Just further evidence that guys - straight or gay - are guys.

Also, I'm doing an article on a home health care organization. I had a brain storm. If this is already out there, then good. If not, I release it to the world as a gift from my brain.

One problem seniors face is remembering to take their pills. Couldn't there be a time released dispenser like those fancy cat and dog food dispensers they sell in skymall magazine. The pharmacist could load up a months supply of pills into the machine, sets a dispensing timer, and then the machine releases the pills into a little dish like kibble. Any time the there's a pill in the tray, grandma knows it's pill time.

That's my idea for the beneficiance of mankind. My other one that incorporates the dry cleaning industry with the tax code I'm saving.

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Cruisin'

George Michael has thrown down the gauntlet defending cruising as a normal part of the culture of homosexual men. In a culture accustom to defining deviancy down, there seems to be no bottom. The question is will the gay community back him up on it. If one critizes cruising will one be labeled a puritanical homophobic throw back seeking to impose a Judeo-Christian morality on others?

Only time will tell. But it's good to remember that the most open minded person thought the idea of gay marriage silly and look where we are now. Fortunately, most voters still think it's silly.

Two observations and then I'll tell of my own cruising experience at 17.

First, I reference the culture of homosexual men. The key part is not the homo part. It's men. Gay guys are still guys. Straight guys would be rutting around doing all kinds of kinks if the ladies would let us. Women - whether they admit it or not - are the brakes in a sexual relationship. Sure, there's fun, but for the most part, women aren't going to do some of the wackier things that a man would jump at; two being having an "open relationship" and the other being "multiple partners". 99% of women say nix to that and the 1% left over are screwy nutjobs.

Gay guys don't behave this way because they are gay but because they are guys. Gay male sex is sex with the brakes off. No chicks no brakes.

Now, one thing that I think is particular to gay guys is the bathroom/park scene. A few years ago the former Mr. Panayiotou left the comfort of the Beverly Whileshire hotel and got pegged in the park bathroom across the street. Speaking for myself and my limited conversations with other males, I'd say in most cases, straight guys would rather stay in a king size bed at the Beverly. There must be something about the danger. Even if you pick up a guy at the park, you can always go back to the hotel - or even step down to a room in a 4 star.

There's parks in nice conservative Cincinnati that are now completely turned over to gay guys and heroin addicts. What's up guys?

For myself, I'll admit that a gay guy once tried to pick me up. It scared the crap out of my. At 17, my best friend and I went to a porn shop in the blue light district of Ft. Wayne. In Ft. Wayne in 1987, this consists of a half block of 4 adult bookstores. I could pass for 21 and Mike had a fake ID, but we were still nervous. This was well before the internet allowed easy access to the adult world and porn stars were future overdose cases and AIDS victims and not best selling authors and stars in their own right.

Mike and I circled the bookstore a few times trying to build up courage. A surf looking dude was sitting on the front steps stoned out of his mind. He stared at us each time we walked by. We joked about him and finally we walked into the shop.

It was well light and clean. There were men and women in it. However, it was still a horrible place. Mostly, because at the front of the store some middle aged woman was sitting in an elevated glass enclosed box half dressed. From what we could tell, you shoved dollars to her and she did as requested. I saw Scully and Mulder go to one of these in an X-files later on. It didn't look so gross on the TV.

Anyway, we looked around and quickly because bored. You can only look at so many video covers and bondage equipment and marital aids in a brightly lit room with other people before you get bored. Finally, we got some quarters, walked down a hallway to one of those little video booths. It was a long hallway that curled in on itself to make room for as many slots as possible. Mike entered one both and I another. Each booth had a seat, a box of Kleenex a 7 inch TV and a channel selector. You put in your quarters you got a few minutes to channel surf. My quarters ran out first. Not knowing what to do with myself and getting a bit paranoid, I just stood outside of Mike's booth (giving him a respectful distance of course) waiting for him to come out (Haaa!). I was leaning against the wall when it happened.

The stoned surfer dude had come up behind me. He wrapped his arms around me with one hand on my chest and the other holding something very precious to me and said something - I didn't hear what it was. The embrace panicked me and I threw the little dude pretty hard against the wall. I was about 6 foot but skinny as hell at this time, but that junkie sure did fly. I yelled "Mike help me!" The guy ran off one way and I headed the other. I speed walked my way out of the store and waited for about 15 minues in the parking lot across the street.

Finally Mike came out wondering what happened. I told him then got pissed he didn't come help me out. He said he heard the crash and me yell, but thought I said "Mike Channel Three!" which he said was gay black porn which had pissed him off. He had then wandered around the store a bit looking for me.

I never went back.

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In Defense of Ass-kicking

I've done stupid stuff and maybe if someone had kicked my ass earlier I would have straigtened up earlier. The seeming rise in a lack of courtesy needs to address. the Divine Mrs. M and I have discussed this too much where our liberal friends and no qualms about spouting off about Bush's supposed "stupidity", or "evil", or "fascism". I'm thinking they just need a good dressing down or - if it comes to it - a sock in the nose.

But speaking as a father - as a dad - this woman just needs a good ol' Sonny on Carlo ass-kicking. No president or government has the power to make me behave that way. What's with these people? Giving away their sanity and self-control? Do they really think the president has much affect on their lives?

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Results Of My Brain Scan

A scan of my brain earlier today revealed no activity. I'm totally flatlining.

One good thing. I was working out last night and guess who is at my gym every Tuesday and Wednesday night. These ladies. They practice in a large aerobic room with (thankfully) a glass door. Last night I pulled a groin muscle - HAAAAAA!

Speaking of groins, I'll wear a cup as I go home tonight. I'm expecting the Divine Mrs. M. to throw a knee over that last paragraph.

I'm done. I have a totoal of 11 writing assignments from three different places. One due tomorrow the others due early next week, but first I must accompany both daughters, wife, and girl scout troop to Chuck e friggin Cheese. Maybe I won't wear that cup. The wife is short but she can build up a head a steam in that knee. What's more painful? The knee to groin or a couple hours of this.

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Happy 100th Anniversary

I mark a mile stone today. I didn't realize that a story ran today. I saw two but not the third.

Here's that third on Betsy Miglio Design. Betsy's an acquintance of ours (wife and me, I think her daughter Maisy was in the same preschool class as my girl Harper) and I thought this would make for a good story. My editors thought so to and here we go. It seems like a nice gig to have. I hope she gets some business out of it. Make sure you visit her website.

So I had three stories in the Enquirer today. I think that's a first. Unfortunately I don't have any in the hopper.

However, I just had a piece accepted by a national financial magazine. You never heard of it. It's a trade publication. When it come's out, I'll post it. It's a monthly and they have asked me to do one article per issue. It's nice having a regular monthly gig.

And now for the anniversary. That piece of Miglio/mural piece is my 100th article for the Enquirer. Not bad for a guy who just asked if he could work there. For a retrospective, here - from September of 2005 - was my first piece for them.

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CSI NKU - Teacher's Union

I had two articles run in the Enqurier today. This one called NKU-CSI was about science classes for high school students at NKU. They use the CSI TV shows as a backdrop. I thought it was interesting. I would have like to do that as a dorky kid. The only drawback to my doing the story was that I've never seen one of those CSI shows before. Maybe I could have written it better if I had. Do I need to be more involved in pop culture to be a better writer?

I haven't watched a Law and Order since Mr. Big was on it. I've also never seen American Idol. However I do know who Simon is so there's a demonstration of the power of pop culture.

Also, the school called it NKU-CSI, even though I haven't seen the shows, shouldn't it be CSI-NKU?

The second story was this one over at NKU again. It got me a little burned up. I've read about this before. Apparently there's a shortage of foreign language teachers. But if your fluent in a language, you can't teach it. You have to have an education degree. What if you're some nice lady from Quebec and want to teach french to high school kids? Nope. You have to get an education degree. Someone with an education degree who took a minor in French would have a better chance at getting a job than that Quebecer. Sounds like a closed union shop to me. Under the same rules Einstein wouldn't be qualified to teach high school physics.

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Even Community Colleges Need Provosts

I know Moonbatty will bust my chops for still being on blogger but I'm not a techie and nothing zaps my energy that trying to figure out computer problems. This works and it's easy and it's what I know. Sorry.

The reason I bring this up is that the Kentucky Conservative Blogs added me to their blogroll or whatever it is. Anyway, I'm listed (last) on their weekly e-mail that probably goes out to just about everyone in the Commonwealth 0n the right side of the spectrum so I thought I better add them to my blog roll. Then I noticed I didn't read most of the people there. They lost my attention somewhere. One chick got a little personal in private e-mails. One guy was a nut. Most just got boring. Delete those. Some of the ones I wanted to keep had moved on. Madam Butterfly's was two or three URLs ago. I still had the aforementioned Moonbatty under somewhatsilentsara.com.

The links are the people I visit everyweek day at least once. Usually between 7:20 and 8:00 as I eat my Cheerios and drink my diet Dr. K. (kroger store brand fake Dr. Pepper) organizing my day and waking up or sitting on hold.

Oh, and did you know that even community colleges have provosts. What's a provost?. Read here.

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Let's Talk About Sex

My parents bought a VCR in about 1983 or so. My father worked for GE so they were discounted.

This was the time where every entrepreneur was opening up a half ass video store and you could actually rent movies and watch them at home at your leisure - awesome. The VCR even had a remote that attached to the VCR via a long black cord that dangled across the living room to my fathers recliner and it would be guaranteed that my sister would trip over it carrying a bowl of popcorn or plate of spaghetti. This would either pull the remote from my father's hand or jerk the $600 VCR half off the TV and send my father into an obscenity laced downward spiral - until she did it again.

Anyway, we rented movie everyweekend. Being 13, I wanted to see boobies. A favorite was The Betsy. My parents would fast forward (blast that double edge sword technology) but I would remember the time marker and later I would sneak down and fast forward to that spot. I don't remember Olivier in that flick or Duvall - only two of the century's strongest screen presenses. What I remember was Kathleen Beller. I know that name still. Because of (warning) this scene. Not my type of girl at all and oh so 70s.

Another favorite was was Peckinpaugh's last film The Osterman Weekend and the girl of choice was Cassie Yates in (warning) this scene.

Those scenes really imprinted themselves onto my burgeoning sexuality. It spurned fantasies and hopes and dark desires. It was a basic building block for my sexual knowledge for far too long. I used the memories (with accompaning late return fees and rerentals snuck past the parents) to gin myself up for years.

Here's the issue: That stuff is pretty tame. It was hard to see boobies back then. You really had to work at it and make friends with guys with divorced parents or who at cool older brothers. Now, with the web, a young boy can sexually go from 0 to 60 with a few clicks and by the time mom is home from work he's already wrecked the car and grainy video of a girl, a donkey, and man in santa outfit have forever shocked his pyche.

What are these kids thinking now?

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A Place To Get Rid of Crap

Here's an article I did for the Enquirer on a flea market - it be big. Nice and breezy - that's what I like to write.

It reminded me of a bit Carlin use to do on "Stuff". Here's a link - not the version I remember but I like the part about other's people stuff is just s%$t but your s@#t is your stuff. How could you not like the guy?

Enjoy.

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I'm not too Bright/Lowe's/Gateway Community College

I'm not too bright. I don't want to say what I did but I fear that I may be a genuine retard. I real life Corky who really should be put into a group home for my own protection.

Oh, and here's a story I did that ran today in the Enquirer.

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Rounding Out Class Warfare Week

It's sunday. I'm tapped for some reason. I have two articles to write for the Enquirer and another for another publication - oh, that's right. I forgot to tell you about my latest job.

I get about 15 magazines a month. These are free. High end glossies that are mailed to financial advisors. I don't know why they are free but assume they make their money from getting the ads in front of the people rather than through subscriptions. Anyway, most of these magazines are very boring - at least to me. One however I read more of than usual. So in a bored fit of pique one day while thumbing through the mag I looked at the masthead, dialed up the editor and asked for a job. He asked for some clips and I have now have my first assignment. The pay is bit more than I'm use to so it's a double bonus.

Even though they want a short article of 1200 - 1500 words its longer than what I usually do for the Enquirer. This requires a gear change and stretches a different part of my writing chops. When it's published I post it.

Here's an article I did for the Enquirer today on mysterious Loch Norse. I think they ran it as I wrote it which is always nice.

Now, to pick on the rich...

William Jennings Bryan once said something very stupid. Ok, he said alot of stupid things but this time I'm referring to his quote "No one can earn a million dollars honestly." I'd like to paraphrase him a bit. "No one can earn a million dollars healthfully."

What I mean by that is I've met quite a few people who earn, let's say $500k+ a year on a regular basis. By the way, I'm not one of them. Of these people, almost to a man, they are some of the most miserable people I've ever met. They are invariable divorced multiple times, they usually have horrible relationships with their kids, their angry, and their health is a mess.

I guess my point is that you can earn big bucks honestly and consistently but you have to be willing to sacrifice alot of things. Earning big bucks requires a single minded focus. When the wife wants to talk or get away for a weekend, you tell her no. After 10-15 years of this, she stops asking you and starts asking the pool boy. You miss the kids ball games or if you are their you ride the cell phone the whole time. Soon your 30 year old son is living in your McMansion and your daughter is strung out on pills. You eat out and eat late, you don't exercise. I have found that these people's singular vision for accomplishing their work goals make them blind to almost anything and everybody not having to do with that goal.

Someday, you might be driving home and Harry Chapin comes on the radio and you a revealation, but by then it's too late. "My boy was just like me..."

To further answer Mdm Butterfly's quesion of who do I like, not many of these people. I met these people at conventions and conferences. I have dinner with them. I see their suits, cars trophy wives and very high dollar hookers. To are large extent, they are some of the most boring people on the face of the earth.

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Time to Pick on the Rich

Good and busy day today. I'm gonna rag on the rich in a minute to round out my week 'o class warfare. But first I finally got around to checking out haloscan.

To answer Madame Butterfly's quesion of who do I like, the answer is: not too many people. Happy? By like, I mean invite into my home and drink and eat with them. That's a short list. Don't get the impression that I walk around scowling at people - at least not on purpose and not because I'm (gasp) judging them.

But of people I want to get to know? I'd say the people that don't fit into those categories I've written about. Just because you're poor doesn't mean you're part of the chronically poor and just because you live in a "development", "subdivision" or gated community doesn't mean you lack a soul. Although they are easy to loss there, what with the muddy grass and the total depopulation that occurs during working hours. There are interesting people in both categories. But most people bore me.

Then mamma-to-be Moonbatty fires off two comments when she really should be practicing her breathing, or picking out onsies, or doing her kegel exercises or something. She says people are really:

1. Too overworked 2. Access to too few resources 3. Lack of exposure to certain information.

Is this even close to reality? Do you put yourself in previous generations shoes? We live in a wonderful time. When's the last time any of us did a 10 hour stretch of hard physical labor or worried about the crops coming in or the next pogrom. We live in a land of luxury. Too few resources/lack of exp? We may have too much information. People know what healthy and what's not. They just don't care?

Moonbatty and I are never going to see eye-to-eye. I think much of her contrariness is based on her intense attraction to me. I understand that, I'm use to that from women - and quite a few men. What I don't understand is how much of what she says comes out of left field. Get it? Left?

To do with the chronically poor, one statistic sums up my thoughts: In my beloved Commonwealth of Kentucky about 36% of pregnant woman smoke. It's embarrasing but there it is. There's not a person in the county who doesn't know that smoking is bad for you and worse for your child but it's done anyway. They just don't care!

As for my Big Leche comment: the middle class spends huge sums on luxuries: high speed internet, Starbucks, cells phones, too large cars, too big houses, timeshares, overly elaborate vacation, golf games, and lottery tickets. And yes, these are all luxuries. To complain about a few cents of gas seems rather trite. You moved to the suburbs jerk face - time to pay up. In my neighborhood, many people push rolling wire baskets to the grocery store or take the bus - just like my Detroit grandmother did. When they have some extra cash, they sometimes splurge on a cab. These folks don't complain about gas that much.

Moonbatty did have one point right. The only thing that permeates our economy more that oil is taxes. I just wish she cared as much for lowering those. I just paid my quarterly taxes (Grrrrr).

Alright, I've got two more articles to write, a regular job to keep, and then I'm working out. I've spent all my "attack the rich" energy. that'll have to come later.

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Picking on the Middle Class

I almost felt bad for picking on my favorite pregnant liberal the last few posts, but it had to be said. from what i can deduce from her comments, people are either 1. too lazy, 2. too stupid, or 3. too uneducated to be trusted to manage their own affairs.

That seems to be the basis for modern liberalism and many days I'm half inclined to go along with that. Rather misanthropic, but mostly true. But alas, the only thing worst that trusting individuals to take care of themselves is having government do it.

But I'm done picking on the poor. Mostly I'm afraid that someone I know will read it, but come on, why would they go to something called the pureinvestorblog in their precious free time when there's so much sports, porn, and online gambling to be done.

So let me pick on my people - the vast American middle class. I don't like them either or at least vast swaths of them. I know people who are on welfare and I like them because they don't have that chronic aspects about them. But the middle class - there's something else that bugs me. I should state that I'm mostly referring to middle class men.

There seems to be a soullessness to them. An emptiness. I'm not too spirititual but I just can't be happy with the pursuit of "stuff". We live in the most prosperous county in the world at the most prosperous time with unlimited opportunities. We are free to pursue whatever we wish.

And what do middle class men do?

From my sampling, it's a world of golf, college basketball, the pursuit of tvs with bigger screens, incrementally bigger cars parked in front of a garage clutter with more stuff attached to my favorite bogeyman, the cheaply built McMansions with the cathedral ceilings and half acre kitchens that are rarely used with tiny bedrooms and always poorly drained muddy grass. Many SUVs can't be parked in the few garages in my 1920s - 1940s built neighborhood. The homes were built for Catholics with a minimum of 5 kids. Now families with 1.32 kids needs some montrousity with a built in DVD player.

Then they do my favorite thing. After buying all this crap, they then complain about $3 gas. Well, boo-frigging-hoo. Is there no proportion here? My current example is a gallon of milk which costs about $2.50 where I'm at. the dairy is about 1 mile from my house in the city. The milk is shipped in from a 60 mile radious. Yet it still costs $2.50. My oil is pumped up from either Saudi, or Venezuela, or the North Sea. It's then shipped to the US and refined in Houston and still they get it to me for $3 or less and that's able to take me about 25 miles. Not too bad. It don't hear anybody complaining about "Big Leche". No it's mostly fat ass SUV drivers bellyaching about "Big Oil".

Shew! That was a vent.

Do I want to limit what the middle class can buy? No. I'll leave that to the smoking police and food police and the rest of the fascist. I just wish that in such time of plenty that we'd devote a little bit to something worth while. The closest much of the middle class comes to culture is American Idol.

I find them vapid and boring and souless. I don't like talking to them.

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When May I Hit?

Lileks finsihed today with something that reminded me of something from two weeks ago. Got that?

Anyway, Lileks was writing about taking his daughter to visit the downtown library for the first time and finished with this:

As we approached the library for the first time in our lives, a man pushed his way out the door: big frame, stout belly, backpack, headphones, sunglasses.

F*CK MILK, said his T-shirt. GOT POT?

Things change.

At one of the girls volleyball games two weeks ago, a 40ish man was leaning against a picinic bench talking with a man who looked about 60. This was in front of the snack bar. I was going to buy Harper some nachos and a sprite. The guy was wearing a t-shirt that read "Love Sucks - True Love Swallows". Little girls playing volleyball and boys playing soccer were crowded all around.

What I should have done is put on my best Foghorn Leghorn voice approached the man and said, "Sir, I say, Sir, I demand that you cover that offending garment or suffer the consequences."

Instead I said, "You want peppers on your nachos, hon?"

As a kid (3rd grade) I had a shirt with an R. Crumb drawing with "burp" coming out of the guys mouth. I thought it was killer!

Will my silence encourage this guy to wear a shirt reading "I'd like to kill your dog and rape your mother but your daughter won't give me back my pants?"

Of course, if he was really gutsy, he could wear an anti-Islam shirt. Now, those guys know how to handle offenses.

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Pickin' on a Pregnant Woman

Yeah, you moonbatty - with the little liberal in the oven!

She posted this comment in response to an item from this post when I was on vacation.

So poor people are usually fatter because they can't afford 'healthy" food? Poverty is the cause of their obesity. Things like that that make me go 'Arghhh!'

I'm familiar with poor people. I'm a financial advisor who lives in bellevue Kentucky. I know people's relationships with their money and I know poor people. Here's the demographics of my neighbors. One thing I know: There is no "the poor". A poor person can use his brain to raise himself up. A poor family can produce a wealthy daughter and a poor white trash son. People are not locked in to their position. However, there is the chronicly poor. People who aren't just down on their luck over a few years, but people who will not raise themselves and neither will their kids.

These people are usually poor because they make bad decisions. It's not because of a lack of a government program (but possibilty because of one), it's not a systemtic cycle of poverty. Poor people are poor because they have kids early and out of wedlock (nice way of saying dad's a bum), they smoke, they play their lottery, and they eat bad food!

The W.I.C. cards can buy a bag of salad or it can buy a can of pringles (ummm, pringles). People who regularly make bad choices buy the pringles every time. It's not expensive to eat right, but it's not fun either.

In a broader sense, chronic poverty is a function of immaturity. Maturity is a realization that their is reward in postponing gratification. An overriding characterisitic of the chronically poor is that they are immature. If they want to get drunk on a Tuesday, they do. If they don't want to go to work the next day, they don't.

Those are the facts and it goes to my original point in that it is great that we have a country the produces poor people who are fat instead of starving. God bless the U.S.A!

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Just Makes Me Want to Say "Dumbass!"

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm too judgemental, but that's my first reaction to this story.

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ADDY Award Winner

Don't feel like writing much. Laid around all day. Did absolutely nothin'.

Here's a story I did that appeared today. Cool bottle. I'm having lunch with the lady at some time in the future to discuss doing some work together. She seems professional.

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You Ladies Can Stop Frettin' Now - Howard's Back!

And I'm sexier than ever. I know you missed me.

I didn't just take a break. I went on vacation! Why didn't I say that? Because this is the internet, a public forum. Last think I need is my 7 regular readers knowing I've left my estate unprotected. A hormone crazed Moonbatty may have gotten together with Joseph to plan a road trip to Bellevue to knock down my door and rob me of my 19 year old 20" RCA tv...or my $169 microwave...or, well that's about it.

What wonderful place did we go? Crossville Tennessee. Yes. You read that right. Not only Crossville, but Mariner's Pointe! Now there's a number of reasons we choose this place. The first being it was a good deal - as in free - as in my parents gave the trip to us via some deal they have with their timeshare. Lodgeing paid for. Also, it was close so no bucks spent on airfare and no endless trips in the car that take me days to recover from. Maybe I'll post pics later.

Until then, let me paint you a word picture: A few hillbillies scrapped together their pelt and moonshine money, went down to the courthouse and bought a foreclosed "resort" on the Cumberland Plateau. Said hillbillies then go about running -sorry - runnin' the place. Sound like a premise to a late 60's TV show on CBS? No. It's Mariner's Pointe!

I kid, but I'm not exagerating too much. It was one of our better vacations. It matched our mood perfectly. I was relaxed within a day (a record) and still am. That's saying something since I didn't have a rum and coke for a few days. We didn't realize we were in a dry county. Yes, dry! The nearest place to get liquor was 40 miles away. The Divine Mrs. M. made that trip on Monday while visting an old friend.

Oh, and the Enquirer ran some stories. Here's a story on Thomas More College and FedEx with a great photo. Yes, that guy's going to a 18+k/year school. Doesn't he look happy? Our community college is doing some job screening, story here. NKU (George Clooney attended there) has a new student president with a big smile. Finally, Gateway proves my thesis that nurses are "hot and ready to party". No not really. Story here.

Enjoy tomorrow's lose-a-digit-playing-with-minor-explosives-while-drunk-on-domestic-beer holiday.

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