a favorite food item of mine has long been a baked potato liberally doused in colby jack cheese, spring onions and sour cream. on very special occasions i may even spatter some bacon pieces on top to treat my aching palette.

saturday i was doing the dishes. i was possibly thinking about such a decadent spud while doing so. meanwhile an interview with a food photographer came on the radio. he was detailing the rigors of shooting different cuisines and how all of these artificial measures had to be taken to make the food look fresh out of the oven, frozen stiff or whatever the case may be. he revealed how to perfectly simulate an oven-fresh, piping hot potato, one simply had to take a totally water-condensed tampon, heated and shove it down into the fluffy white manna to simulate those hot spirals of steam one gets when first piercing the brown pod. works every time, he assured the interviewer.

yeah, well you know what else works every time? planting imagery in my head of my favorite food being immersed or otherwise wrapped around doctored feminine hygiene products. show some respect for the world around you! you bragging dolt!

all parents and potential parents have fears. will my child be healthy? will my child be happy? will my child succeed in what they want to do? while we all have them not everyone is forced to face them head-on. not everyone is actually dealt one of these blows to cope with, adjust to and move on from. while maybe not a foreseeable item for me, one of my greatest fears regarding a child of mine was realized last week.

most people who meet me are hyper curious/anxious to meet marty, and not for the same reason luby was itching to meet her. first they want to see if she's really a she (marty ... marty ... could go either way). and secondly, for the same tired reason of just having to know who elected to put up with me till death makes us part.

well, for your information, the person putting up with me had a very lackadaisical look on her face when we saw two pandas having sex in a tree on the tele and the commentator talked about how the female had two vaginas. after telling marty she was at least 50% deficient she informed me that i was short one bifurcated penis as well and that if i'd work on mine, she'd work on hers.

marty then went onto say that she's often contemplated stopping to check out road-maimed opossums because they, like pandas, have this dual genital thing going on. first question is, how does anyone know this. second question is, how the hell did i end living with a person who knows this. third question is, how the hell is it i'm somehow known as the freaky one living at our address.

and, if you're curious, luby seeks to meet the partners of people he may intend hanging out with just in case the other person totally sucks because he "already has one friend he can only eat lunches with because that's the only time his wife is sure to be working and thus guaranteed to be previously engaged."

awhile back i was approached by a guy who wanted to know if i was interested in doing some design work for a porn site or two. he assured me that he and people he knew had quite a need and the opportunities would be both abundant and lucrative.

the only burn i could see is that i'd be doing work i couldn't exactly put in my portfolio which is a little bit on the evil side. when i mentioned it in passing to marty she surprisingly had a few more negative items outside of the portfolio issue. "just how would you feel telling your daughter that you peddled pornographic material for a living?"

would i be sitting in my new Porsche when explaining it to her?

this would be an example of the wrong thing to say to marty when discussing such matters.

i have one chest hair. i've had it for about 15 years. this hair is three inches long. and it grows right out of the dark border of my nipple, not next to it like you'd expect. and, it's squirrley, shooting out all hurly-burly, not straight or ordinary at all. every few months it falls out but regenerates in just days if not just hours.

this somehow came up in conversation at work and the guy i was talking to was saying things like "what in the hell are you talking about?" and "stop talking. just stop talking."

then, thinking he wasn't getting it or wasn't believing me, i stuck two fingers into the gap between the buttons on my shirt and started fishing around for it.

him: what are you doing?

me: i'm going to show it to you?

him: i don't want to see it.

me: no, it's ok. i can pull it out between the buttons.

him: stop doing that.

me: it'll just take a second.

him: don't do that.

me: wait. i almost got it.

him: no. stop. i don't want to see that thing.

me: (i stop) oh i'm sorry. but, it's really quite a thing.

him: don't ever do that again. i'm serious man. don't ever do that again.

in a trip to the zoo last week, i found bella hunched over a display and pushing a button on the wall. i peered in through the smallish Plexiglas window and saw a bunch of sand and twigs. my eyes prowled for the prize. i scanned the box until i saw pressed into one of the corners a shiny, blue, three inch scorpion. AAAHHHH! i shrieked. then bella pushed the button and the box went dark. that is everything in the box except the scorpion which now glowed a dull shade of white. BBBAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH! i super shrieked and bella looked up smiling largely and asked if i saw the blue spider-crab.

if you're like me you never conceived that such a creature could exist. want to know where freaky ass glow in the dark blue scorpions come from? while i'm not sure exactly where they got that one i crapped three of them into my shorts when bella hit that friggen' button.

you may or may not believe me, but believe that if i ever saw this thing out of its box, you'd need to know stephen hawking math to precisely count how many of those atrocities shot out of my ass.

marty has a rule that if i'm ever going to cheat on her it's totally ok, under one condition; i must call her beforehand.

while this seems like a pretty keen deal, i can't help but wonder what effect speaking to my wife moments before would do to the mood. i'm guessing not heighten it.

but, just in case, anyone have a cellphone i can borrow?

how about a dime?

so i've spent the last six months building a replacement intranet for my employer. there were 40 applications. a cumulative total of more than 2,000 files. we were meticulous. we were clean. i've worked 10 weekends since alex was born. i've been in the office 25 of the last 34 hours. i would not fail. it was simply not permissable.

and then, 7 hours before my site went live, some totally unrelated systems issues took a giant wet shit on the hood of my shiny new sports car. it was the most tainted successful rollout i've ever been asked to oversee.

bitch.

there is a guy in my neighborhood some call the most anal resident but they are wrong. he is the most anal person ever invented, and he's pissing me off.

here's the deal. he has this gas powered blower and weekly he sets out to relocate every blade, grain and follicle he doesn't deem attractive away from his home. the magic radius seems to be 150 feet which coincidentally is about how far the beginning of my property line is from him (he's two doors down). so he meticulously escorts the natural varmints away from his front door and stops his maintenance in front of my home. this leaves a small wave of outdoor dust bunnies sitting on my sidewalk and street, yes he does the street too, remember we're talking about the most anal human to ever sport an anus.

now while this habit has been noticeably annoying i've never really sweated it too much, but the other day i was sitting on the front porch reading, heard something, looked up and saw him walking back towards his home. i looked into the street and saw that he had just dumped some twigs and dried leaves right in front of my house. it was apparent he hadn't seen me sitting there and he was too far away by the time i realized what happened to gig him in the act.

to my point. i'm seeking applications form the more deviant among us describing what it is you would do to this guy for me. please make your submissions generously verbose. also, include any past experience, references and what you feel would be an appropriate fee for your services. photos of previous work would also be appreciated.

and, i'd totally do this myself, but ...

there was a college kid in my neighborhood who had the best trained dog i've seen since spuds mckenzie. they had this deal they'd do where the guy would drive along the street and his canine would run on the sidewalk even with the car. if the car stopped, the dog stopped. the dog would always sit down anxiously waiting for his owner\'s car to begin again. i will admit i mildly enjoyed watching thi...

i'm quite different from most of the guys i work with. this is typical. but usually not as pronounced as my current situation. in the eyes of my colleagues i'm prissy, snobbish, delicate and several other decidedly negative terms, by their estimation at least. the only thing i could say about them is they are men, real, un-concentrated men.

the other day one of the uber-men informed me that if i mentioned UNIX one more time (they are a microsoft shop) a certain three of them were going to drag me out back and kick my ass. they don't know UNIX and aren't entirely comfortable with what such a change may hold for their future employment in this firm. i confidently told him i could defend such an attack. curious, he asked what 160 pounds of me was going to do against the combined 2,000 pounds of their three-man gorilla-squad. i would simply act like your pummeling aroused me, sexually. his countenance changed quite visibly. he admitted that this just may work.

i was in a meeting the other day and someone referred to the webmaster. everyone looked at me. why are you all looking at me, i asked the room and they said 'because you're the webmaster stupid.'

scary times. these are scary times indeed.

marty was passing through an intersection yesterday when an suv running a red light t-boned her. the point of impact centered on the passenger side rear door and the collision sent marty's car into the neighboring lane where the car came to a slow stop.

no one was hurt. i can't even begin to tell you what kind of ziggurat needs to be erected to the germans for their automotive prowess. the center point of this collision was 15 inches away from 2 month old alex's head. he was pulled from his car seat unscathed, screaming his tiny, diapered ass off, but unscathed. it's friggen amazing. especially when you look at the car. the entire passenger side is a complete disaster with both doors having been pushed in about six inches.

when marty called me at work, and after confirming everyone was ok, i was ravenous for details. how fast were you going? 40mph. who was at fault? the other person. how's the car? bad shape. was it a man or a woman? woman. was she talking on a cellphone? uncertain but the car behind her said she was messing around with something. what did she say to you? nothing.

NOTHING?!? this was the response i wasn't prepared for. i asked marty for clarification.

t: do you mean she didn't say anything important or she really didn't say anything?

m: she didn't say anything. i never spoke to her. what did you want her to say?

t: how about i'm sorry. i'm sorry for being such a complete idiot and endangering you and your childrens' lives. i'm just sorry.

m: well maybe she was shook up too. i mean she probably recognizes what she did.

t: you see, by not apologizing i'd say she doesn't. i'd say she doesn't appreciate that she just made us a one car family for the next month. or that if they total the car, we're out the 1000 bucks we just put into it last week. that she just cost us 20 - 40 plus hours of our life in trying to get all of this squared away. i'd say that she doesn't appreciate that she could have killed your child. i mean i'm not asking for a lot here but a simple apology seems quite in order.

i can't exactly explain why i'm so enraged by this minor detail. my best guess is fear. the thought of what could have happened on this day terrifies me to the marrow and i want the person responsible to simply own that. and i know how that sounds and i can already hear mike mumbling something about me being a petty fool and the rational side of me knows all of this. all that truly matters is i've got three healthy family members sleeping in this house right now and we're not at the hospital or worse. i do know all of this.

but the other thing i know is how much i hate shopping for cars so just say your sorry dammit if for nothing else, for making me have to go shopping for cars!

as an only child i've been long fascinated by sibling relationships. how they started, how they grew and what kind of state they're in through adulthood. did you fight, i mean physically? how often do you call your sister/brother on the phone, just to talk? would you stay up late at night rapping? did you share a room? a bed? believe me when i tell you my quest for understanding is insatiable. <...

marty and the kids left saturday morning for a weeklong visit to the sister in chicago.

sunday i woke up at 1pm, had breakfast at 2pm and showered. what i mean to say is i then showered monday morning before work. that was just the next significant thing i did after eating krispy kreme donuts for breakfast all sunday afternoon.

i'm quite certain that i could never express how much i hate the fourth of july, after dark especially.

when they invent a firework that can be exploded at three in the morning in your backyard which i don't have to listen to, i'll share in your joyous and meaningful celebration.

the powerbook found a new home in chicago.

which means a 23 inch cinema display found a new home right here in saint lou last night.

man does it feel good to scratch a two year itch. i could go on about this latest step towards technological nirvana or i could simply share a conversation i had moments after buying the thing.

i've got about an hour before going to bed and in this time i can either think of something to say to you or crack open the book i haven't touched in two months.

you see, i've worked more in the last 6 weeks than i did in all of 2002, possibly 2001 as well. the intranet i've been building for my new employer sees its first users tomorrow (tuesday) where they will poke and jab with their keystrokes and mouse clicks the 31 applications that were rewritten for their benefit.

so in these last few moments of anonymity i think i shall go sit on a futon and do what i haven't done in a long time; read my book.

if you see me on the street and i look different, it's the belt. i've only recently begun wearing one and am very self-conscious about it. this pointless strap of leather goes against everything i believe in, clothing wise and is the one article of clothing i wear that serves no function other than to scream out to all that see me that i am a total whore to industry and too wrapped up in what others think to think for myself.

some days making a living sucks.

when you see guys biking in a tight, single file row, it's called drafting. conceptually, its the same thing you see in auto racing. the basic premise goes that the person in front takes all the wind and you just float behind them exerting a fraction of the energy to achieve the same speed.

Man Who Screams Like Woman received a primer on the art of drafting from a friend because they are about to bike across the state of iowa together. it would seem that cooperative drafting has quite the rituals around it, for both safety and efficiency. for instance the guy in the front of the draft-line is not responsible for watching the road. he's busy working his ass off trying to keep a strong pace for the people behind him. the second man in line is charged with spotting any obstacles in the path where upon he alerts the front man.

additionally, when the lead man's time is done he announces this in some way so the next guy can get ready to step up and the third guy can prepare to birddog the road. the lead guy might yell 'i'm off' or something of the like and swing out of line falling to the back. the physics of the whole dynamic jettison the pack ahead of him where they will slow down a bit to let him catch up. once he's caught up he'll yell 'back on' so they can resume a hearty clip.

the first, and last, time i ever participated in a group ride which included drafting i was behind a stocky female i called sergeant bilko (in my head only). we didn't do all the fancy calling out and stuff because, well frankly, we didn't know about such etiquette. i spent most of the time staring at my front tire as it related to her back tire. it gets to be quite mesmerizing at about mile 30 and you'll find yourself zoning out. zoning out until you hear a funny noise and look up only to catch, square in the face, a gelatinous wad of chunk-laden snot shot from bilko's nose under her armpit (ala farmers blow). i heard/saw her loading up the other barrel and only just escaped the second salvo to the very great chagrin of the guy behind me.

in summary;
1. drafting is an efficient way to travel
2. there are numerous reasons to have rules
3. big girl equals big snot
4. it is totally possible to exfoliate/burn three layers of skin off your face and live to tell about it.

the people who knew me before i was an old man with two children have witnessed a transformation in me. some think it's good. others find it annoying. i know i'm different, this i can admit. although, i don't know that i'd liken it to the full lobotomy bookguy swears i underwent. for instance, i asked a woman at the park the age of her baby and she replied 'oh, he's 16 and a half weeks old'.

i have a piece of advice for her. no one gives a shit. the correct answer was four months, my child is four months old. celebrate the half week anniversaries of your ilk in the privacy of your own boring-ass home, especially when it's four days beyond four months.

there bookguy, i told you it was only a partial lobotomy.

i like seeing things i'm not supposed to. this is not to say that you will look up one day and find me peering into your bathroom window, but it is to say that if you're showering next to me at the gym, i could later pick you out of a lineup, without ever seeing your face. i'm not sure why i'm like this but i know when it began.

i was in second grade and my after-school baby-sitter was...

man am i going to make my boy proud of me.

and, we still haven't settled on a name for him.

our local news station has been hyping some satellite-deal that can see all kinds of stuff from space. "just think if you could see anything you can imagine from space" they say in their advertisements.

i feel obligated to let them know i can imagine quite a bit. and, i'd wager we're not talking about the same kinds of stuff.

for those who reached new levels of disgust by yesterday's admission of my occasional swollen-genitalia syndrome, you flatter me.

for those who requested a visual aid of my condition, you flatter me as well.

and for those who said your condition is worse than mine, you flatter yourself.