When some TV shows begin, especially those on FX and AMC, there will be a warning regarding violence, language, and nudity. The words are on the screen and there is a voice-over. At the end, the voice says, “Parental discretion advised.” My question is why? What is it about language, hearing a word, that is so scary and in need of a warning? Why is a brief view of a butt or a boob cause for an ominous warning? There may be some room for discussion in the area of violence, but I don’t see the need in the areas of language and nudity. The network show “The Good Fight”, which shows on CBS, is full of BLEEPS over language and even blurred out scenes of skin. What is the point? It is clear that the episodes were produced with language and some level of nudity in place. Why go to the trouble if it is going to be censored? Now, watch the same show online on CBS ALL Access and all the wonderful words and full nudity are in place. As nature intended. This is how all TV should be. Open, truthful, and a reflection of real life, even if the stories themselves can be far fetched. Pixels and bleeps are distracting and take away from the story. Nudity and language are a part of real-life and I want to see this portrayed on the small screen.

Censorship in the way of blurred out images and BLEEPS come even after a warning is given. Shouldn’t the warning be more truthful and say that there is some censorship in place and shouldn’t the warning be about the viewer having to suffer through censorship? What is the real evil here, nudity/language or censorship? What I would like to see is something at the beginning of a TV show putting parents on notice that they may have to explain some things to their kids and that the upcoming show will offer the opportunity to put things into context. In Europe, TV with “adult” language and bare skin is simply called TV. There is a level of maturity in place where things such as language and bare skin are not worth worrying about. The US of A should strive to get to this same point.

So many use various social media platforms to exercise their stupidity, insecurities, and “look at me” attitudes. The most prevalent and obvious categories are as follows: let’s spell things incorrectly on purpose, the “woe is me” without any details post, asking a question but requesting “only wrong answers” post, and the “look at my kid” post. The last one is a huge thing on Instagram.

A photo is posted, something delusional whimsical, and the caption reads “Your bae does dis. What you do?” First of all, what in the fuck is BAE and how much time is somebody actually saving but eliminating a word or two? Is this a lingo thing that is cool with the younger folk or do people actually take pride in sounding like ignorant douche bags? It is amazing to think than some people care what another persons BAE may or may not be doing and what another persons reaction might be. BAE likely has an IQ in the high 70’s or low 80’s and anybody that cares what BAE is doing is hovering within a few points. Go read a fucking book.

“Oh man. Bad day. Can’t give details. Send prayers.” Oh shut the fuck up. Dropping your cigarette in the car when the light turned green is no excuse to post a vague few lines that is a thinly veiled request for people to ask you what is wrong. You know who cares? Your mom and that one woman that you did pallet painting with last month. That’s all. Provide details or call your AA sponsor. This sort of post just takes up space and makes people scroll further until they find somewhat that is actually interesting.

A picture of the classic TV Batman and Robin. The tag line states, “Who is this? Wrong answers only.” Why?? What is the point in giving wrong answers to an obvious questions. Is it no longer enough to provide wrong answers to something you don’t know? Stupidity is now so celebrated that wrong answers on purpose are humorous and quaint? Ugh. Go read a fucking book.

You are the only person, okay, and maybe your mom, that cares if it is your child’s first time on a plane, on a beach, on an electric pony, or eating solid food. Your kid is uglier than you are and looks exactly like Winston Churchill sitting on the toilet. Endless photos on every platform of some kid with a booger hanging out of their nose, dirt around the folds of their neck, and a glazed over look on their face. To paraphrase George Carlin, “keep that unfortunate looking child inside where it belongs.”

It took 20 days from the date of injury to get an MRI. A simple call to the Dr.’s office turns into a 15 minute ordeal. All I want to know is when they receive the results and what was said by the Radiologist. This can be done by the Dr.’s Nurse thanks to a note left in the file. However, before I can this small bit of information I have to be told by a very crabby front office person about office policy 1-19 and how I need to “simply wait my turn” for some information. I speak to the Nurse who says “well understand that I can only give you the results from the Radiologist but I can’t interpret the images. That’s beyond my scope.” Well no fucking shit Sherlock. All I am looking for are the results and the notes from the Radiologist.

PCL tear, ACL sprain, MCL avulsion (sp?)

Nurse: Do you still want to keep that appointment next week with Dr. Judkins?

Me: Gee. No. Now that I know what’s wrong I think I will cancel my appointment and slap some essential oils on there and hope for the best. Of course I want to keep my appointment!!!

I ran into someone today and when they found out I was the son of Dr. Bob and the grandson of Dr. Norman (this person knew both of them) he insisted on calling me “Doc” I told him I did not have a doctoral degree and he replied that I had earned the title for simply being related. This is not how things work. Even if I had a doctorate, which I don’t yet have, I would not want to be called “Doc” I think this is a stupid fucking folksy thing that minimizes the accomplishments of anybody with an M.D., D.O., Ph.D., etc. People think this is a term of respect and it is not in any way. It is Doctor Smith, Doctor, or the persons name. Stick your “Doc” way up inside your folksy butthole and realize that you aren’t being cute or showing respect. You are simply being a folksy fuck using a term that should have gone out of style with the 1950’s.

Looking back on a career of 21-years and counting in a field that I never planned to go into, I feel that something is missing in my life. Drama queens do not get worked up because this has nothing to do with a relationship or choices in that area. It is about what I might have pursued as a career that would have put me in the category of “loving what you do” instead of “doing something so you can do things you love.” Since about the age of 8 and until I made the fateful decision to take a job in my current field in February 1998, I had visions of becoming one of the following: Architect, Egyptologist, Mathematician, Computer Programmer, Writer, Video Game Designer, Medical Researcher, Orchestra Musician (not VSA…more like MOO), Professor in various fields, porn star (paying attention??-Ha!), or a really kind and not douchee trust funder. This missed opportunity is a gaping hole that I hope to fill once I retire from the current career (six years…nobody is counting) and do something that brings me joy and contentment instead of just a paycheck.

Watching fellow humans go about their daily lives is fascinating. Sitting down in a public place and just watch them go by is a great way to pass time. As a lover of all things beautiful I am very aware of beautiful people, both male and female, and quirks and clothes and mannerisms that make them beautiful in my eye. Sure, an amazing face and a great body are way up on the list of things that catch they eye. Other things have as much importance. An older man dressed impeccably with great accessories. An older lady with her shoulders back showing complete confidence in who she was and who she has become. A little girl dressed way way up and playing with pigeons in a park. Some people are just hard to look at on so many different levels. Anybody who things everyone and every human body is beautiful needs to quit reading so many Hallmark cards. There are some ugly fuckers in this world. Some things look nice on the surface but make me sad. For some reason an older man or woman holding an ice cream cone, even if they are smiling makes me sad. I am desperately afraid that they will drop the cone and that I would not be able to handle witnessing this event. In fact, if I did see this happen I would likely replace the cone and talk to them for a bit to make sure that they are okay. Seeing some people just makes you roll your eyes because of the high level of ridiculousness that they display. Some people just look means which is a good clue they are in fact mean. Some people look as if they are living inside their heads and using their imaginations as much as possible. People watching is fantastic. All of the different varieties. Beautiful, repulsive, kind, awe inducing, and those worth a roll of the eyes.

Nook, grotto, and domain are fun names but in no way will actively describe the space imagined.  The exact design and dimensions are still up in the air but here is what will be inside.  Shelving of all kinds to display completed projects and collections that have been acquired. One area against one wall will have a row of electrical outlets just waiting for upright arcade cabinet video games from the 80’s. Galaga, Pac-Man, Centipede, Asteroids. One corner will be dedicated to console video gaming with both new and classic consoles. A small kitchen area will feature just enough amenities to get by during epic stretches of gaming. Of course, and without question, there will be a fully stocked bar. The center of the room is where the action will take place. Project tables that will be designed with specific activities in mind. LEGO building, book sorting, writing, and board games. Yet another corner is dedicated to movie moving. A home theatre that is not in a basement or called a man cave. Yes, this is separate from the video gaming area because if you have the space and the means, why combine the two? The number of Internet hardwired Internet ports will boggle the mind. This place will be wired to the hilt, which will also include great lighting, USB ports, etc. There will not be any opportunity to have to look for an outlet of any kind. The center table area will of course have recessed outlets in the floor. Another area will be for vinyl and the listening and storage of music. Up high on the walls will be 4-6 TV’s, all capable of being tuned to different channels at the same time. Yes, there will be a lot of screens in the space. The second floor will be a loft area with a bathroom and bedroom. The bedroom will be simple but the bathroom will have a gigantic Jacuzzi tub, separate steam shower with clear walls, and a toilet room featuring a walls that are touch sensitive. Yes, while taking care of business you can access TUMBLR at the touch of the wall. Floors on the 1^stfloor will be smooth concrete and areas will have oriental rugs. The doors will be sliding on rails and the entire space will have a very industrial feeling. Brick, exposed pipes, steel. A haven for all things that this blog represents.

All that you require is a quick trip into Target to pick up seven PS4 games, new boxer shorts, four LEGO kits, a plastic food strainer, Febreeze, cat treats (multiple bags), Ziploc bags, deodorant, a superhero t-shirt, and a 72” HDTV. You know, the basics to sustain life. Things are going well and beyond belief there is a checkout lane open and ready to assist. The first thing you put on the conveyor belt are a few of your own bags. You catch a glimpse of the Target “team member”, let’s once again call her Shirl, and her eyes widen in horror and anxiety. Her day was going moderately okay until you the customer put down those fucking bags. She was trained to use the flimsy plastic bags supplied by her employer and she was trained in nothing else. With a weak smile she scans your first item, the underwear, and she reluctantly grabs the first bag. For no reason whatsoever she does not attach to the bag hook right in front of her. With a great bag and forth of her less than firm left forearm she shoots her arm up in the air, bag suspended by one shorter than normal finger. The item is scanned and with great effort she manages to put it in the bag after the third try. A slight sheen of retail sweat appears on her brow as the task is pushing her abilities to the limit. SCAN…the second item has been added to the total and again with great effort the item finds its way into the bag, still suspended way up high. Looking at this situation you realize your day has now gone to shit and you look at this poor woman as if she was trying to push a potato peeler up her own ass. What in the hell is she doing and why is she doing it this way? This is such an easy task, why is it so difficult? More importantly, why the fuck was “customers with their own bags” not covered in the orientation? Somehow, after the eighth item is finally placed into the bag, Shirl discounts your total 5 cents for each bag. Thanks for the mighty discount Shirl. She looks like she desperately wants to call the Manager and report you the customer for making her life exponentially more difficult. The anti-theft device on the TV? That thing is removed at lighting speed as if done by a retail fucking Ninja. This was clearly covered in orientation.

Some people use Facebook to keep in touch with family and friends. For what reasons I will never understand. That’s not how I use it….but that is a different subject. You are scanning through your newsfeed and there is the inevitable picture of someone you don’t know and that you are glad you don’t know. The person looks like they were beaten to within an inch of their life with someone else’s pancreas. Squinty dead eyes perched on top of a piggy poo nose perched on top of lips that were never designed for lipstick. After you have recovered from the shock you see the first comment. “Oh Linda, that is a beautiful picture of you! Luv U!” What in the holy hell? Did this person see the same photo? It cannot be possible. Were they being honest as they typed the comment? I mean come on people, why the need to be so fake and superficial? Everybody on the planet can clearly see that the photo of Linda should be kept far away from polite society; preferably locked away in a government vault deep…DEEP underground. As soon as you have almost recovered from the photo of Linda somebody else has posted a photo of yet another grandchild who lives in Ohio somewhere. The kid, probably named Brandon, looks like he fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. Unfortunate looking does not even begin to describe that is small haphazard looking human. Of course, there is the first comment, “What a handsome boy he is! Isn’t being a grandma fabulous?!?” How can it be when your spawn produced that spawn? Just keep that thing at least four states away and everything should be fine.

When somebody says, “there was nothing behind her eyes” do you know what they are talking about? There are two people floating around my newsfeed who posts photos of themselves all the time. I look at their eyes and there is absolutely nothing there. No life, no spark, no vitality, and definitely no clue. They are definitely not intelligent eyes and they say nothing. They are blank and sad and just a bit spooky. They do not inspire confidence or scream “I am wise!” or anything else that would make you want to be left alone in a mountain cabin with this person.

I think there needs to be more honesty when posting about photographs on Facebook. “Hi Linda, sorry sweetie, but you look like a bag full of blisters.” “Jesus Lord and Hallelujah Donna, keep that spooky fuck of a kid away from me! Why on earth would you choose that photo to post? Have you no shame?”

That is all.

Living in a small town is suffocating. The walls seem to close in and the constant state of normalcy and routine puts the anxiety through the roof. Activities that feed the mind are nowhere to be found. A mere mention of art gallery openings, museums (not the horse and buggy kind), world-class music, theatre, amazing restaurants, street food, diversity, and an abundance of loft living spaces make most in a small town cringe as if they just sniffed their own poop. If I hear from someone, “oh, it’s such a good place to raise a family” then I immediately want to run for the concrete jungle. Stillness and simplicity of needs and wants is no way to go through life. The demons can be tamped down with a trip to Denver, which is on the low-end in size of an acceptable big city. It is the 4 1/2 hours of “beautiful country” you have to drive through to get there that is so painful. Once the skyline of downtown Denver comes into view my sense of ease and being content finally comes into some sort of equilibrium. Brunch should not be a special occasion, it should be part of a lifestyle. A movie at 11am on a weekday, a city provides multiple options. Film festivals, food festivals, buskers, opportunities for education, public lectures, bookstores, comic book stores, and live jazz with a stiff shot of bourbon. I find no comfort in a small town and I never have. Circumstances of birth, career, right turns and left turns have put me in a small town. The craving to be in a big city is at times overpowering and thoughts turn to San Francisco, Washington, D.C., New York City, London, Vienna, Paris (oh sweet Paris), Los Angeles, Boston, and even Las Vegas. A giant hit of Las Vegas would do wonders right now. The sweet hot hit of a drug that is needed so very badly and hits the system like a line of sweet Nirvana.

Fuck small towns.