Put a Sock In It!

So in case you were concerned that the world was under-populated, not to worry! These boobs have it covered!!

http://tv.yahoo.com/19-kids-and-counting/show/43716/news/tv.accesshollywood.com/tv.accesshollywood.com-duggar-family-finally-welcomes-home-baby-no-19

Michelle and Jim "Jim Bob" "Penis" Duggar have19 kids at 44 years of age. If you are concerned that time is running out for these two and they havent even single handedly populated an entire state, I've already taken the liberty of reaching out to them to explain that they really must start having 8 at a time. I cant wait for the reality tv show! Jim and Michelle Plus Four Hundred and Seventy Seven.

If having 19 children wasnt nuts enough......they gave them all initials matching their father. Narcisism is so hot!

Eventually, they obviously started running out of ideas. Theres a Jedidiah. Have you ever met a Jedidiah outside of an Amish community?!

You've just discovered a weird rash and you are freaking out. You run to your PPO website to look up a doctor.
Dr Addle, Dean
Ok.
Dr. Gupta, Sanjay
Alright.
Dr Duggar, Jedidiah
Huh?!
I hope this kid likes making cheese.

Theres a Jackson. So, yeah, Jack is a first name. Jackson is a surname. Had they studied their history, and yes I realize its difficult to find the time to read when you've spent most of the last 25 years in a prone position, they may have learned that President Jackson actually had a first name......and it wasnt Jackson Jackson.

Then theres a Jordyn-Grace. What the hell is a Jordyn-Grace?! Was that the token hermaphredite?

Theres even a Jinger.

Augh.

I dont even have anything to say about that other then Christ people! Can you just put a sock in it and maybe try spending some time with the kids you already have?!!!!

I'm Sorry

I'm sorry. I'm sorry Kenny in advance for the sounds I am about to produce, sounds that may resemble both the incompetent yet earnest efforts of a 7th grader playing on a $200 horn as well as the gutteral sounds of a Mongolean camel in the throes of a breached birth. Please have the doctor bills from any choclear bleeding sent directly to my accountant.....and Happy Easter. I hope the congregation understands.

I thought for sure when you said you wanted to replace your trumpet player with me (a bass trombonist) on your Easter gig you were joking. Isnt that like replacing a refrigerator with a toaster?! I mean sure, you are the arranger and can make it work, but I hadnt imagined you really meant it.

When you asked if I would be ready a week ago, I tried to say "no" but lost out to the stronger freelancer voice that only knows how to respond to work opportunities in the affirmative. "Yes, I can do it......not well, not compitently, but 'do it'? Yes, I can do it."

I sought the advise of a top notch freelancer friend as to whether he thought I should do it. "Hell ya." Even if its bad? "Oh hell ya! Take the money and run." Obviously my freelancer voice and his had been schooled on the same mean streets.

So I await whatever may happen. The upside is as my old roommate used to say, "If they call you and you say you cant do it, they will never call you again. If they call you and you can't do it but take the gig anyway, they will pay you and then never call you again. So really, you have nothing to loose and everything to gain by taking the gig."

Giddy up!

.....update......
Gig went just fine.....but just to be safe, I took the money and ran anyway.

.....update.......
I got so stressed out about the gig, I got a cold. Because I didnt rest and did the gig and the hang afterwards, the cold turned into a sinus infection. I think the money I made on the gig should just about cover the money I lost from missing work.

Sounds Familiar

As I blared the You Tube audio toward the phone, I thought I heard my mothers faint voice humming.
"Are you singing along?"
"Yes."
"Are you saluting?"
"No."
"Oh that's right. You aren't supposed to salute until the end."

Going back a bit.

Last night at the gym, I pumped iron as I listened to the 2010 winter game closing ceremony in Canada. Suddenly, I heard something. Well a choir, but more. Something familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Something that faintly filled me with pride and the desire to cry and salute. An a Capella choir beautifully sang a song that had buried itself so deeply into my Psyche that it probably sat on the brain cell adjacent to the memory of being breast fed. Buried so deep, it wasn't even a memory but a visceral reaction.

I wandered toward the flat screen softly mouthing, "Momma?"

What was I hearing? Is that Russian? Are those Russian's singing.....singing?....yes.....singing the national anthem.

It was shocking. Patriotism, real patriotism is absolutely not a choice, not a decision but a Pavlovian trigger.

I went home and googled "Russian National Anthem Choir". I was led to the recordings of the Red Army Choir. Another flood of familiar sound. I found my way to their rendition of Kalinka ( a traditional folk tune) and emailed it to my mother. She asked how I came to look for Kalinka on you tube and I told her my journey over the last 24 hours. Then I turned on the Russian National Anthem. Oddly enough, the two defectors (one of whom had faced the KGB and the risk of loosing everything including "disappearing" just to escape the motherland) automatically began singing along.

Go figure.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BLi_m656tQQ

What will 3 hours give you that 30 minutes won't

I recently passed a phone interview to be advanced to the next round - the in person interview. I was asked when I would be available for the three hour interview.

Three hours?!!!

What can I possibly tell them in three hours that I cant tell them in 30 minutes? How could I even possibly fill a three hour interview when I only have enough technical knowledge to talk about computers for about 45 minutes?! I've given this a lot of thought and come to the following game plan:
1. I'll start with the 45 minute of tech talk where I will name every namespace and t-sql command I know.
2. I will then spend about 10 minutes discussing my hobbies.
3. I could then ask for water killing 2 minutes.
4. Next I could probably stretch a detailed account of my childhood into about a 20 minute discussion.
5. I could then ask to use the restroom and kill 4 minutes.
6. Then ask for more water killing another 2 minutes.
7. At this point I can burst into a passionate discussion of coffee for about 5 minutes.
8. The coffee talk will be a natural segway into 10 minutes of me rocking back and forth and practicing making random sounds like I did when I was a baby.
9. Completely drained of ideas, I will take a nap until the three hours are up.

How new music caused hoof 'n mouth disease

Tonight I went to a very cool AME new music concert organized by friends from a Broadway tour. One of the composers, a cute 70-something with a scruffy mountain man beard, related his experience as a new music composer.

He said that many years ago, he had been invited to a performance of his music in an agrarian part of the United States. Coinciding with the performance of his music was a veterinary convention on Hoof 'N Mouth Disease. Somehow the photos from the two articles advertising the big local news got switched.

Two cows were pictured near a stream, tongues drunkenly dangling to the side, beneath the headline "New Music Concert".

Below the cows an article pictured a smiling head shot of the composer. The headline read "Look Whats Happened To Our Cattle!"

conclusion Evening in New York (or Is Everyone Crazy?)

A man on a stationary bike in my gym is watching a basketball game. Every couple of minutes, presumably when his team scores, he claps solemly for roughly 3 seconds.

A second man on the stairmaster begins to clap along with him. I glance at the second man who has a big smile on his face and we both laugh. The first man pretends not to notice.

A few minutes later I begin to clap along with the two of them. The first man gets up and moves across the gym to get away from us. He climbs on a machine at the back of the gym and continues clapping intermitently.

The second man turns on the same basketball game and starts yalping and clapping along but this time sincerly.

I loose interest, finish my hour of cardio and leave.

Friday afternoon in New York (or Whos Crazy Now?)

I’m sitting at my favorite coffee house next to a crazy person. He is talking to himself, gesturing and intermittently slapping his table. He is in his late 50s, clean and heavy set with a neatly trimmed grey beard. He comes here often, purchases a cappuccino and desert and stairs at women while talking to himself. I don't like him.

While he fetches his cappuccino, I consider moving away, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings. Instead I decide to vibe him when his behavior annoys me.

Being crazy is his prerogative, but there are norms that you need to follow when in public. If he wants to talk to himself, that’s fine. A lot of people are conversing so conversation is acceptable. However, slapping your table is not, I decide.

He returns and starts softly muttering curses and complaints. When he starts slapping his table, I glance up and flash dirty looks mostly to myself. He appears to notice but continues to intermittently slap his table.

The vibing is not working. I think I need to step up my disapproval. I stare at his hand as he slaps the table. He avoids my gaze and starts slapping his table almost constantly.

I think I’m getting used to the slapping. I don’t care anymore. I stop vibing him. He gets up and moves across the coffee shop to get away from me. I’m not hurt. Next time I will move.