Everything I know I learned from my pets?, Part II

Everything I know I learned from my pets?


I have spent, literally, minutes observing my dog and cat so I can teach you all about how to live life in a more positive way, and hopefully get a show like Dr. Phil in the process. I watched them eat, drink, sleep, play, "use the facilities", and abuse these same facilities, as I will show you later.

My plan was to boil down life's lessons into trite, humorous sections that you would hopefully learn something from and would possibly make me rich beyond my wildest dreams.

I should have realized there was a basic flaw in my plans. That flaw would be the genetic aberrations we have for a dog and cat that quite honestly, throw the whole idea of natural selections right down the toilet. My cat and dog show that the survival of the fittest isn't necessarily always true. For instance, if Zeke, our wonderfully friendly dog were put up against a tremendously powerful creature in the wild, such as a hamster, I'm sure the hamster would end up being the only survivor. If Darwin himself were here today and observed our pets, he would throw the Origin Of Species into our trash can and become a Republican, or better yet, a professor at Patrick Henry College. (Motto: If you can't see it, it ain't science.)

Now Zeke is the dog I observed for multiple minutes. He's a large, hairy, friendly black lab mix. However, if I lived the lessons that I learned from observing him I would probably get put in jail. Other than eating, sleeping, and playing, he enjoys:

1) Licking people to show affection
2) Licking himself even more.

In fact, he licks himself in the "facilities" so vigorously, he shakes and rocks about the house. I hesitate to even mention the sound generated by this exercise.

Of course, he usually saves the most vigorous sessions for when when we have visitors. These visitors generally stare for a while, wondering if they are really seeing what they are seeing, then turn away with an embarrassed look on their face. My wife and I generally just smile and change the subject to something more pleasant, like the war in Iraq.

But what are you going to do? He's family.

It's so bad, that we have turned to calling his dubious performance "Dancing" to avoid calling it something I probably can't even print here. If Zeke had a theme song it would be Billy Idol's: "Dancing With Myself." For those of you Seinfeld fans out there, he is the Kramer of dogs. Oh yea, he lost the bet and he's proud of it.

But remember, I'm supposed to be teaching you life lessons through the actions of my pets.

So, the two life lessons I've learned from my dog are:
1) If you lick someone in the face, it's a sign of affection for all to see.
2) If you need a quick pick-me-up, or a little happiness in life, 'dance' with yourself.

And dear God in high heaven, Zeke, please don't do #2 before doing #1 on this list.

So really, what are the deep lessons about life that I have learned from my dog?

Maybe it is to enjoy life, no matter what others think? No, that's too basic.

Maybe it is to lick those you love? Nope, a little too visual.

Or maybe Zeke's life's lesson is that no matter what the obstacle, no matter how high the peak, (insert your overused metaphor here) you can reach just about any goal if you as a species don't have to wear pants. Well, that's really not a universally accepted message, but it's at least that's a lesson I can live with.

So as you can see, my after observing my dog, I realized that the chances of making a ton of money with a clever, tried and true concepts were 'dancing' away on the carpet, right in front of me.

So I gave up on observing my dog and went on to the cat.

This wasn't much of an improvement.

To be continued . . .

Everything I know I Learned from my Pets?, Part I

I don't know everything.

Let's face it, being a modern man leaves little time to learn all of life's lessons. We need help from experts to tell us that the way we live is totally wrong. We need live life better, we need guidance, and by golly if we purchase a best selling self-help guide by someone famous, we can be better people and better modern men. Who wouldn't buy a copy of Crouching Lineman, Shrinking Package by Bill Romanowski to help us keep off steroids? How about Rush Limbaugh's OxyContin, How to Remove Life's Pain in Three Easy Steps (Forge, Eat, Repeat).

However, these are fairly specific books for specific problems. We need more general help that will the rescue the rest of us from the aimlessness of our lives. I found some actual books that will help you become better people on Amazon.com. First, there was All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. This is impressive because it could completely revolutionize our education system. Think of how much in taxes we could save if we could just kick kids out of school when they're 6! I'd have to find a real job! Think of the excitement. Think of the legions of future Wal-mart employees!

I can appreciate Everything I Know I Learned in My Garden: Life's Lessons in My Own Backyard. I'm a little worried about the message of this book, though. What if you don't have green thumb? Is the lesson learned, "Everything I touch DIES?" Or maybe it's "Everyone Should Spread Their Seed Around." I'm not sure how the Catholic Church would like this, but it would make life pretty exciting. Maybe some NBA stars and Minnesota Vikings have read this book and when they scream "Who's Your Daddy Now?!" after a big play, they're being literal.

My favorite in this category is Everything I Know I Learned on Acid. I've got no comment on this book, except, will acid help me get published? Is that how you did it? I thought you weren't supposed to get high on your own supply?


Now I've decided to enlighten the masses with my own posting on this topic. I'm going to research my dog and my cat, and teach you everything you need to know in life via their example.

Why you ask? You, whether you're a modern man or not, need someone to tell you how to live life and I'm just the person for that. I want to help YOU be a better person through my dog and cat's views on life. More importantly, if someone picks up this feed somewhere, I may get a book deal and a huge advance. However, I think someone may have beaten me to the punch. (Everything I Know About Men I Learned From My Dog) and (http://www.geocities.com/Heartland/Farm/7478/learndog.htm

That's okay. I'm willing to do it for science, and hopefully, a huge payday!

Music and the Modern Man: Cover Songs

Have you ever been in the car after a long, hard day at work and are trying to unwind as your favorite radio station plays some good tunes? But then, as you approach home, something plays on the radio that is so aweful, so unexpected, you are too stunned to even turn the station. It's worse than the time "Muscrat Love" and "I got you Babe" were played back to back. It's worse than hearing Meatloaf's "I'd do anything for love (but I won't do that)". It's worse than being forced to listen to the entire hit catalog of the Backstreet Boys and Justin TImberlake while getting root canal.

My God, it's worse than 'pop' country music.

I'm talking about the playing of a classic song by another, newer, more hip rock group. You know, you hear the first few notes and think, "I love this song!" Then it quickly comes apparent, it's not really THAT song at all. It's the same song, only different.

It plays through the car like the gentle sounds of a fully throttled Harley.

"Why?" I screamed. "Why?" I may have started sobbing, but I'm comfortable with that, being a modern man and all.

The song that was playing in my car at the time was the classic "Under Pressure", by Queen and David Bowie, which is probably considered one of the best collaborative songs of all time, if not in the top hundred best songs of all time anyway.

That of course is my opinion. If you disagree, you can go back and listen to your Clay Atkins CD.

The wailing I did in the car wasn't because the song "Under Pressure" was being played. The problem was it wasn't Queen/Bowie who were playing it. It was being played by a band called, "My Chemical Romance." I've never had anything against the band. In fact, I think I even liked one of their other songs, but now they've gone too far. There are certain things you can and cannot do in the music business.

Actually, from the things I've read about Led Zeppelin, groupies, and fish, it appears you can do just about anything you'd really like in the music business, but that doesn't excuse what M.C.R. did to me that day.

They ruined a classic and caused me to stain a perfectly good tie as I wiped my eyes of the tears.

So let's keep this simple. When it comes to ripping off another person's song by playing a 'cover' of it, you have to live by these rules.

1) You may play any song live in concert. I don't care if it's one of your own, a classic rock tune, or the famous, "The Pope Sings Liberace." Live you do what you want, when you want how you want.

2) If you really need to make a cover song because your producer thinks it will help your careers, pick an obscure, but cool song by a famous artist. How about "One of these Days" by Pink Floyd or "Murder by Numbers" by the Police? Come on! You're musicians. You're supposed to be creative!

3) If you plan on making a remake of a classic, you must:
a) Change it to the point of being almost completely different from the original.
Hendrix did this with "All Along the Watchtower" (original Dylan). It rocks!
Led Zeppelin did it with "In my Time of Dying" (original Dylan). It rocks!
Guns and Roses did it with "Live and Let Die." (Paul McCarthy) It wasn't horribly different, but they took it to a completely new level. Plus, It rocks!
Manfred Mann's Earth Band, , Blinded by the Light (original Springsteen) It rocks!
Vanilla Ice did it with "Under Pressure" (original Queen/Bowie). It sucks! But at least it didn't completly ruin the song for me (although it came close).

4) If you are planning on doing a cover of a classic, put it on an album, and then not change it enough to not ruin it for the rest of us the penalty should be one of these two things:

I. ALL GROUPIES SHALL BE TAKEN FROM YOUR PLACE, AND BROUGHT ROUND TO MY PLACE.
II. YOU MUST TOUR WITH YOUR WIFE/GIRLFRIEND CHAINED TO YOU AT ALL TIMES.

I'm not sure how my wife will react to the first one, but it is a punishment befitting of the crime, although I'm sure she would ask me what the groupies did to deserve it.

5) If you really, really like the music of another band, become a cover band of that band. Then you will only be tempted to play these songs live. Some of these bands have even been fairly successful. "Sticky Fingers" (Rolling Stones) and "The Machine" (Pink Floyd) are a fun night out.

6) This is the most important one. Michael Bolton is not allowed to remake ANYTHING, ever.

So, Limp Bizkit, no more "Behind Blue Eyes." Sheryl Crow, I love your music, but not "Sweet Child o Mine." And good Lord, why the @#$#@ would Madonna even try to cover "American Pie."

So be careful. We'll be watching and listening for more of these bands making more horrible covers.

How else are we going to get groupies around here?

(Post a post if you've been horrified by a recent cover on the radio.)

Men, Women, Cars and Cardiac Arrest Part Deux: There is no 'I' in team, but there is an 'I' in Idiot

Here are the facts:

1) My wife has killed two vehicles in her day. Well, they weren't killed, they were just put into intensive care (really expensive intensive care) for a while. Both of these occurrences could have been prevented, but that is in the past.

However, sometimes the past comes back to haunt you.

2) I have walked my wife through the basics of car maintenance, from reading the gauges to opening the hood, just in case she had an emergency again. But mostly, to save us the kind of expenses that exceed the annual domestic product of a less well off country like, lets say, Germany.

3) We were dead broke when this happened.

4) As well educated as I am, I am always surprised at the fact I can be a complete idiot.

Because of this, the following transcripts of my feelings during a car emergency my wife had may seem a little harsh and a little mean, but you needed to be in my position to really get that crushing, heart attack waiting to happen feeling.

This is the email I sent to some folks to help me with my problem, although, it didn't cure me of my idiocy. The parentheses are my actual thoughts during our conversation on the phone. It's poorly written, but enlightening, none-the-less.

(Okay, I'm taking a deep breath.)
My wife calls from work today and says that smoke is coming out of the vents in the car. She reassures me she checks all the car's gauges, which has me worried already (she has killed a bronco engine and cracked a light truck's head, for background info)
I ask the vents on the inside?
She says, no, the vents on the outside. (we have a vent on the outside? No we don't!)
I ask her to pop the hood and see what the deal is.
She can't find the release latch in the car.
(another deep breath)
She finally finds it and now informs me that the smoke is still coming out, but she can't unlatch the hood in front.
(breathing has stopped now)
She tells me she knows where it is, but she still can't find it. ("THAT doesn't even make sense," Ron Burgundy)
(pain, sharp pain in brain, good Lord, is is really only 7:30 AM?)
She's found it!
But she can't get it to unlatch.
(why does everything look red?)
Dear Lord in high heaven, she's really trying to open it, but she says she can't seem to get the 'thingy' undone.
Or course I'm trying to be calm and cool on the other end of the line.
At this moment I remember that Yoda said there is no try, only do or not do.
I'm not doing well.

She says she'll get back to me if she can get someone to help her.
We hang up.
(Blood pressure, 250/180)
I now have 90 minutes of math class to think this over. Thinking bad. Thinking very bad.
(Blood pressure, 350/250)
I have a message on my phone! It says that the PE teacher got the hood open (magic, I ask?) and there is green stuff spattered across the engine.
I call back. No answer. (How can you not answer a cell phone?)
I have time to go to Walmart. Will buy pre-mixed anti-freeze, duct tape, and tequila. Scratch that. Make it a mocha frap. Must keep job.


Finally get hold of my wife.
Is there a leak in the radiator?
I don't know she replies.
Does the leak appear to be coming from on of the hoses?
I don't know.
Dear God, it isn't the head again?
I'm not sure.
(caffeine has brought blood pressure down, however brain still hurts. Beginning to wonder if an alcohol free week is actually possible at this point. Begin to visualize beers that are in the back of the fridge. Also beginning to visualize bank account getting smaller and smaller. Why can't I visualize Pamela Anderson? Dear God, why not?)

This story may be continued if I survive. However, I'm looking for theories as to what is wrong with the car.
1) Broken hose (good!)
2) Broken radiator (bad!)
3) Broken head (call AA for me now)
4) A combination of these (I hear meth is kindof cool)

SECOND EMAIL

There is no "I" in team.
However, there is an "I" in idiot.
In fact, as I write this I notice there are two "I's, but that is neither here nor there.
Now after I finally got to my wife's school, I opened the hood without any major problems, checked the engine, and sure enough, there were smatterings of green anti-freeze around the engine and on the underside of the hood.
The hood was stained right over and around the cap that says "do not open when hot."
I know what you're thinking, but the engine was cool. No people were scalded in the making of this fiasco.
However, no hoses were leaking. I checked every bleeping one.
I looked under the radiator for leaks. Nothing.
So I began to remove the cap and noticed something relatively important.
The cap was a little loose. The green environmental poison must have squirted out of the cap as she drove down the road.
I then began to pour close to a gallon of premixed anti-freeze and thanked the heavens for my fortune.
No engine overheated during this fiasco, which is a major good thing for the amount of anti-freeze which was lost.
However, I began to think, which we all agree, is never a good idea.
Who was the last person to open the cap to the radiator?
Has my wife ever opened the hood? Has Bush ever told the truth unless he was forced to? The answer to both these questions is the same.
Then I remembered a fun father-son bonding time as we gazed at the engine of the Subaru together, and I pointed out what things were as he asked. Then he asked me to open that cap so he could see what was in there.
It was the radiator cap.

I had taken it off and then put it back on.

I almost killed the car.

And there is an "I" in idiot.

As Pandora had her box, as the Mariner had his albatross, as Clinton had his Lewinski, as Bush has more things that can be listed here, I have my radiator cap dragging me down for all eternity.




The question is: If my wife doesn't know, does it matter?

Men, Women, Cars, and cardiac arrest, Part I

One of the problems of being a male in the modern age is that you are not only responsible for new things our fathers and grand fathers rarely had, such as changing diapers, cooking, cleaning, and separating whites and colors, but are also still responsible for all the old school stuff as well.

For instance, men are often forced to be the caretaker of the family car even if their only "hands-on" experience with one was in the back seat with a one time girlfriend during the big homecoming game.

Technically I'm not one of these men, and not only because I never was given the chance to show my mechanical ability in the back of a 1963 Ford Falcon. However, I was given the chance to show my mechanical ability under the hood (of the car! I know what you're thinking.) My father taught me how to change the oil, rotated the tires, change the alternator, work on the breaks, and save cars that should be in the dump by applying a coating of something called "bondo" to rusty cracks and gaps in the vehicle, some of which were large enough for Jerome Bettis to actually run through untouched.

Honestly, I think bondo is really only used because the fumes get you so high, you actually think you're doing the car some good as you apply it to a car which should really be given a proper funeral. I had a friend whose entire car appeared to be made of bondo, with nothing metal left on the outside other than the door handles. It looked pretty horrible, but if you felt bad about it, you only had to take a long sniff of the car and it instantly looked better. Who needs beer goggles when you have bondo?

But to get back on topic. At one time a man could fix a car with a hammer, duct tape, and a cold beer. Women would call you up to come over and check out their cars. You'd get a little greasy, but it would be worth it when they gave you a cocoa butter rubdown. Well, you'd at least get a hearty handshake and maybe a beer, but that was worth it because as a high school or college student, it made you feel like a man: A man who REALLY needed a cocoa butter rubdown, but a man none-the-less.

It was easy to keep track of the mechanical health of your car, but now that you're hooked up with a filly, it can almost be impossible to keep track of two. This is made more difficult by the typical woman's reluctance to even pop the hood. I swear this is karmic revenge for the thousands of years men pretended they didn't understand how to do laundry or how to iron a shirt. Thanks grandpa! Now I have to do laundry and fix the car! Would ironing your shirt once and a while have been so bad?

So even if you walk your significant other through the simple process of checking the oil, checking the air pressure, and checking the gauges in the car, they more than likely will smile and nod and say they get it. Then they'll ask you to do a load of laundry. Then a month later you'll notice that the tire has as has less air in it than a Joey Harrington pass.

Women know something you haven't accepted. They have will unabashedly threaten to take the vehicle to a mechanic and spend $150 to replace a $30 battery knowing that you'll do it for free.

You could try to explain she could do it on her own really easily, but you're too busy cooking dinner to do that.

It makes you angry, but in your mind, you're thinking, $120 savings would buy something really important. Like 15-18 six packs of good Colorado beer. Or five kegs of the cheap stuff. Or ten kegs of Genesee.

Women know you're thinking this. In fact, they're counting on it.

So it is time to face something.

It's your job whether you like it or not.

Don't get angry. Don't get flustered. Just smile and do what you have to do between diaper changings. It isn't going to change and there's nothing you can do or say about it that won't make your significant other introduce you to Mr. Couch (and I'm not talking about the quarterback) for a few nights.

However, this discrepancy between a man and woman’s willingness to maintain vehicles can have catastrophic economic, social, and emotional effects.

To a point, it can ruin a good month or two of quality "cuddle" time.

And more importantly, it may take away from your beer fund.

How do I know this? You'll see a real life example in the next post.