Halloween Fitness Program

(((Ding Dong!)))

Get up, pick up giant bowl of candy, walk to the door, open it, hand out candy, close door, eat a piece of candy, put the bowl down, sit back down.

(((Ding Dong!)))

Get up, pick up giant bowl of candy, walk to the door, open it, hand out candy, close door, eat a piece of candy, put the bowl down, sit back down.

(((Ding Dong!)))

Get up, pick up giant bowl of candy, walk to the door, open it, hand out candy, close door, eat a piece of candy, put the bowl down, sit back down.

(((Ding Dong!)))

Get up, pick up giant bowl of candy, walk to the door, open it, hand out candy, close door, eat a piece of candy, put the bowl down, sit back down.

(((Ding Dong!)))

Get up, pick up giant bowl of candy, OH MY BACK!, hobble to the door, open it, hand out candy, close door, eat a piece of candy, put the bowl down, sit back down.

(((Ding Dong!)))

Get up, pick up giant bowl of candy, OH MY BACK!, hobble to the door, open it, hand out candy, close door, eat a piece of candy, put the bowl down, sit back down.

(((Ding Dong!)))

Get up, pick up giant bowl of candy, OH MY BACK!, hobble to the door, open it, hand out candy, close door, eat a piece of candy, put the bowl down, sit back down.

(((Ding Dong!)))

Get up, pick up giant bowl of candy, OH MY BACK!, hobble to the door, open it, hand out candy, close door, eat a piece of candy, put the bowl down, sit back down.

This is the most exercise I’ve gotten since I got the runs last month. It feels good to be active. I’ve never felt so alive. I think I should incorporate more exercise into my life. I could feel this good EVERYDAY! These trick or treat children just may have saved my life. Ahhhhhhhh….

z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z...

(((DING DONG!)))

AWW, WHAT THE HELL!?

Dispatches From A Toadies Show

For an 18 and over show, why does one person check your ID to make sure you’re old enough to get in and another person check your ID to make sure you’re old enough to drink? Maybe the goons that have chosen doorman as their career can only handle one “You must have been born on this date in 1990 (or 1987)” sign before they pull a cranial muscle.

Holy crap. People born in 1990 were probably at the show. By 1990 I had already been fitted for my first set of dentures and given up saltwater taffy. I have shirts older than they are. Seriously. They were still wetting their beds when the first Toadies record was released. That’s right, I said “record”. Maybe it should have been a 35 and older show.

Year Long Disaster opened. The son of a member of a significant classic rock band and his buddy drink too much, do too many drugs, go to rehab and clean up and then unknowingly recruit the drummer from a 90’s pop band to complete their power trio. Unfortunately their bio was more interesting than their music. They were loud. They rocked. But all the songs started to sound the same. The guitarist was freakishly tall or the bassist was freakishly short. I didn’t have any other point of reference so I can’t tell. Maybe I should have taken a picture with a quarter in the foreground for later analysis. The guitarist had a thing about pointing at the crowd as if the drummer had been shooting ducks and he was showing us where to retrieve them. The guitarist also had a habit of doing that move where he stumbles around like he’s drunk and has to keep catching his balance. It was cool when David Byrne did it during Psycho Killer but anyone attempting it since then just kind of looks like a bad extra in an old western like Bobby Brady used to watch at high volume in the Brady family room. But I digress. Bottom line is that they weren’t a total disaster and it was only a 30-minute set and not an entire year long. That might have been tiresome. Except for the one guy in the crowd who was totally giving them the rock n’ roll fist pump.


People in Planes was up next and I had already decided I strongly disliked them after spending about 8 seconds on their website. By the time they were setting up I was hoping that their amps would fall over on them and they wouldn’t have the strength to extract themselves. When did bands stop looking like the kind of scary guys who never finished high school and start looking like the kids who got to school early on Monday mornings to discuss that latest Dr. Who episode? I think the dual lead vocalists both want to be Billy Corgan, but they both have as much a chance of achieving that dream as I have of making out with Billie Jean King. However, I almost bought a CD because it looked like they desperately needed the cash for some shampoo and a flea dip. But in fairness, if you were born before this day in 1985, it appears that you might have been born with a gene that allows you to bob your head along and bask in the apparent coolness that People in Planes bear below their extremely annoying surface. Although I can’t help but wonder if half those people bobbing their heads along were doing so just because it seemed like the hipster thing to do. I didn’t get sucked into their hipster vibe and just made fun of them until they took their amps and went home.

I think it was Nietzsche who said, “Bands which do not kill us make us even more appreciative of the Toadies.” Right on, Fred, right on.

As far as the Toadies set, they’re still rocking as hard as they were when we saw them in the summer so if you need a reminder just check out my last review. However, I did like the set list better this time around. But that’s kind of like getting your favorite counter girl at the bakery – either way you know you’re going to go home with a cupcake, but that extra touch is just icing on the (cup)cake.

Even though we were the "best crowd in the last month" VTL said they couldn't stick around after the show because they had to put the pickled beets on the motor boat. My ears were a little shot by then so I may have misheard. But that was okay, because it was Sunday and I had to get the Mrs. home since she has to get up at 5 a.m. or else I think people start dying. I don't need that crap on my hands.

I personally don’t sleep much to begin with, but starting the week out sleep-deprived is like dropping your cupcake on the floor. Sure, you’re still going to eat it, but you’ll be picking carpet fibers out of your teeth for the next couple days. And it’s worse because I can never get to sleep after a concert like that - maybe if it were Neil F-ing Diamond, but after anything rowdier than Sweet Caroline and I need a burrito and some Bailey's to get to sleep. I hear Bo Derek has the same problem.

Ethics of Boiler Ragging

Each year my company requires its employees to participate in an on-line ethics awareness training program. They require this in case one of us commits an ethical sin, they can show the courts it was not the company’s fault since the employee was ethically trained. It protects them from getting sued because they’ve hired a bunch of email porn swapping derelicts, gift-accepting whores posing as managers and coked-up salespeople. And data pirate janitors.

I completed the ethics training this morning. It presented a combination of video and text instruction with pictures of appropriate looking individuals from all races, sexes, creeds and colors. But, surprisingly, no fat people. I guess the fat people in the company only work in the particular office I’m based out of. Multiple choice quiz questions followed each section to make sure the employee paid attention. I didn’t pay attention to most of the instruction. The excitement level caused me to doze a little. When the questions appeared, I chose the least fun or most imbecilic obvious answer, and that was enough to get by. Wait a minute, you mean I’m not supposed to make copies of my co-workers' medical records I happened to come across while breaking into the Human Resources office to find out what kind of raises others received and distribute them to everybody in the company? You got me on that one.

At one of the rare occasions I was paying attention, I heard the austere, yet comforting, but slightly impudently tainted voice of the narrator say that I “am the face of the company”. At that moment I happened to be doing some boiler ragging, which is a polite way I invented to say I was scratching my crotch. From the inside of my pants. My mom used to scold me at the dinner table when I talked about my crotch scratching exploits, so I began referring to it as boiler ragging, and she was none the wiser. She thinks boiler ragging has something to do with my job. In fact, she’s proud of my boiler ragging, and will ask me to tell strangers in the street about it. So I do. And they stay strangers.

So, I’m sitting slumped in my chair, with my hand inside my sweatpants tending the crotch itch, wearing the same crumb, sweat and stain ridden shirt I’ve worn all week, unshowered, and my hair, which I haven’t had cut in about a year and three months, is slumber-combed and in my face, and I hear this man tell me I am the face of the company (I work at home, by the way). Imagine the pride that demand instilled in me. Not to mention the trepidation. THIS is the face of the company? This slouchy, rag-donning, shaggy, smelly, boiler ragging mess is the face of our company? Is this why I haven’t gotten a raise in three years? Who is our marketing director, the Coen brothers?

Luckily, there is nothing in the ethics rules against boiler ragging, as long as it is done discreetly and not on top of other people’s desks. I wasn’t sure about this rule, having ignored most of the training, so I called the Ethics Compliance Office to make sure. The lady who answered the phone happened to be one of the strangers my mom and I met in the street once, so she was well versed in boiler ragging. I hope to see a section on proper office boiler ragging in next year’s training session.

What's the big idea, Google?

I was going to submit a world changing idea to Google to win ten million dollars, but I didn’t want to have to wait until January 27^th to let the world know about it. I figure the sooner people hear about it, the sooner the world will change. So, I’m posting it here, instead. Come to think of it, if you believe in Chaos Theory, and why wouldn't you, the act of me posting my idea here has probably already changed the world. You are welcome.

I have so many good ideas it was difficult to choose just one. After a few walks around the mall, and a purchase of a sick Trigger Finger Skull and Rose tee at Hot Topic, I narrowed it down to two:

1. Boil the oceans to help make it rain.
2. Make sausage with the casing on the inside.

I’ve decided to go with number two, because number two has to do with sausage, and with sausage, who needs rain or boiled oceans?

Oh, and I also thought of robotic toilets that could sense when you needed to go and come to you instead of you going to them, but I didn't think anybody would take me seriously.

Bakeries rock. No argument there. Lard and sugar are delicious.

And after watching the old-school drunk Polish folk rock out to an all-girl pop cover band at Taste of Polonia on a Sunday night, it’s clear that Polish people rock. But I already knew that since I’m half Polish.

So when the beautiful fall afternoon that was yesterday came and I had to choose a destination for my bike ride, I went with the Polish bakery. I avoided the stroller crowd at the snooty French bakery. Rode past the Greek, Vietnamese and Guatemalan bakeries (although all excellent in their own right), and continued through Korea Town and played chicken with the #81 Lawrence Avenue bus for four miles on my way to the very appropriately named Delightful Pastries. Our booty:



Clockwise from the upper left, that would be a loaf of seven grain bread, freshly sliced, a large portion of pineapple coconut torte cake, an almond croissant, and a dozen kolaczkis.

Next weekend we’ll hit the mall for some new, bigger pants.

What the hell happened? This blog used to be so rock n' roll. Now I'm writing about pastries. Check back next week and I'll update you on the tire pressure on my minivan.

I'm joking. Instead I loaded up the minivan with my posse and we went to see the Toadies tonight. I left them some banana bread.

Saturday Night

We showed up with a dozen cupcakes and left with a baggie full of pulled pork.