I came up with (while still in my 20′s – a decade of my life spent partying, like “THREE separate 20 year olds”, NONE of whom had ANY intention of living beyond age 30) by explaining that while I DON’T have it “ALL FIGURED OUT”. . . I’ve spent the better part of my 30′s digging myself out of the hole I created for myself while young and stupid and just NOW am starting to “understand” a few things a LOT more. So you might want to listen up. . . Coincidentally, if you find yourself below the age of 40 , you may continue to read and if you are “smart” (you aren’t) You may want to pay heed (you won’t) to my warnings and listen to (they aren’t reading anymore) what I have to say. . . It might save you some time and spare you a few disappointments in life (okay, I think the suckers have moved on to smut sites)  

. . . The first thing that I had to do, while trying to make sense of the predicament that had befallen me (the turning 40 thing) was to realize that I wasn’t alone. Well, technically I was, like at that “precise moment“. . . My wife and kids wouldn’t come near me, because of the smell. I still hadn’t bathed in a few weeks and I was a little “ripe”. (But I’m all better now) The second thing I needed to do, was cancel my plans to attend my Junior College’s 20 year Class Reunion

. After all, until I realized how, where and why my lifelong ambitions had “gone south” on me, there was really no reason to subject a bunch of my old friends, who’d moved on to burgeoning careers with fully paid-for homes, luxurious and fun-filled summer AND winter vacations, and totally-covered kids’ college tuitions – to “MY” bleak existence. . . No, it would be better for EVERYONE to steer clear from me, until I got this “ALL FIGURED OUT”. . .

My NEXT step, was to begin to backtrack to where or more accurately “WHEN”, the root of my problem had occurred. I remember when 40 sounded “old”. . . Now, I look around at other 40 year old’s and it STILL seems “old”. 40 MAY very well just be a number, but it looks like an OLD number. At the very least, it looks like a number that when “reached” signifies that the person “wearing” the number has either earned the number or is “earning” a yearly salary that is mathematically reached by an independent outside third party, who has surmised those that adorn the number, have satisfied any and all obligations to the outside world and will now be rewarded for their countless years (I counted 40) of putting up with people’s crap, writing good checks and kissing ass. These people seem to be living MUCH better than me and my family. They seem to have money in the bank. . . They seem to be doing it “right”. They seem to make me want to PUKE

. . . But, WHEN did someone share the secret of “your age one day being equivalent to your overall success and net-monetary worth in life”? Was it at one of the 3 colleges I attended, but didn’t graduate from? Was I at a party somewhere, standing on my head doing tapper counts or shots of Jägermeister, when then made this clear to EVERYONE but me? Somewhere, along the line, I think I got “jobbed” in all of this. . .

So, where does that leave “me”? It is my understanding that women have a “biological clock”. One that is directly connected to their ovaries, vulva, uterus or other reproductive system components with names that sound like the next hybrid car rolling off of the production line for GM in 2012. (thank God for the “bailout”, huh, ladies?). . . So they have this clock, that apparently “goes off” some time during there 30′s or 40′s (depending on your sources – Mine, happen to be the women of “The View”) that tells them that soon, it may be a little too late to be “making the babies”. My thinking is that men have a similar clock that “goes off” some time during their 20′s or 30′s (my source – being “My Brain”) that tells them that soon, it may be a little too late to be “making the career decisions that will help provide a stable and secure future for you and your family, should you be lucky enough to find someone that’ll want your sorry ass”. . . I’m pretty sure that when these “clocks” were being handed out. (Around the time the net-worth discussion took place and future success had been divied out) that I DID receive one. However, (again, somewhere in my 20′s) the alarm on this clock started to go off. . . Unfortunately for me, and for quite a few people that knew me at the time, I think I hit the “SNOOZE” button. (this is a feature that is not provided in the woman’s version of the clock – they just “dry up” or something) As a result, I was left making life and professional decisions in my late 20′s and early 30′s that could have been viewed as. . . “frickin’ retarded” . Like I hadn’t even been cognitive of what was going on around me AT ALL. In layman’s terms, (or Dr, Phil’s) I experienced a “What Were You Thinking?” moment. . . “My” moment, lasted about 10 years. . .

Somewhere along the line, through either “luck of the draw” or “cruel fate” I had “accidentally” become a successful Toy Designer , in the late 90′s. It gave me  “just” enough of a taste of success doing something that I LOVED doing. PLUS, something that I was pretty good at. . . THEREFORE, in one of my now “famous moves” and exhibiting my “infinite wisdom”, I decided to leave that world behind to forge ahead as a “freelance artist” and follow my DREAMS to California and become a . . . . . . yeah, that’s just the thing, I hadn’t really thought “that” far ahead. . . Not until I met my wife (and 3 of my 4 kids – she HAD 3 already, then we MADE another one, okay?) about 8 years ago, did I even begin to realize that I had failed to “wake up” when the alarm on my “clock” had gone off. Somehow, my wife saw past my obvious shortcomings and realized my “potential” . . . despite my flaws. I know. . . gullible much?

and NOW? I’m a Public School Bus Driver . . . but hey, you do what ya’ gotta’ do, right? that’s what I keep telling myself. . . Go Figg’r. . . (the title of this thing starting to come into focus for you now?)

The thing is, I feel like I know what I NEED to know to be able to handle success now. . . Which is precisely WHY I will probably never achieve it. Success (in MY mind – and at this point that’s what you’re inside of right now. . . MY MIND. . . SCARY, huh?) seems to be dolled out with very little regard to who is “worthy” of it. . . kind of like those folks out there collecting paychecks for doing absolutely NOTHING more than being 40 years old (or more) and annoying. Going about their days making their Cadillac Escalade payments (on time) and purchasing time shares in Tahoe, with just enough time to go to Wal-Mart and pick out a 52″ flat screen TV and a family-size fun pack of assorted Doritos® (which now costs approximately only $3 less than the television, but STILL considerably more than I make in 6 months) before going home to sleep on piles of their money . . . I’m kidding, of course. . . Rich, successful people don’t shop at Wal-mart. . .They shop at Target.

But the fact that I have all the necessary “tools” in place to be able to “cope” with all of the trials and tribulations that wealth, fame and success can bring. . . is surely my “Road to NOWHERE”. . . That would be too neat. . . too clean. . . too convenient. . . too unlike anything that has happened previously in my life. It’s not that I like to do things the hard way. . . It just turns out that I’m not one of those kinds of folks that can “Make their money WORK for me”. . . I WORK for IT. . . and IT is kicking the crap out of me. . .

That’s why I am writing this today. . . I think I may have actually formulated a “plan”. . . A way to break free from the shackles of mediocrity. A way to realize my dreams and to come to a better understanding of how I can get past the fact that there is a difference between “complacency” and “failure”. . . I’ve been beating myself up all these years trying to figure out how to make up for lost time. Opportunities that I thought I’d let pass me by, because of something I “DID”. . . Oh, don’t you see? . . . You DON’T?. . . Well, I’m not sure I do either, but bear with me, ‘cuz I think I might be ON to something. I think I may have been going at it all wrong. Instead of looking at things I “DID”, I needed to think of things “NOT to DO”. . .

So rather than remain bitter towards the socially-elite, I’ve decided to BECOME one of them by following a “list” of things I’m almost 30% POSITIVE will be not only “MY” key to success in everything I try to accomplish by the time I get around to “NOT DOING” them, but “YOURS” as well. . . I’ve spent an exorbitant amount of time trying to figure out ways I could have done things differently. (and it seems even LONGER trying to introduce this list to you) It’s kind of like “reverse-engineering” my failures. . . or maybe it’s not kind of like that at all. . . whatever.

Your “NOT to Do” List

• Do NOT “Emote”. . . I have found that one of the KEYS to at least LOOKING YOUNGER than the “Rich Buttclowns” out there, that end up getting EVERYTHING in the WORLD handed to them on a “silver platter”, left to them along with a sizable trust fund, by a dead Great Uncle, that they didn’t even have to meet – let alone “put up with” every Christmas – getting “loaded” in your garage and backing out of the driveway to go get more beer, running over your first and most cherished dog “Checkers”, before ending the night passing out and wetting your bed. . . Woah! Wait. . . Where was I? Oh yeah. . . You may be able to prolong your chances of “making it” in today’s competitive “Something ACTUALLY Working Out For You Market”, by simply looking “younger” than those that seem to “HAVE WHAT YOU WANT”. . . Think about it. These “Richies” shell out MILLIONS every year for plastic surgery and I have YET to see one of these “Freak Shows” turn out well. There are TWO ways to accomplish this. You can either be blessed with “good genes” like “I” was OR another way I’ve found to accomplish this by NEVER SHOWING EMOTION. Think about it. . . No “laugh” lines. No “frown” lines. No “wrinkles”. It also comes in handy, when you are trying to avoid becoming drawn into or “entangled” in an unwanted “conversation” as in the following scenario:

Elderly Wealthy Woman: (lying in a pool of blood in the supermarket) Oh Dear! Someone HELP me! I’ve slipped on a broken bottle of Miracle Whip, cut myself severely and now seem to be bleeding to death! You!. . . YOU!. . . Won’t you come here and HELP ME?!

You: (showing NO outward signs of emotion) Uh, I’m looking for ketchup. . . looks like you’re on your own grandma. . . (stepping over her crumpled and tangled limbs) Excuse me. . . I have a coupon.

Elderly Wealthy Woman: (trying to cling to your pant leg as you pass) You heartless little BASTARD!

You: (careful not to raise your voice) Eh, eh, easy lady. . . I am purchasing some ketchup, that’s all. . . good day to you.

. . . See? It’s as easy as that! No muss. No fuss. No wrinkles! It also illustrates the point, that being “wealthy” isn’t everything. . . neither is being “old”. Didn’t do HER much good, did it?

• DO NOT give up on your DREAMS. Unless they are “violent”

  ones. . . then you probably need to have someone you “Trust” to talk to. . . but DON’T tell a cop. Try someone else. . . like a “pet” or . . . something “pet-like”. They don’t tell other people outside of their immediate social circles. You’re pretty safe with a pet. If you decide to tell a “person”, tell someone that is “dying”. . . but not someone that is “dying at your hands”. . . well, actually then it doesn’t really matter. The point is, you should NEVER give up on your “Totally NON-VIOLENT” dreams. . . they could still come true. . . maybe.

• DO NOT concede to ANYONE or ANYTHING. By definition conceding means acknowledging; often reluctantly, that you were either incorrect or even WORSE, admitting that there is an alternative to your way of thinking that is somehow BETTER. . . THAT is a kiss of death. If there is ONE THING that I’ve learned in my life (there are actually 5 or 6) it’s that you should know a “little bit” about EVERYTHING. . .

  You can fake the rest. If for any reason you are in a conversation and find yourself “losing the argument”, simply change the subject. If the other person insists on continuing the conversation, walk away. . . unless you’re in a car. Then wait until you’ve stopped, secure your vehicle, then walk away. Unless they are driving. Then it really kind of depends on where you’re going. . . But in the end don’t “concede” ANYTHING. . . you may be a pedestrian, but at least you’ll have your pride.

• DO NOT LIVE IN BAKERSFIELD, CALIFORNIA. . . This place holds not hope for you.

• DO NOT forget WHERE YOU CAME FROM. (unless it is from Bakersfield) Actually, if “where you came from” was HORRIBLE, that’s all the better. It will give you drive and focus, so that you never want to return to the “Land of the Damned”.

  If you find yourself in “present day” life – feeling like you’re going “nowhere”, take a moment to think back to your LEAST favorite childhood memory. If you can remember a time as a child, when you were COMPLETELY MISERABLE , it can go a long way towards “perking you up” . Think of something REALLY awful. Your first ZIT and how much of a disaster it was! The time you fell down a flight of stairs on your first day of 9th grade at a new high school and how LONG it took for anyone to ever even TALK to you after that without laughing hysterically. How you sat at home the night of Senior Prom, alone, listening to Phil Collin’s “Against All Odds”

  and weeping like a little girl, because your girlfriend of 3 years decided the night before that she was going to become a WHORE and go with some guy named Brad, who played football for De LaSalle High School. I don’t know. . . I’m just throwing some PURELY FICTIONAL “random crap” out there. . . results may vary. But it will make whatever you’re going through NOW seem. . . actually, it will make all that old stuff seem kind of meaningless by comparison. . . Two birds really. . .

• DO NOT be afraid to REPLAY YOUR HAPPIEST MEMORIES OVER AND OVER IN YOUR HEAD (at least until a NEW one comes along. . . a happy memory, I mean). . . Okay, so “forget” those old “BAD” memories. I know that people say that “You shouldn’t LIVE in the PAST”. . . that may be true. But I see nothing wrong, when times are a little rough, consulting your “Mental Rolodex” to simply “fondly recall” some of your personal “Glory Days” . C’mon. . . Everybody’s got some. Maybe you had a kid. Maybe you got married. Maybe you got “divorced”

  . (Hey, nowadays sometimes either one of those can be a “win-win”) Maybe you bought your first car. Maybe you beat up your boyhood BEAST of a nemesis and bully of anyone smaller and weaker than he was, “Danny Cate” after 3 LONG years of constant terror, threats and manipulation in front of GOD and EVERYBODY at the “Clay County Fair” in Spencer, Iowa – by the farm machinery exhibit, in the fall of 1983 – quickly erasing all of those years of taunting, tormenting, and ridicule with a few carefully, yet gloriously swung body blows and uppercuts. . . or. . . maybe you bought your first home. . . whatever works for you. The point is, there were better days behind you. . . there will more than likely be a couple more ahead. . . perhaps.

• DO NOT go to your High School, College and in most cases FAMILY reunions. This just “invites” trouble. If it is high school or college, you just show up and compare notes with people you never really knew or liked that much OR if you DID know them and liked them, it just serves as a reminder that not only can you never go back again, but you’re now seriously wondering why you “went there” to begin with. . . especially with this assortment of folks that can only talk about how successful their business is doing, how many new “toys” they have parked in their driveway, when and where they are going to start their “early retirement”, etc. Then they introduce you to their NEW spouse (usually their second or third) who is “less than pleased” to be there, let alone meet YOU. . . Yikes. If it is a FAMILY REUNION, the “interpersonal dynamics” are roughly the same. However, the people involved are “less enjoyable” to be around, because you are “RELATED”

  AND because you have to explain why you are THIS BIG of a disappointment “annually” or in the case of my wife’s family, whenever the majority of the “clan” makes parole.

• DO NOT call me past the hour of 6pm EST on a weeknight and NEVER on the weekends. Just an all around good “rule of thumb”. Not only sound advice for telemarketers and creditors, but for ANYONE that wants to stay on my “good side”. (Note to telemarketers and creditors: If you want me to stop threatening your family member’s and pet’s lives all-together, you might just want to avoid calling, at all)

• DO NOT CONCEDE, about NOT living in Bakersfield. . . I can’t stress that enough. THIS PLACE SUCKS! There is such a delineation between the “Haves” and the “Have Nots” that I don’t even know where they keep the “Haves” in this town. It’s probably better that way. . . ‘cuz if I did, chances are I might do something “bad” to their homes or their spare luxury sports cars, while they were out of town on “holiday” . (I hate that word. . . and this song)

and Lastly, but not leastly. . .

• DO NOT put up with anyone’s S#@*! (by which, I do NOT mean anyone’s use of symbols in place of profanity – sometimes that is necessary) Don’t take any “guff” from anyone. . . Don’t take any “flack” either. . . Especially from those people out there that walk around as if they are somehow “divinely entitled” to something. Unless, they have the receipt or you physically witness them in the act of purchasing it, the WORLD does NOT belong to them. Don’t let anyone walk all over you. NO ONE is better than you are (well, maybe they are better than YOU – I actually wrote this list with “ME” in mind. I don’t know. Try it out. If this attitude doesn’t work out for you, it was probably a “ME thing” ) In the end, you really need to make these kind of decisions for yourself. But if it were “ME”, I think I’d work on not taking crap from anybody. Might help your self-esteem. . . can’t hurt it any.

. . . Well. . . that was it! What do you think?. . . Pretty thorough, huh? But what if you don’t equate “SUCCESS” in Life with what seems to be at the bottom line of all of life’s little problems?. . . MONEY? (or in “MY” case, the lack of it) . . . hmm. . . good question. . .

If I never accomplish ANY of the goals I have remaining; with what little time I have left, at this “advanced stage” of my life, at least I can say I did “this” . . . wow. . . that now seems so very sad. . . You know, looking at it now, I think I might need to come up with a different list. . . I think I might have a few “wrinkles” to iron out. . . but they ain’t from “smiling”. . . I’ll let you know, when I get it “ALL FIGURED OUT”.

‘Til Then. . . Go Figg’r!

Peace Out. . . Later

D A N

http://www.blogtopsites.com/humor/

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. . . This Just In. . . I FOUND the rest of the “manuscript”. Go ahead. . . take a look. . .

or have a listen:

As far as the Studio Heads and Entertainment Moguls making a buck or two, by casting all of “US” (EVERY RACE) in the same stereotyped roles for what seems to have been going on for an eternity? I’ve got a few words about RACISM. . . ”KNOCK IT OFF!” Writers? Let’s try to be “Creative” in what we’re submitting, shall we? Producers and Directors? Stop drudging up the same convoluted and retread stories of yesteryear. Studios and Studio Executives? . . . Can I have a JOB? (probably not after THIS) I know for a FACT that there are a lot of young (and not so young) writers out there chomping at the bit, that have a “Treasure of New And Exciting Ideas” to share with the world, without depending on the same old cliche “Racially-Enhanced” sight gags or “Ethnically-Charged” undertones. I understand that we are a collection of a lot of different types of people in this Great Nation of ours. I know that sometimes you have to cater to your demographic. I also understand that we are “better than that”. . . I hope we are. . . Or maybe by making that statement, I am placing too much faith on an industry that follows the “Stars”, instead of ‘making some’ out of those of us a little more “grounded”.

Qui sumo contemno, semino odi um. Tamen nemo est excellens ut Deus. Vos mos reperio posterus in pectus pectoris of vestri liberi.

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This Story starts, as so many do, with two guys hangin’ around a “water cooler” in an office. (I only worked in an “office” once, in the late ’90′s. I still see water cooler trucks. I assume that is where they are making the bulk of their deliveries). . . but I digress. . . again. . . 

“Hey Reggie!. . . What’s wrong? You don’t look so hot. . .”

“Oh hey Hank. . . Yeah, you know that new sandwich place around the corner from the park?”

  

(Don’t ask me why this story involves two Hall of Fame Right Fielders – again, back to the two guys – the one just stated he tried a new sandwich joint. . .)

  

“Yeah? I was thinking of trying it out. Is it any good?”

Reggie: “*Urp* I got a Tuna Melt with onions and cheese smothered in a creamy ‘Broccoli Chipotle Sauce’. . . *urp* I’m thinking it didn’t agree with me.” (he leans on the “water cooler” and braces himself, letting loose the ‘Winds of Freedom’)

Hank: “Wow that’s too bad!”

Reggie: “I know. . . Remind me to never do that again!” 

Hank:  ”No, I mean your fart. . . That was brutal. I think you blinded me.”

Reggie: “Oh right. . . sorry. Excuse me a sec. . . I think I’d better go check my pants.”

 

Now, I understand by now that a sizable portion of you may be growing weary of my “Fart Analogies”. I think it was Eddie Murphy
  (back when he was still funny) who said that when he was a young man, just starting in comedy, he told a lot of “Fart Jokes”. Because early on, as a kid, he didn’t really have a lot of “life-experience” from which to draw upon for material. I would like to think that I have a “wealth” of life experience to draw from. However, when it comes down to it, a “Fart Analogy” (not joke) pretty adequately describes what we ALL seem to be doing. . . “Farting Around”. If you’d prefer to say “Putzing Around” in order to make it “through this” – feel free. In fact, you’re right. . . I probably should have never brought “Farting” up at all. Put it out of your mind. . . the farting thing. . . 

 

BUT, for the sake of this “bit”, I will be unable to get beyond the farting thing. In fact, I needed to know MORE. I researched the origins of the word. I even went so far as to find a very helpful website whose primary ambition is to share “ALL THINGS FART” (check it out if you like: Facts on Farts ) I found it very interesting, but after about an hour, I decided there’s only so much you can do with a fart. So, I guess I’ll rely on the standard definition, so that I can move on. 

 

I found this definition probably the most all-encompassing, the most useful and also, the one that would help enable me to get on with my life.

 

Fart:

An emission of digestive gases from the anus; a flatus; An irritating person; a fool; (usually as “old fart”) An elderly person; especially one perceived to hold old-fashioned views; To emit digestive gases from the anus; to flatulate; To waste time with idle and inconsequential tasks; to …
en.wiktionary.org/wiki/fart

 

I think what “I” took away from this little “nugget” is that a fart, though a simple “act” to most, is anything but. Like so many other words in the English Language, it can take on so many connotations. So, that’s what I took away from my “research”. “That” and also that somewhere along the line, I forgot what I was talking about. . . Remind me to never do that again. . . 

 

But just like wasting about an hour, looking through the “Annals of Anal Emissions”, there are sometimes experiences in all of our lives that we wish we’d never, well. . . experienced. Aren’t there a few instances you wish you could “expel from you system” with the ease of simply “lifting a cheek”? Perhaps there are some mistakes you’ve made or lapses in judgement that have caused you to  say, “Remind me to NEVER do that again”.

 

“Remind Me to NEVER Do THAT Again”

 

We’ve ALL uttered this phrase at one time or another during the course of our existence. Anytime, that we have convinced ourselves that a “plan” or “set of plans” that, to any other “sane or rational” person, would be considered “NOT SMART” or a “Colossal Waste of Time” was, in fact, the single most brilliant idea to have ever been conceived in the history of things that are smart. (or at the very least, not “half bad”) This simple phrase (the never do that again thing), just like “Fart”, can have different meanings to different people. But it’s when we choose to ignore that phrase, when we decide that WE know how to tempt fate, beat the odds and come out on TOP. That is when the “fun” begins. . .

A phrase, that to a woman who’s just “given birth” – would seem “foreign” and would more than likely never even be considered once that beautiful baby (or babies) is placed in her arms. It would never occur to her at that moment, that she has just experienced the most physically impossible, painful and “disgusting to look at” feats imaginable. That it would more than likely be in her best interests to seek professional help for even contemplating putting herself through the pain, anguish, and torture of another “Child-Bearing Marathon” anytime again. . . EVER. Of course, I am speaking of mothers that have gone through ‘Natural Childbirth’ sessions 
 . It is my understanding that there are a number of women out there that get on some sort of Morphine Drip, lazily go through the ordeal and squeeze the kid out like it was on a Baby Oil Slip n’ Slide – for them, the pain comes LATER. Because that leads to the other half of the parenting equation: In our case – The Spouse. I’m not really into defining people’s roles in their relationships. In some it could be the significant other, the insignificant other, Life-Partner, Donor “Vile b-3qA”. Whatever the case, it is none of my business and none of yours. Nevertheless, whoever is left after the “Child Bearing” to do the “Child Rearing” is most assuredly left at some point in time saying to themselves, their “spouse”, their therapist, their support group – “Remind Me to NEVER Do THAT Again. . .”
But as is so often the case with “People”, we rarely learn from our mistakes. NO, I am not saying that having children is a mistake. I currently “co-possess” 4 of them with my “spouse”. I think they are good for a great many things. Indeed, on more than one occasion they have come in rather handy. (For instance, if I misplace something when I’m at a busy Walmart, like say – one of my ‘other children’ – Well, I’m happy to report that 7 out of 10 times, one of my other kids can find them.) They are terrific! I LOVE my kids. But, the experience of RAISING children seems to be a continuous series of ‘Trial and Error’, with a HEAVY DOSE of “ERROR”. You would think that the older they get, the EASIER it would become. That is a BOLD-FACED LIE. Don’t even begin to tell yourself that. With everything going on in this Hazy-Crazy World of ours, I think we have it 100 times harder than our parents. Well not MY parents. . . But surely YOURS. My parents had ME. I’m SURE that was like HEAVEN. . .
About 3 weeks ago, my wife looked at me with that look only a wife can give a husband. (I suppose a janitor could give that look to a farmer, but it wouldn’t be the same – unless the janitor was the wife of the farmer – and they had kids) The look was that of a woman who desperately needed a way to “Entertain” the children. Very often in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Time can get away from you. Between the shopping, paying the bills, cooking the food, helping with homework – well, you can lose sight that the children haven’t actually been out of the house for around 3 or 4 years and that they appear much taller for some reason. So my wife and I decided that we would take our kids. . . to the Los Angeles Zoo. . .

 

  
Now on “paper” this looked. . . like a “disaster”. No, I’m not going to sugar-coat it. Getting my kids to do anything as a cohesive family unit for more than 5 minutes, usually involves a lot of begging, pleading, threatening, bribing, beating and sometimes “foul play”. When I say “foul play” I don’t mean “murder”.  No,I’m fairly certain “someone” would have noticed one of them was missing. No we just don’t “play fair” sometimes. Often using various “tricks” to get the kids to “behave”. (i.e. “Hey son, if you get the blow torch away from your sister, I’ll let you “live”.) Also, when I said “beating”, I was referring to my head against a wall. So you can just about start getting your undies picked back out of your cracks. Where was I? Oh yeah, we were headin’ for the Zoo. The van ride to LA was eerily silent. Possibly, because we were riding down in our BRAND NEW ’96 Dodge Conversion Van
 , paid for ENTIRELY by my tax refund, with NO THOUGHT as to what we could have done with that money when we RAN OUT OF FOOD a week after our “purchase”. (Kind of ties into the “Never doing that again” thing, huh?) But they sat in the comfort of our ‘New Ride’ and plugged themselves into various electronic devices – designed by someone who didn’t believe in ‘human interaction’. So by all accounts, it started off okay. 
When we GOT to the Zoo, someone failed to remind us that “I” was not the only one enjoying a 3 Day Weekend with my family. In fact, it turns out that a LARGE contingent of Animal-Loving Californians
  agreed that this would be the perfect day to “Be in MY WAY”. Therefore as dutiful Good Citizens, my wife and I decided NOT to strangle people as they “cut” in line in front of us. We resisted the urge to “punch in the nose” those who decided that THEY were the only ones of any importance within the confines of the World Famous Los Angeles Zoo. (For the record? It ain’t that great. Even if I HAD enjoyed myself) It took our kids nearly 3 and a half seconds upon entering the Zoo, to declare their distain for the Zoo, the people “in” the Zoo, my wife, ME, the size of the beverages that cost us roughly Ten Dollars per ounce. . . EVERYTHING. Please understand that we have VERY WELL-BEHAVED children. . . in PUBLIC
 . They have sneaky and underhanded ways of letting us know how displeased they are with our efforts in a very discreet and savvy way. Outwardly, they might look mildly upset. But INSIDE? a “Tumult of Toxicity”. They have already “Let us Have it” and we have been reduced to tears. . . INWARDLY. Outwardly, my wife and I will let just about anyone who wants to know exactly how displeased we are with ANY given situation, “Yes we are displeased and Yes, you may stop gawking at us, while our children tear us apart emotionally”. So, after about 4 hours of never finding a monkey that could throw poop in a way that “WE” could find “just” the right amount of amusing, we decided to “make tracks”. You would think that my kids would be Happy to get out of the house after their 3 to 4 year hibernation. . . YOU, would be an “idiot”. Not MY words . . . “THEIRS”. 
So we filed the kids back into the “VAN” (which was now, in their minds, the biggest piece of crap they’ve EVER had the displeasure of riding in) My wife stating as she has SO MANY TIMES BEFORE, “Remind Me to NEVER Do THAT Again. . . ” Then we headed BACK to BAKERSFIELD (on a personal note, this drive “back” is ALWAYS a downer for me and my wife – “You mean we have to go BACK? . . There?“) BUT, we are a pretty resilient couple (my wife and I) We have barred the windows at home again. We have reminded them that they need us for “Food and Stuff”. All seems to be getting back to “normal” around here. How are we going to follow up the trip to the Zoo? Well, my Mother and one of my Brothers and his family are going to be here in June. . . We are going to hit “San Diego”. . . 

“SEA WORLD – THE SAN DIEGO ZOO!”

(we are gluttonous wrecks)

We’ve even been thinking about another kid. . . Well, I’ve been trying to figure out why people like Justin Bieber and my wife has been trying to explain it to me. (He’s a pint-sized annoying person with SUPER-SIZED marketing)


So what do Raising Kids and “Farting” have to do with one another? . . . Well, nothing really. . . I just write this stuff. . . In The End it’s Not About the Love You Make, But the Wind You Break?. . . forget it. Guess I shouldn’t have started with a “Fart Joke”. . . “Remind Me to NEVER Do THAT Again. . .”

 

‘Til Then. . . Go Figg’r!


Peace Out – Later


D A N 
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So. . . What is LOVE? Let’s start with what LOVE isn’t, shall we? Then, by process of elimination, maybe you can figure it out. I think that any of you that have been following my “Journey”, know that I have a distinct adoration for “All Things 80′s”. Unfortunately, in my exuberance for keeping the 80′s “alive and well” – in my heart, I made a clerical oversight while filing the “Love Songs to Remember” and failed to acknowledge that this decade may have quite possibly opened the floodgate of confusion surrounding what LOVE is to our society. Through a series of “Music Industry Mishaps” started in the 80′s – then carrying on through the 90′s until today – We may have inadvertently. . . “Really Screwed Ourselves Up”. But there was ONE incident (years earlier) that set the ball in motion. . .
In 1967, in a seedy bar in upstate New York – a local lumberjack, by the name of Robert Lamm and his best Lumberjack friend Terry Kath, decided to “make a life changing decision” over drinks at a local watering hole. Unbeknownst to them, that night was “Amateur Night” at the bar they frequented. As they stumbled into the club (bleary-eyed and exhausted from an afternoon of heavy drinking and “sawing things”) they could make out a lone, single figure standing before a microphone; the smoke from the bar enveloping him, as if he were amongst the clouds of heaven. As he sang his first note, the friends were “hooked” – How could the man (they “thought” it was a dude) be singing “both parts” to the Righteous Brothers -“Unchained Melody”
with such an effortless angelic presence? They were transfixed. They waited until the song was over, until the “dude” made his way to the bar. Then asked if they could buy him a drink. Thinking this was odd (even for lumberjacks) the singer looked at them both – with piercing blue eyes, running his fingers through his long blonde locks, “I don’t let anyone buy me a drink, unless I know their names.”
“I’m Robert and this is Terry,” said the lumberjack.
“Fine. . . I’m Peter. . . Peter Cetera. . . I’ll have a Cosmopolitan
“. . .


The Rest is History. . . The group“Chicago” was born. . .
(BUT not like that. . . I just thought that might have been the way. I just looked it up on Wikipedia. I guess they were just some guys from Depaul University)
But, the POINT is that the group Chicago let us ALL know that it would be IMPOSSIBLE to get through the 80′s unscathed and unaffected. They would make sure that we KNEW what it was to be Loved by a Lumberjack. . . a “Codependent Lumberjack”. They wanted us to know that LOVE was a BALLAD.
Now, I’m sure there are at least two or three of you out there saying, “Hey wait a minute. . . What about Air Supply?”
And you’d be right in your assessment. “Air Supply“ was, by far the “End all, Be all” of “Dynamic Life-Partner Bands“ - belting out such favorites as “Making Love Out of Nothing At All”
and the other 30 that sound almost exactly like that one. But I REALLY need to get on with this bit, without researching how THOSE two met and the story “behind” it.(hee hee) Besides, don’t you think that “Air Supply” was such a magical twosome, that you’d almost be afraid to know just HOW that magic was made? It’s like that show “Magician Secrets Revealed”

and I don’t want to run around wearing one of those Mexican Wrestler Masks, because I told you. No, I only like wearing those masks during my new “Summer Job”. From June through August, I perform as a “Luchador” in Tijuana. (I am Taco Libre!)

But I digress. . .

If the fact that “Co-dependence” doesn’t strike you as a similar theme among the LOVE SONGS of the 80′s, I invite you to come over and go through my extensive “Cassette Tape” collection. (I was a very moody teenager – in a“Perpetual State of Unrequitedness” – quite sad)
BUT, in order that I might avoid further therapy, I’d like to move on to ONE song in the 90′s that seemed to turn the tide on the “Sickenly Sappy Ballads of the 80′s”
and dive headfirst into “Trashy”. Sure, there were a LOT of sexually charged songs in the 80′s. A few smutty ones. But in 1991, a group of 4, really “Weird Looking Guys”
decided they wanted to let us know what LOVE was, by singing tenderly about how they would like to “Sex Us Up”
. I’m unsure who they wanted to perform this activity with, but I assure you that if there were any “takers” in the heyday of this band. . . well. . . yeah. . . I got nothin’. (ewwh?) The PROBLEM is that we were no longer singing to our significant others about how much we loved and cared about them. We weren’t letting them know that we missed them and couldn’t live without them. NO. . . apparently SOMEONE in the Music Industry decided it was time to skip the courtship and time to skip traditional “wooing”. From here on out it was going to be Full Speed Ahead “Bumpin’ Uglies”! What happened to the tenderness and the romance? Actually, what even happened to “Knowing” the person that you “LOVE”?
Okay. . . Let’s fast forward to an utterly “forgettable” 2000′s – in terms of “Love Songs”. I have ONE that I’ve taken out of the mix, that I share with my wife courtesy of Incubus.
However, I deem the remainder of the 2000′s a “wash”. I offer you these songs to illustrate my point. Though, these songs were not intended to be LOVE songs (at least, I certainly HOPE they weren’t) they prove exactly what the Music Industry decided it was that we should be focusing on. . .

“Sex on Fire” – Kings of Leon
As much as I enjoyed Bob Seger and Eddie Money, I can’t bring myself to really “get into” this band. (yes, I think they are the sons of Seger & Money, NOT the Kings of Leon) The first time I heard this song (just like MANY of you) I wondered WHY their “sex” was on fire. If you follow the chronology of their songs, your question was answered with their follow up. . . “Use Somebody”. They are apparently SO indiscriminate about who their “partners” are, that they can USE somebody. . . ANYBODY. . . someone like YOU. . . I hear they’ve recently started a clothing line. . . I think their money would’ve been better invested on ointments and salves. If your “sex is on fire”, you might want to make that your Top Priority.
Bed Rock – Lil’ Wayne
Are you KIDDING me? Well, if you are, then this is funny. . . But something tells me that “Mr. Little” is quite serious, which in turn makes this EVEN MORE FUNNY. This song is ridiculous. . . I’m not sure who he is trying to charm with this little ditty, but I feel sorry for the “lady” that falls prey to his “Wile E. SmokeDopey and Hanna and Barbaric” ways. The problem (besides me getting older) is that KIDS are listening to this CRAP. I was trying to envision the ADULT that thinks this song is a winner. . . then I figured it out. . .

Tik Tok (aka Dolla) Kesha
I don’t have to say a whole heckuva’ lot about this “gal” that she doesn’t already partially sing about herself in the song. But I DO have a question about ONE LYRIC in particular:
“And now the dudes are lining up cause they hear we got swagger,
But we kick em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger”
. . .
(oh. . . really?)

The rest of the song is basically her and her “girlfriends” getting “tanked” and ready to be used like a piece of meat at a “partay”, but I’m MORE troubled  that the “young ladies” of America have SO lowered their standards for a potential spouse, that they are looking for LOVE in the arms of someone that looks like Don Knotts (circa 1981)

I know he’s RICH, but . . . Ouch. . . Wow.
Last and probably LEAST is
Sexy B***h – David Guetta (featuring Akon)
Dave, Dave, Dave. You ain’t gonna’ “Getta”  respectable “Lady” if you have to think of ways to compliment a “Lady” without insulting her intelligence. Therefore, I think it would be best if you and “Chester Cheetah (aka. Acorn or Walnut or whatever)packed up your bags and checked into a Motel-Hotel-Holiday Inn with Kesha. . . I think you guys would be PERFECT for each other. . .


As for “Yours Truly”. . . I am going to sit at home and listen to the Love of My Life. . . My WIFE. . . She’s my best friend and my “Baby’s Mama”. . . Someone I can share my thoughts hopes and dreams with. Someone that can laugh with me(and AT me) when times are tough. She’s my best friend. That’s something I think the Music Industry lost sight of, somewhere along the line. . . I guess I really shouldn’t blame the ‘musicians’ (for lack of a correct term) The industry has become a reflection of society. . . That’s okay for some, but not for me. It makes me “uncomfortable”. I think, I’m gonna’ kick back on the couch tonight and listen to some old “tapes” with my wife. It’s comfortable. . . and YES, if I have to “let one go”, there will be no need for debate or conjecture. . . Because Love means never having to say, “Who Farted?”. . . It was ME. . . but I’m still blaming it on the dog. . .


‘Til Then. . . Go Figg’r!


Peace Out – Later

D A N

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My “favorite group” is reassembling…”again”

…and though I missed them back in 2007…I assure you, I’ll catch them this go ’round…I thought I’d take this opportunity to… well, take this opportunity…

…So let’s revisit a little read (or remembered) bit from a while back…

and thanks to “Van Halen” and it’s members (except for the fat kid) for “keeping my dreams alive”…

…and to Michael Anthony… “Is it that hard to just ‘suck it up’ for ONE TOUR?…Thanks heaps, Chet!”

Diamond David Lee Roth. “ToastMaster General for the Immoral Majority” and general all-around flamboyant Rebel-Rouser, who taught me how to “Talk the Talk” and “Walk the Walk”. I spent a large portion of the mid 80′s trying to emulate my hero. From his brash tone to his witty banter. Never at a loss for words, he showed me in bright technicolor what it meant to be an egocentric, controversial and uninhibited pain in the butt. I’m reaching a point in life now where I look back a lot more than ahead.(For God’s sake, you’d think someone died wouldn’t you? Far as I KNOW, he didn’t. . .Close maybe) I am not writing a “preemptive obituary” for my boyhood hero. Rather, I’ve decided to look at what it is that I hoped to accomplish in life, in large part based on this “Highly Fictional” individual. By all accounts, I’m unsure WHAT  he was, WHO he was; or as a result, what I hoped to become in adulthood. Was it even “Real”? I’ve been looking through video, audio and about every other kind of media, I could get my hands on to try to find the “lightning” he’d trapped in a bottle, only to find, at this late stage, it’s more like a jar of dead “lightning bugs”. Funny, how your memory can play tricks on you. Well, if there’s one thing I did succeed at when trying to imitate my hero, it’s that I’ve been a Tour Bus Guide AND a School Bus Driver (both of which, he was in music videos – so. . .yeah)

Though, there aren’t as many scantily clad women bouncing around in myworld. Unless, you count my wife and girls fighting over who gets to take a shower and who took the last of the hot water. Typically, I don’t count that one.

via Americanlisted

As, I locked up my “Shuffy”, Kris proceeded to tell me that Van Halen had broken up. How it was all Roth’s fault and something about the End of Rock and Roll. I don’t know for certain. I was kind of mad after the “Roth’s fault” accusation. The next two days were torture. We practiced the set in Kris’s garage, barely speaking. When we got to the VHnumbers we kind of hurried through, not looking at each other. Scott and John did what they could to console us, but we were spent, emotionally. The whole thing had really put a “wedge” between us. But we knew we wanted the gig. It’s all we’d talked about for two months. . .

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. . . One could argue that it’s transferred, simply through osmosis,

I’ve been searching high and low for the right prognosis,

Now, I’ve settled on a term and found my diagnosis,

. . . It’s SuperCaliFragilisticExtraHalitosis. . .

(catchy, huh?. . . You have NO idea HOW catchy)

. . . I should probably back up and let you know EXACTLY what I am referring to. Though I owe no one an explanation of the malady that has befallen me in recent years, I feel compelled to “get the word out”, before others suffer the same fate. . . However, I feel that I may be too late for quite a few suckers. . . uhm, I mean “victims”.

Let me start by defining the word:

SuperCaliFragilisticExtraHalitosis - as defined in the “Danof89 Dictionary of Words that Should Be Real, From a Book That Should Be Too”

• Supercalifragilisticextrahalitosis (soo-pur ~ cal – i ~ fraj – i – liss – tik ~ x – tra ~ hal – i – toe – sis) <noun>, sometimes an adjective. . . no, I think we stick with noun) An acute medical condition (or state of mind) brought on by a misguided perception that the State of California (in the United States of America) somehow holds some sort of “promise of a brighter tomorrow” (SUPER – CALI) to those people who are not born there (more specifically, those not born in the Greater Los Angeles area – excluding the inner-city, South Central and various “podunk” regions such as Culver City and Inglewood). In a weakened (or FRAGILE and UNREALISTIC) state, the “patient” may travel from as far away as, say Minnesota, to fulfill their “hopes and dreams”. Often times, packing everything they own in a late-model (for the 90′s) Saturn with four bad tires, leaving everyone they know and love, and traveling halfway across this God-forsaken country. . . for example. In a few short years (8 to 9) when it is realized that California is NOT all that it was made out to be in Movies and on Television, and with their dreams and hopes, for the future, shattered and decimated; the “patient” is left, incredulous and mortified, facing the “Stench of Truth”, rendering them nearly incapacitated and. . . with an “awfully bad taste in their mouth” that “just won’t go away”. (EXTRA HALITOSIS)

I know. . . right? That could be serious. . . perhaps FATAL . . . Yet, it happens year after year in this country. To people from this country. . . and abroad. (Not just one “broad”, I’m sure. Sorry, fellas. . . “equal rights” and all) I would be very interested to get my hands on some “verifiable data”, as to how many people make the pilgrimage to California and/or Los Angeles every year to “Make It Big”. . . It’s got to be staggering. I’m sure it’s over a couple dozen. . . I mean, I just can’t be the only one. There seem to be a bevy of “patsies” taking that plunge, though as I write this I DO notice an awful lot of people leaving California. . . “Cuz there ain’t no work”.(That’s a “real life” quote from an actual former Bakersfield resident, relocating to . . . you guessed it. . . Oklahoma)

“Things didn’t work out at the ‘Feed and Grain’, Harliss?” I said, concern dripping from my pores for my fellow man,

“Nope.” said Harliss, a man of few syllables.

“So where’s the wind gonna’ blow ya’ now?”, I asked, in words that he seemed to understand.

“Reckon I’ll head back to Oklahoma,” he managed, wiping the tears with his rebel flag kerchief.

“Whatcha’ gonna’ do back there?” I asked, prolonging this fictional conversation.

“Reckon I’ll work at the ‘Feed and Grain’ in Tulsa, with my kin,” he responded. . .

BINGO! Now you’re starting to catch on. . . (though this IS a composite of several conversations with “real FOLKS ’round here”)

I’m NOT going to go on with this bit, letting you think I’m that big of a dimwit (though, you may come to that conclusion on your own, by continuing to read). I’m not just some guy that fell off the turnip truck, I “AM” sharper than a marble and I do possess all of the sandwiches required to “have a picnic”. However, just like a lot of “suckers” (victims) out here in “LaLa Land” , I did fall into the trap of thinking, somehow, “I am DIFFERENT”. . . Don’t get me wrong, I AM. . . but so are a LOT of people out here. Unfortunately, none of them are HALF as interesting as me, and I don’t have any desire to learn any more about them or how they DON’T affect my life in the slightest. . . so, let’s proceed, shall we?

I didn’t gauge my decision on moving to California on any one thing in particular. That’s not necessarily true. I based it loosely on the teachings of John Tesh. I bet you didn’t realize he was a guru, did you? Truth be told, he isn’t. . . as far as you know. He’s more like a “spiritual advisor” . But I did admire his decision to leave “Entertainment Tonight” in 1996 to pursue his dream of making “Yanni-style”

music and host a radio talk show that relies heavily on the sponsorship of “Doggy Blood Banks” and “Tax-Saving, Retirement-Improving, Exercise Equipment”. . . He is a phenom, the likes of which, no one will ever see again. . . plus, he married Connie Sellecca, who, at time of press, has “aged” rather well. Unfortunately, as much as I admire the man, I should have seen his move from a highly lucrative gig, as cohost with Mary “My Voice Caused a Woman To Have Seizures” Hart (look it up) as a sign. . . but I didn’t. He “saw”, firsthand, that the talent pool in Hollywood was starting to look more like a “Septic Tank”. Add to that, the most recent “scandal” that John dumped Oprah. . . yes, “OPRAH”. . . back in the day, and you can sign me up as a “Fan for LIFE”. He saw the circus that the “Entertainment World” had become and decided to follow his dreams. . . and his heart. But HE stepped away. . . AWAY from the circus. He traded in his “Red Carpet Coverage” and “Celebrity Hobnobbing” for a piano and some dimly lit, radio booth spinning yarns and 80′s music CD’s. (Actually, I can’t confirm Oprah EVER “hobbed his knob”

and I’m sure that the room he telecasts his radio show from is “state-of -the-art” and has more than adequate lighting). In fact, I am giving the man more credit than I even know that he deserves. I assume that is why he left Hollywood behind. . . He has a new book out. . . but I can’t read.

All Seriousness Aside. . .

If asked to describe myself, I would probably have to do as many of you do, when describing yourselves. I would have to compare myself to a fictional character, who is being introduced, for the first time, to another fictional character. . . Let me give you an example:

Me?. . . Think Michael Scott, from “The Office” meets Tom Hank’s character in “Big”. . . that’s me. . . You get it?

. . . and for the record, don’t ever try to “pitch an idea” to a studio saying this is “like something meeting something” (i.e. Think “Cujo” meets “When Harry Met Sally”) – if they were meant to meet, chances are they have. . . and they probably can’t stand the sight of each other. . .

Here. . . I’ll give you a “composite” of “me” in say, an interview with a “prospective publisher, movie studio and/or literary agent”:

“So, what kind of writer do you want to BE?”, asks the prospective publisher,blah,blah agent, while fixing the seam of his pant-leg that has now ridden down to reveal his pasty white skin, because the dress socks he wore today won’t cover his underdeveloped, lumpy, varicose vein-riddled calf muscle.

“Published.”, I reply.

“Ha, Ha, hmm. . . but seriously, could you elaborate?” , noticing that I am noticing his dress socks also don’t match.

“Uhm, okay,” I say, carefully measuring my ‘thought’, “A big, pink, fluffy published writer who wipes his butt with hundred dollar bills. . .’cuz I’m rich!”

“Ha, Ha! That’s GREAT! They warned me about you! Thanks for your time. . . Trish can validate you on the way out.” he says, reaching out his hand – I assume to “touch” mine.

“So is that it?” I ask, rising to my feet, still confused about the whole “hand” thing.

“Oh, that’s MORE than enough. . . Thank you.” he replies.

“So. . . ” as I reach my hand to ‘touch’ his, “I just wait to hear from you then?” confident this one’s ‘In the Bag’.

“Uh, yeah. . . wait. . . you should definitely WAIT. . . ” he says.

My hand meets his and he “shakes” it, then looks at me as if I just handed him my underwear “skid-side” out.

Now, can I be honest here?. . . I thought I had it there, right up until the “handshake”. The problem, as I see it (and it always has been with me) is that “I Call it Like I See It”. I very rarely pull any punches and I say what’s on my mind. Some might call that an honorable trait. . . But NOT in “REAL LIFE” and CERTAINLY not. . . in CALIFORNIA. You see, in a lot of ways I’m still a”Big Kid”

, which can present a whole host of problems. I guess I’m lacking that level of “maturity” that lends itself to those who seem more inclined to find “wealth” and “success”. Some of those in a position to “help” me achieve some of the goals I set out to achieve back in 2002, when I packed up the old Saturn and “Headed West, Not-so-Young Man” are busy with younger, more “visible” talent. Others, would try to take advantage of what they perceive as a degree of naivety and plum “SQUASH” me, before I can even “get going”. Perhaps taking some of my “ideas” with them. But, if I AM perpetually honest, I probably need to be honest with myself. So to the dozen or so of you that have been “afflicted” with the same “condition” that shares the title of this “bit”, allow me to impart a little wisdom:

1. NOBODY that lives and works in The Greater Los Angeles Area wants you to live or work there. You threaten them. Do NOT ask any of them for advice or you will surely end up living under a bridge and writing your name on walls with your own feces.

2. Have a “marketable” skill or learn a trade. Do NOT rely solely on your “talent” or you are dead in the water. Literally. . . the beaches are lined with dead artists, writers and actors. You might want to take up welding or carpentry.

3. Trust NO ONE. The moment you do, you are in trouble. People like to make a lot of empty promises in California, then substitute them with “less than desirable” alternatives and not ALL of them are named Schwarzenegger.

4. Get a JOB. . . like a “REAL” one, or if you’re like me, take whatever you can get.

5. If you decide to leave EVERYONE behind to pursue your dreams, make sure it’s OPRAH.

6. The term “Greater Los Angeles Area” is a LIE. . . in and of itself, it is greater than NOWHERE. . . except Bakersfield and maybe certain parts of IRAQ

The ONE shining point and the BIGGEST source of pride that I’ve had since leaving the Midwest as a somewhat accomplished Toy Designer, aspiring Childrens’ Book Author and Creator of Full-Length Animated Feature Films - turned Married, Father-of-Four, School Bus Driver, is the whole “Married and Father-of-Four” part. From a pure “Sense of Accomplishment Standpoint”, I couldn’t have scripted it any better. . . and though I’m still a “Big Kid”, NOW I have some of my own. . . and a chick that “digs” me. For the last 7+ years they have definitely become the most “interesting” part of my life. That’s the “Sweet Smell of Success”, not the “Stench of Truth” caused by my “condition”. . . I’m afraid to report, there is no “cure”, but all hope’s not lost. Because there IS, apparently, a “vaccine”. I guess that makes me a “clinical trial”. I look at all of them every day when I roll out of bed and try to face another day living with my “illness” and KNOW that I have some people counting on me not only to face it. . . but to “Kick it’s ASS”

. . . So though my priorities have definitely shifted, I still like to tell stories. Some I tell to my kids. Some I share with you. . . and SOME, are still waiting to be told. . . I can tell the HELL out of a story. . . for the right PRICE. . . and LET IT BE KNOWN that my wife and kids aren’t a mere afterthought, post script or footnote (unlike the CELEBRITIES that inhabit the city that rejects me) They are the beginning, middle and end of my story (my family NOT celebrities). . . One that’s still being written. . . You’re welcome to tag along from time to time. . . this still might be a BLOCKBUSTER. . .

‘Til Then. . . Go Figg’r!

Peace Out. . . Later. . .

D A N

P.S. I wrote this bit, a “while back”… when I still lived in “Bako”…though, “geographically” things appear to have improved, I’d have to say that generally all of the same “rules” apply… Only NOW, I get to work “for” a Happy Community… it’s like a really weird Twilight Zone episode (probably starring Burgess Meredith – only in this one, “I” am Burgess and my glasses didn’t break…In fact, I can see everything even “more” clearly now…and I WISH I had the place all to myself)

…Back Soon… If I Have Time Enough… At Last