backfat for cubie

is there anything more frustrating than walking out to your car to head off to the office - when the sun is shining brightly but has that tinge of sadness around its edges because summer is well on its way to being over - and so you unlock the door to your car to head off to a job that you are grateful for because it pays bills but when you sit down and honestly think about it you aren't exactly sure how you landed this job or how you've managed to acheive success and whatnot even though your heart - as they say, is not in it...

but you have the aforementioned bills that beckon and a rudimentary escape plan forming in your head so you decide it's probably best to go ahead and go into the office take your lumps and be done with it because hey, it's already tuesday and tomorrow will be wednesday which means the weekend is just around the bend...and so you put the key into the ignition of your suv of choice turn it just so and nothing.

well, not nothing...it cranks, and cranks, and cranks but it simply refused to turn over and you think to yourself, hey wait a second - i didn't take on a car payment to have car trouble - in fact the very reason we took on this car payment was to eliminate car trouble once for all - but alas...and so you fiddle with wires under the hood and consult your owners manual and crank some more but the result is the same...and as you sit there staring through the windshield, you consult the rolodex in your head and begin diagnosing the malfunction based on your past experiences with car trouble and you wonder what those cartalk guys would say if they happened by and realize the inevitable - faulty fuel pump...because it's really the only thing that makes sense in this scenario...the starter is engaging and the plugs are firing so it can't be an electrical problem - and fuel pumps are notorious for going without warning - sometimes there are intermittent signs but then at other times they just leave you stranded - so you call into work and a co-worker graciously offers to pick you up because after all, there is work to be done - not that you can concentrate on work because you spend the bulk of the day wondering what to do about the car trouble - that is, when you aren't wondering who will be crowned the next lead singer of inxs - even as you dream of ways to arrange a chance encounter with the newly single brooke burke

but i think i realized today that life can be alot like car trouble sometimes all it takes is a simple breakdown to make you realize that you just might be stuck and i wonder at the people in the cubes around me and in cubes across amerika...is this how they envisioned life turning out? waking up each morning going to a job they could really care less about? it's like something out of a camus novel the way we go through the same routine every day for years as our hair thins out, our waist lines expand and back fat forms on our -- backs and our face takes on the look of someone who has settled because of the mortgage and the car payment and the kids need to get into a good college so they won't have to go through what we are going through at this very second - and i wonder is all of that stuff really worth it?

wouldn't it be far better if we pursued those things in life that we were/are truly passionate about? is it really over idealistic to presume that we could find a way to make things work if we were doing something we could care about deeply? and maybe, just maybe if we were pursuing our passions maybe money wouldn't matter so much - perhaps we are all cowards when it comes to stepping out into the unknown...and that, ladies and gentlemen is why i have decided to quit my job to go back to school to pursue my dream to become a professional fencer and as such, i will be taking applications for people willing to be my foils until i can build up enough confidence to compete professionally

spork & beans

so this past weekend i had occasion to attend that dreaded event formidably known as the family reunion replete with all the eye-rolling - green bean casserole - and warmed over deviled eggs that we have all come to expect over the years...and somewhere between the slip 'n slide and the family sing it donned on me that i might be a member of the strangest collection of relatives known to man. and i say that with the full realization that most folks feel much the same about certain relatives that always turn up at family functions even though you're pretty sure that they weren't invited. and even though they somehow got the memo detailing the date, time, and location of the gathering they seem to have missed the part that encouraged the bringing of food & or beverages - so they conveniently have just enough tallboys to tide them over for the aftenoon but that cooler lid stays locked up tight anytime you happen to walk by.

and so by the time the dinner bell rings a distant cousin has to drag you kicking and screaming from your prone position in the kiddie pool where you were only trying to put yourself out of your misery because a: it's unbearably hot & b: your hot aunt just reminded you of the time you accidentally saw her naked because she had the audacity to use the very same restroom that housed the linen closet that you chose as your hiding spot....and also, you're drunckle keeps getting emotional because he's half lit & really can't believe how much you've grown and wasn't it just yesterday that he was baiting your hooks and teaching you how to throw a football...and really it's amazing that he could remember any of that because he was constantly stealing pieces of your home chemistry set for reasons you still haven't been able to ascertain.

but just as you're recovering childhood memories probably better left alone - you are saved by the family photo because it's important to gather everyone together and preserve this moment in history because really, how often do we do this? and that's probably why no one seems to mind that random kids from the neighborhood somehow make it into the shot - because when will you have the chance to see those little brats again...and also, it would take a great amount of time and effort to chase them away and the sun is going down and the mosquitos are buzzing because your fat relatives reek of pure unadulterated sugar & sugar bi-products...and you wonder how none of them are diabetic, but this thought is quickly chased away by the rage that wells up within you when you realize that there are at least 5 more cameras left and at least three of those will have features so complicated that the owner of said camera (after 15 minutes of shouting out instructions) will have to go up to the front and demonstrate how the blessed thing works which means they'll have to repose themselves...and really it makes no sense in this modern age of technological whatnot that so many pictures should need to be taken...

i mean couldn't we just take one picture and send it out in a lovely e-mail? better yet, give me the memory card, i'll print up the photo onto a t-shirt and send it out to everyone complete with a clever reunion themed top ten list on the back...that, dear friends would be the bomb.com

i might even photoshop our heads atop the bodies of penguins posing on a glacier for my cousin who is obsessed with penguins. seriously, it's pretty much the only thing he talks about...he is well past the age where his hormones should have borne forth in him an interest in the ladies, but really...all he cares about are penguins....which, i know that penguins are strange and mysterious in that sort of austere, flightless way...but come on when you are a student living in a dorm at a major university you might want to dial back the wierdness a notch. or two...and i wonder how that happens. i mean how do you become interested in something like penguins?

i will openly admit to being interested in many diverse things - if by diverse you mean action figures with hinged knees and real hair...and maybe that is strange...maybe, many of my relatives stand and wonder heads agog and mouths agape about my strange obsession with action star hair when i should really be thinking about settling down and starting a family...and of course i don't even want to think about that because i am currently in the throes of one of the worst breakups i have ever had to endure - and it's a miracle that i even make it out of bed most mornings...and i don't know if it makes it better or worse that i never even spoke to this woman - because for all the fuss that gets made, i often find that communication can be so over rated. i mean seriously, how many times have you liked an attractive stranger less after you had a conversation with them? it happens to me alot. still - the no talking thing? sort of makes it difficult to acheive closure or to find out where things went wrong...so the best that you can hope for is that your real hair will be in perfect order in anticipation of a chance encounter because it's hard to be taken seriously as a super action star/former lover if you have fake hair. seriously. just ask ben affleck.

elvis frappuccino

so you're inxs and you find yourself lost in the ipod shuffle of yesteryear desperately wondering how you can make your own particular brand of music relevant again - no small task for any band whose best years are clearly behind them (yes i'm talking about you u2) but then you factor in the fact that your charismatic lead singer with the golden vocal chords and latent sex appeal happens to be dead - well you're sort of screwed...

unless of course you have the good fortune to cash in on the reality television juggernaut that is sometimes referred to as the reality television juggernaut which, not only gets your band back into the public eye - it also happens to generate tons of free publicity for this upcoming album that will be released with the singer who prevails in this televised audition of e.p.i.c. proportions...it should also be noted here that any opportunity to appear on television with the stunning brooke burke (not to be confused with brooke burns of north shore/dog eat dog infamy whose porcelain veneers haunt me. and i don not lie.) is never a bad idea...in fact, i auditioned for the show (the show being rockstar inxs) and did fairly well for myself all the way through regional finals where i performed every day i write the book. only, instead of saying book - i substituted the word brooke. and even though she found this adorable (my word not hers) the producers found it cloying (which...is that even a word?) and i got the boot - but brooke and i are pan pals (seriously. we trade bread recipes) and it's great.

- thus i can comfortably proclaim that even though i am not going to be the new lead singer for inxs the forthcoming record will most likely do bang up business - i'm predicting at least 500,000 sold domestically (probably 7 or 8 billion sold in australia) - which is still a gold record, and a measure of moderate success - even though said record probably won't be very good...and let's be realistic, it won't - the career of inxs was in the tank long before michael hutchence checked out - the same michael hutchence who once publicly complained that u2 had co-opted the inxs sound on achtung baby (which, yeah i guess i can sort of see that on a song like mysterious ways) and this - and this alone was the reason that record sales had begun to flag...but come on mike, people didn't stop buying radiohead records just because those asshats that call themselves coldplay co-opted their sound. but we'll forgive michael for this oversight because i think the real trouble with him was that he never really got over ubermodel helena christiansen - most famous for her romp on the beach with elvis frapuccino aka chris isaak in his wicked game video - and i could see how michael might have trouble getting over a girl like that - she's gloriously beautiful with the kind of eyes that one could really get lost in...seriously. just ask debbie gibson.


where was i? oh yes. don't get me wrong i don't begrudge inxs any (inx)success that might come from this latest venture - i mean seriously, they could have tapped david lee roth to front the band - or that dude from extreme that totally (& ultimately) ruined van halen once for all (and thank holy heaven for that). and this is really a pretty clever marketing ploy on their part and they will no doubt line their pockets with large sweaty wads of cash - and also? how can you be angry with the band that gave us never tear us apart hands down one of the greatest songs of my lifetime - and i'm not just saying that because of its recent inclusion on the donnie darko directors cut...because any of us who have seen the classic donkeyman video recognize immediately that donnie darko is nothing short of plagiarism and poor man's tobey macguire can just kiss it

- also, i'm not just singing the praises of never tear us apart because of the phenomenal sexophone solo that features prominently - even though it does totally rock - it's simply a perfectly crafted/and executed pop song with the strings and the sax and that nifty guitar break between the chorus and the verse - that song seriously fights for my allegiance with the promise by when in rome as the greatest song of the almost 1990's and thank you napolean dynamite for bringing it back.

cape codpiece

do you ever wonder why more workplaces don't have a formal friday every once in awhile? because as nice as it is to see co-workers dressed up like the slobs that they probably are outside of the office - i think it would be a nice change of pace to put on a tophat and tales and sip martinis and chew on fine cheeseballs as you sit in your cube waiting for precious death to save you from your self-imposed doom - this thought ocurred to me whilst i was on vacation last week in the tiny hamlet of sandwich, ma - home of michael sweet, erstwhile lead singer of christian rock super group stryper -

after the legal fallout from the break-up of our cult there had been a bit of awkwardness betwixt us and i thought i quick trip to the holy coast (as mike refers to it) might be a good chance to kick back, relax, and allow mike and i the opportunity to iron out our differences...well, i don't know if any our differences were ironed out but we did iron out the wrinkles in our black and yellow spandex and jam for the lamb at the local y.m.c.a. - the crowd was small - not because we didn't totally rock it because you know we did - unfortunately our outfits had been in storage for such a long, long time we reeked of mothballs - our capes refused to roil or furl and the cod-pieces? well they reeked of warmed over cod.

and it was there on the holy coast as i stood in the glassy sea praying for a shark attack or a tidal wave, or even a really severe case of s.c.u.r.v.y. so that i wouldn't have to return to the dreaded office...and then suddenly as if by magic i began to formulate a plan in my mind for the implementation of formal friday which at the time seemed like such a brilliant idea i couldn't wait to get back to the office - in fact i threw away the cyanide capsules that i'd packed just in case the reunion didn't go so well and headed home several days ahead of schedule...only to find out that formal friday had been tried before - only it wasn't called formal friday - was called on golden prom - and it was called on golden prom because the senior partners would ask the junior partners to a raging cocktail party that took place on the promenade - and even though it was pitched as this gloriously classy event - many woke up days later with that icky horrified feeling that they may have made out with their b.o.s.s. - which wouldn't be such a bad thing if your b.o.s.s. didn't have a penchant for intitiating a little flex time with various & sundry t.e.m.ps. - which for those of you not in the corporate know is akin to leprosy or some other impossibly disgusting malady....

anyway, it was at one of these proms that a senior partner in an instance of ill-advised, overly inebriated pillow talk let slip that maybe - just maybe the company was thinking of exploring outsourcing options - of course over the next several days rumours spread around the office like wildfire (if by wildfire you mean the cyph) and lines were drawn and factions formed - and then there was a minor civil war between those that preferred the electric stapler to the standard manual stapler - the standard staplers eventually won out - not because the electric staplers weren't more powerful, or efficient, or even lethal - because you know they totally were...but unfortunately fourteen days into the campaign, the power went out for an hour and a half leaving the electric soldiers to flail away impotently with rubber bands and paper clips -

at any rate - after the dust settled and the wounded were tended to with peroxide and cotton swabs the company made the official announcement that the great outsourcing myth had been just that - no one would be losing their jobs...which was true, but then two weeks letter word came down that the company had decided it might be a good idea to outsource our lunch breaks - because hey, it would cost them a lot less money to pay some poor soul in a third world country for that hour - plus they'd get a nice tax break and that heart warming good samaritan feeling you can only get from buying lunch for the impoverished or watching extreme makeover - the rest of us were forced to sit at our desks for that hour (which we were no longer paid for) sharpening our resolve and our staple removers as we sustained ourselves on the briscuit and beef jerkey that were sold in the break room vending machines - and then one day they to were packed up in shipping crates and outsourced to the less fortunate....and that my friends is why formal friday will never be celebrated in our office especially if there is any alcohol involved - because the results are not always so sexy.

that sexy guitar - they play it on the high strings

sometimes i long for the soft soothing sounds of the sexy saxophone as i canter about some trendy bistro with one of the various women i meet in my weekly semaphore class down at the community college - and if you are now doubled over laughing because i have openly announced that i attend classes at a community college i should re-emphasize that i meet scads of eligible women in the aforementioned semaphore class - which, hopefully raises a few red flags for some of you...but back to the sexy saxophone which i often refer to as the sexophone - when you happen to be seated on a softly lit patio with a bottle of wine whilst a stockinged foot caresses your well-toned calf - you begin to feel like rob lowe in that movie that practically invented the sexophone - st. elmo's fire...

and now i should take a moment to point out that both of my calves happen to be highly toned and completely lethal - a fact i feel i must mention not only because i firmly believe that my calves are my b.e.s.t. feature - but also because my calves are highly competitive and can often be found engaged in epic flex-offs pitted against one another like bitter rivals...my psychiatrist tells me that calves have no ego and suggests i stop sleeping in the legwarmers already and my doctor dismisses it as mere cramping but friends, i'm here to tell you, my calves are trying to kill each other - if anything ever happens to either one (even though i secretly expect it will end in a murder/suicide) remember what i have said here today and tell the world the truth!

but getting back to rob lowe - when he plays the sexy soul soaring theme song to st. elmo's fire (the instrumental - not the version with words which is so, so lame) no one can resist - not even the sad suicidal demi moore who just can't help but pick herself up off of those harshly polished hardwood floors and decide that yes, life is worth living after all - unless of course you happen to be judd nelson and one of your nostrils is dispraportionately larger than the other one - but cheer up, because once the music takes control you're not ashley judd, nor are you judd nelson, heck, you're not even one half of the identical twin supergroup nelson (matthew or gunnar - take your pick...it doesn't matter because you're still not one of them) because you're rob lowe...

at least you're rob lowe until he hooks up with the homely girl - you know the one, with the chalky white skin...you know the one...i can't for the life of me remember the three named actress who played her - but the good folks at imdb would be more than happy to satiate your curiosity...because homely girls don't attend semaphore class - you can find them down the hall in creative writing because they just can't seem to grasp the nuances of non-v.e.r.b.a.l. communication.

i have noticed recently that many film and television soundtracks have begun using the guitar quite a bit to score a particularly emotive scene - a trend i like to refer to as that sexy guitar - they play it on the high strings - which okay, i guess it's nice and tastefully bland but it just lacks the cadence, the throaty timbre of the sexophone - so instead of kissing passionately oft times you end up sitting on the hood of your car down at the quarry trading air guitar solos with the woman who might have been the love of your life if only your life didn't have a soundtrack that absolutely sucked - that's why i now carry matching ipods filled to capacity with sexy sax sounds and i'm not talking about safe sax either - because we aren't trying to recreate the mood of a doctor's waiting room here - no, no dear friends what we are after are the sexy results. what? you think that should read saxy results? no. no it shouldn't - that's just dumb. and also you might think that matching ipods might interfere with the chemistry that can only come about through conversation - but seriously how many dates have you been on where an interesting conversation took place? me either.

and also, if you're like me and you happen to exclusively date women from your local community college semaphore class you don't have to speak - just let the sax do all your talking for you - well, the sax and you're handy coloured flags of silent communication - just make sure you read the signals properly - because those flag sticks tend to be sharp.

s.a.r.s & stryper

i'm a little bit worried that i don't do enough in my life to prevent another outbreak of s.a.r.s. sure i make a boiling hot shower a big party of my daily routine and i'm often known to wash my hands for no good reason - but still...wasn't it just a few short years ago that s.a.r.s. threatened to wipe out the continent of asia?

and now i'm wondering if asia is a continent...if it's not it certainly should be...at least this was the premise of the cult that i once belonged to known simply as the continental dividers. which, yes, the name in and of itself can be a bit misleading because we really didn't want any part of dividing any continents - in fact the one thing that we all had in common - the very thing that drew us to one another in the first place (aside from the public nudity ritual of certain surprise of course) was an intense hatred for long division.

also the cult was founded by several members of the formerly great christian heavy metal band stryper who were much more cold, calculating, and money hungry than your average christian rock outfit (with the possible exception of c.a.r.m.a.n.) - in fact it's come out only recently that the only reason they started this cult is because they had the hair brained idea that if there were at least 5 more continents they could stay on tour forever - and also, one of the guys was originally from lincoln, nebraska and he secretly confided in me that it was his dream to create land masses in hopes that someday by a group vote of 3 to 2 stryper would agree to change their name to the lincoln continentals and who knows what that would do for t-shirt sales & headband sales...i kept trying to tell them that no one really sports the headband anymore - but i was shouted down and nearly excommunicated so i simply gave up -

and also, the lincoln nebraska guy died from a case of the as yet undocumented s.a.rs. all because he refused to wear the biohazard suit - i say undocumented s.a.r.s. because this was like 1987 if memory serves and s.a.r.s had not yet been discovered - all we knew was that a plague had stricken our tight nit community and was threatening to wipe us out - our critics asserted that this was some sort of divine judgment for our love of the rock 'n roll & our cultish ways. we, of course naturally assumed it was a result of our fast track lifestyle and exposure to explosive compounds - so we decided to take some safety precautions with the biohazard suits (in nifty yellow & black of course) but dude decided there was no way in holy heaven he was wearing one because it wasn't form fitting enough - and he also thought he could ward of germs by wearing a snorkel instead of a sterile surgeons mask - he was a wierd guy. of course his untimely passing led to my short term gig as the bass player for the world's greatest christian heavy metal band - but i was ousted when i attempted to fulfill our departed comrades wishes by casting a vote for the band name change.

so after this unpleasantness we set about our goal of adding 5 more continents - because in case you hadn't noticed the continental shelf has been barren for several centuries. and i think that maybe the malaise that plagues so many young self-starters like myself is due in large part to the fact that there are no new territories worthy of exploring. of course if we'd only been a bit more intuitive we could have discovered s.a.r.s. or the internet or yogurt in a squeezable tube - but we weren't that intuitive. so we at the continental dividers undertook the task of developing new frontiers which we attemtped to do by draining several large lakes and setting dynamite charges in an effort to separate chunks of existing land masses thus creating new continents. we also added a second tier to antarctica which looked totally rad because instead of being remote and icy it was all tropical with oily natives drinking coronas by the sea - but then the folks at osha got involved and because they lacked vision and we lacked backbone (we were a rock 'n roll cult - what more do you expect) the project never really got off the ground. okay that's not true because we totally built it, but then we had to tear the whole thing down...but i still have some of the fake patio grass in may garage to catch any unsightly oil spills.

well, long story short apparently all the blasting and the draining that i just mentioned happen to be highly illegal and had i not turned states evidence against my fellow dividers i'd probably be sitting in a white collar prison somewhere enjoying the best that satellite television has to offer - (like stryper live from costa rica for example) while exploring various & sundry escape routes which no doubt would have led to great adventures (in babysitting) instead i chose to sell my soul for the freedom of a 37.5 hour work week - my parents warned me that stupid cult would brainwash me.

the fear of nudity

there are probably one million reasons why i will never marry - fear of commitment, social anxiety, night blindness, fear of nudity - but one of the primary reasons the prospect frightens me so impossibly is the whole drama of the ring (not to be confused with the pop culture phenom film of the same name) thing...first, selfishly i'll admit that i've never owned a ring in my entire life unless of course you count those plastic rings with the giant candied gem on them or the unfortunate ringworm incident back in the eighth grade which i still don't like talking about...i think the primary reason for this is could be that my stumpy useless hands that have always served me so well when it comes to retrieving lost objects from behind or beneath household appliances, look rather foolish when adorned with rings...and having never been a ring wearer (or even a ring bearer for that matter - even though i do have an adorable cowlick and cherubic cheeks that would elicit gasps and sighs as i walked down the aisle with the fluffy pillow of promise and destiny - still i'm not bitter) i don't know that i would be qualified to pick out the perfect ring for the l.o.v.e. of my l.i.f.e. - seriously. for me picking out a three ring binder is an all day affair.

and how exactly does that whole ring shopping thing work anyway? because i have always been under the impression that popping the question was supposed to be some big event fraught with deep knee bending leading to sky writing followed almost immediately by gymnastics of the heart - but then you talk to friends who are (mating while) dating and they will tell you unabashedly that they are ring shopping which sort of makes the whole dramatic proposal event moot don't you think? i know rick springfield certainly does.

and rick springfield would know - because from what i hear he finally consummated his long awaited love affair with jessie's girl - and you might think that jessie would have been pissed. and he was. at first. but then he realized that rick and jessie's girl really were the better match so instead of losing a friend and a lover he decided to just cut his losses, swallow his pride and be the supportive friend. and it really is great you know? like a real life dawson's creek finale equal parts e.f.f.e.t.e. and e.d.g.e. i ran into the the three of them down at the food court last weekend sharing an orange julius (three people one straw - metaphor for the tie that binds or fasttrack to mono - you be the judge [reinhold]) and they were laughing and having a grand old time because apparently they had spent the morning ring shopping at zayles (the galleria of jewelry) have mercy indeed!

and that i guess, is when i realized that ring shopping is probably a good idea - because yes it does sort of spoil the mystery and the intrigue - but then again you'll be waking up to the same person for the rest of your life so it's a nice bit of foreshadowing for how all of the mystery and intrigue are about to be sucked out of your life. forever. and also, ring shopping gauruntees that you don't end up dropping some hideous piece of whatnot on the woman that would have been more than happy to fill the role of your future wife until she saw the hideous ring - which, yes i know that it may have been your great grandmothers but dude....it's still hideous -

no self respecting woman wants to be seen walking around with that much filigree on her fair knuckle...if she really wanted something that bulky she would have worn your class ring on her chubby toe thumb instead of on a chain around her neck...i'm just saying. if you insist on forcing that thing on her you might find yourself with a garage full of invitations that will serve as a lifelong reminder of what a cheap bastard you were - because seriously...if you wanted a woman to wear your great grandmothers ring - maybe you should have married your great grandmother.