Archive for the ‘Fun’ Category


The Belt of the Gods

June 15, 2016


My life has been changed forever and it is all due to a new belt. More specifically, an elastic stretchy belt.

I have always worn a belt, for two reasons, mostly. First, my lineage is that of a Texas redneck. We wear leather belts. With big belt buckles We just do. Don’t question it. Besides keeping pants above the waistline I’ve never figured out the real reason. Some men are well shaped and don’t need a belt to hold up the jeans. The Texan belt, I figure, is purely decorative with large, shiny buckle to draw attention to our crotch area.

Texan men even wear belts around our necks. That’s right; instead of a formal men’s long or bow tie, we wear the famous “bolo” tie which is essentially a belt around the neckline with a smaller decorative buckle.

Second, and the most obvious reason, is to cinch our trousers around our hips so they don’t fall down. In my 20’s and 30’s a belt wasn’t really necessary for that purpose. But now as I am now the age of mumblemumble I find that my britches tend to sag due to a curious barrel shape my body has taken in my middle parts. Let’s just say that my 20-something six-pack is now a keg. Therefore, a belt has been an unavoidable and fundamental element to my daily couture.

My belt of choice has been a simple, thin, plain, black, leather belt. It works for work. Discrete. Fashionable. Easy to store. But alas, after a hearty meal or the day following an earnest evening of brew tasting the usual belt setting embraces my waistline with much restraint and groaning protest.

Recently I was introduced to the stretchy belt.

And there was much rejoicing and sounding of trumpets and jamming of saxophones and melting of faces with electric guitar!

Hallelujah! This $20 little piece of elastic braided belt is a gift sent by the gods of growing waistlines. No longer do I have to loosen the leather strip another notch after a Thanksgiving feast. I can cinch it up tight enough to hold up the sinking, slipping britches, and when I sit properly in a chair the elastic flexes so I do not feel that burdensome hip pinch.

It feels good to breathe. It really does. And the remorseful act of sucking in the gut to prevent permanent and indented “belt waist” is a thing of the past. Thank you, gods of the growing waistline, for your generous favor to beer-bellied fellows everywhere!


Too Much Coffee, Man!

March 28, 2014

Too Much Coffee, Man!

Like some Americans I know, I spend the beginnings of my waking hours with a cup of coffee in my hands. Coffee is one of the few psychoactive stimulant drugs that I can afford. Thank Congress it’s legal. And like a few other Americans I know I, too, work for a company that wants its employees awake while they perform their jobs. To help with the task of staying awake they provide this psychoactive stimulant called coffee, and/or a lesser stimulant called tea, as a free employee perk (sorry, but there was just no stopping that pun).


Now most employers offer a limited choice, such as a pot of dark roast, a lighter roast, and a decaf. And in those situations the employees must self-monitor the coffee supply in each dispenser, and take initiative to start brewing a new batch when the pot runneth out. Failure to comply usually results in a ‘code red’ if ever caught, whereby the accused has his or her fingers shoved through the paper shredder (or his tie if it is absolutely repulsive), or something even worse like licking and sealing all the thousands of weekly marketing envelopes.


I, however, have hit the psychoactive stimulant jackpot at my new employer. Not only is the coffee free and provided in an unlimited supply, but we get our choice of brew strength and flavors. A Cadillac model Keurig (Dutch word for “nervous” or “fidgety”) allows any employee to brew a single cup of delicious coffee at the press of a button. Simply choose a mini “K-cup” of hundreds of flavor choices such as Vanilla Crème, Caramel, Kahlua, French Roast, Organic Garden Dirt, or even the less popular Ground Mealworms (high in protein – low in fat), and shove the tiny cup into a hole with a hypodermic needle at the bottom whereby it pierces the cup and allows the juicy steaming nectar to flow through into my mug. A press of a button, and in 30 seconds – voila! – my scalding hot flavored coffee is ready for consumption (which typically is spilling down the front of my starched white shirt)!


Methinks the business may emphasize the coffee consumption a bit much. For instance, each morning our favorite K-cup is placed conspicuously on our desks, much like a hotel places a mint on your pillow. The reminder is obvious: “wake up, and GET TO WORK!” And at various times throughout the day we are escorted to the break room by men in black suits and dark sunglasses who wear earpieces and talk into their watches. They supervise us while we refill our empty mugs, then promptly accompany us straight back to our cubicles. No chit-chatting with these fellas. My best guess is that my code-name is “Bluebeard”. I think it’s because of my nearly full gray beard, or maybe because I do Capt. Jack Sparrow impressions every day. Oh, they’re here now. Time to go refill with a delicious Mega Irish Hawaiian Chocolate Donut Avacado Truffle.


Sparklers & Poppers & Snakes! Oh My!

July 5, 2008

So happy Independence Day, everyone!  At the homefront Daddy has his little girls for the Fourth of July weekend and we have LOTS of fireworks to fire!  Woo Hoo!

Except, my li’l girls are afraid of big booms.

So we have a supermarketbagful of easy to ignite sparklers, poppers and funny growing snakes that “look like poo!”  Yes, gone are the bygone days when I was young and me & my buds would set off bottle rockets (using actual bottles as launch pads!) over the Yellowstone River, and drop Cherry Bombs off the bridge and watch them explode just before they hit the water.  Small town Montana had nothing else to do in the summer, so when it came to fireworks we heartily entertained ourselves with the legal over-the-counter explosives!

Such dorks we were!  We even took our Roman Candles and aimed them at each other (from a reasonable safe distance of about five feet apart),  and played “dodge the flaming white ball.”  With A-HA and Mister Mister blaring from the powerful 2-inch speakers in our cool cars (mine was a ’79 Honda CVC – cherry red!) we jammed through the night at the beach by the river and drank be…er, rather consumed Kool-Aid and soda.  Yeah, that’s it.  I believe I went nearly deaf one holiday after we created a daisy chain of Black Cat firecrackers about that wound around trees and along the river rocks along the beach, trying to set some kind of record for “longest domino firecracker” ever.  Although we successfully did not destroy any property or lose any body appendages, we laughed the next day when we always heard the stories of some dorks that destroyed tons of piled hay bales, or caught the neighbor’s tree on fire.

Now, I’m a city dweller, a “slicker” if you will.  I’m turning crotchety in my old age and frown and make “ha-rumphing” noises when the punks outside light those noisy firecrackers.  My girls – 6 and 3 – like the fireworks, but only from afar.  Nothing that BOOMS, CRACKS, WHISTLES, or otherwise EXPLODES are ever set off in their presence.  Sparklers & snakes.  Why?  Because they sparkle and look like poo.  And THAT’S what Independence Day is all about!


Where A Dad Can Be A Kid

June 17, 2008

Tonight I did what most parents dread: I took my kids to Chuck E. Cheese’s. Just mention the name and hear the unanimous and synchronous groans of all parents within earshot. Every mom and dad knows that a couple of hours spent at C.E.C. means loud screaming kids running between your legs, bright, blinding flashing lights, and horrible arrangements of your musical favs performed by Chuck & his gang. Not to mention the necessity to eat pizza with the consistency of a greasy tire. At least they give us all the soda we can guzzle to wash down the chunky bits.

No, parents dread the thought of an adventure at Chuck’s.


Once the decision to embark has been made, a parent undergoes a change as we pass through the doors. Especially the fathers. We revert to little kids. The lights! The sounds! The games!! I noticed tonight dads who played air hockey with the enthusiasm of a dog chasing a stick. A beer-bellied 30-something with a long blonde mullet shot Skee Ball and collected tickets in a bucket which I’m sure he would redeem for a nice Nerf frisbee or something. Another dad was dropping tokens by the dollar in a Galaga game with the same intensity and frequency as dollars dropped at the local go-go girls wiggle tavern.

So regardless of the moans and groans when prodded by our kids, “Daddy! Let’s go to Chuck E. Cheese’s!” we secretly enjoy the experience and look forward to when we can go be a kid, too!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some Galaga alien ass to kick….