Guess What? Monkey Butt...

Far be it from me to get all giddy and shit when it comes to someone else's misery, but "Everybody was trying to get the chimp off," just made my day.

Well, that and the image of a couple bringing a birthday cake to a chimpanzee.

Speaking of trained monkeys, I got the following voicemail from Bob today...

I normally, uh, wouldn't call to brag or anything, but uh... today I kinda have to, 'cause, I'm telling you... I tied the perfect tie today. You can't... you just can't get any better than this. I was, uh, quite proud of myself and am probably going to take a picture.

So, to answer the hundreds of emails I get from the ladies (and male hairdressers and that one guy who's about to get paroled from the Jackson State Penitentiary), yes, Bob is like that in real life alright.

So how's my day going you ask? Let me refer you to an IM conversation with Dr. Pauly from the 10AM hour...

BG if a magic genie came out of a lamp right now
BG and said you have a choice...
Dr.Pauly katie holmes
BG I'll guarantee you a $50,000 lottery win in the next five years
BG or
BG i'll send a lightning bolt right now to a substation to knock out all electricity to your office for the next 24 hours.
BG i don't know what i'd take
Dr.Pauly lol
BG $50,000 sometime in the future, or an opportunity to call it a week right now
Dr.Pauly dude 7 more hours
Dr.Pauly hang in there
BG sure, way to rub it in
BG when is YOUR boss letting YOU go home today?
Dr.Pauly im my own boss
Dr.Pauly i have to work off my party bonus
Dr.Pauly and i have 2 articles to write
Dr.Pauly before i go out tonight
Dr.Pauly and update tao poker
Dr.Pauly and write a short story for truckin
Dr.Pauly i got deadlines looming
BG and no annoying pittsburgh-based supplier you want to wish scabies on

Yes, you heard me. I ended a sentence with a preposition. Wanna fight about it?

Yeah, me either. I don't have the energy.

I swear to god I can't take another dumbass question today. Not one. I told Pauly earlier that my most useful phrase today would have to be, "What did I just tell you?" My patience has worn completely thin for the idiots and morons with which I've been doing battle all day long.

I'd be hitting for the pet peeve cycle if only I were cut off in traffic on icy roads by a Mormon in a speeding SUV that was blaring Boston and reeked of patchouli on the way home. Otherwise, today has featured...

The Person Who Says "OK" Every Three Seconds While You're Trying To Talk To Them On The Phone (especially bad when it's a foreigner who should, in theory, have to be concentrating at least as hard as you have to when they're talking in order to understand you)

The Guy Who Doesn't Wait Five Lousy Seconds For The Official Emailed Explanation As To Why I Just Did What I Did In Our Online System And Calls Me With The Question He'd Have An Answer To If He Had One Lousy Fucking Shred Of Patience (same guy three different instances today alone, does it constantly)

Four Phone Calls In A Row From Four Different People Asking The Same Stupid Question They Should Already Know The Answer To

Multiple Crazy Voicemail Instruction Messages While Waiting For The Beep

Today, Apparently, Being "Leave BG A Lengthy And Pointless Message" Day On My Voicemail

Hitting Zero Pound And Getting A Voicemail Box Where An Operator Should Be

Of course, you can add that I chewed a fingernail down just a little bit too far, I'm having a bad hair day, I was awakened to a dying battery in a smoke detector at 430AM, my bathtub isn't draining, I dribbled coffee down my sweater this morning, and that I paid $2.19 a gallon for gas this morning to the "personal peeve" side of the ledger.

I'm almost afraid to head home to find out my TV is stuck on Bravo and they're holding a Project Runway marathon.

Weird Search Hit of the Day

Apparently, one would go to FoxNews.com to find information on Enos Cabell's wife.

In the News

Someone caught a twenty two pound lobster off the coast of Nantucket the other day. They said it could feed a family of fourteen.

First of all, there are no families of fourteen in Nantucket, let alone outside Utah. Secondly, I think I speak for most of us when I offer to try to tackle that gargantuan tail on my own. Just melt me a couple pounds of butter, clarify, and give me a Kleenex to mop up my tears of joy.

Great food kicks ass. Eating a fifty year old celebrity lobster is even better.

By the way, the fucking PETA people wanted him released back into the wild. The anti-PETA, also known as "People for Eating Tasty Animals" offered $15 a pound. Goddamn, I hate those PETA people.

You know who else can blow me? The parents of Terry Schiavo in that right-to-die case in Florida. They are absolutely abusing the legal system at this point by filing motion after motion in an effort to prevent Terry's husband - her legal guardian, mind you - from pulling the plug. The latest is an attempt to file for divorce on their daughter's behalf. Seriously, fuck you guys. The courts have ruled, you've got no solid legal legs here, and you're still trotting out ridiculous motions in an attempt to preserve "life" for your daughter against her wishes.

I swear to god, if I ever get hit by a bus and turn into a drooling retard who's only interested in the shiny sides of mylar balloons, yank the feeding tube, wrap a tourniquet around my neck, put a pillow over my face, and beat me about the head and neck with a sack full of bricks. Let this be my living will.

I'm serious. I typed that last paragraph, and all of a sudden I had this mental flash that featured my mom in court against... well, I don't give a shit who, someone needs to step it up. My mom is arguing that the above paragraph is obviously a joke and I am so flippantly sarcastic that it is impossible for the courts to decide whether or not I'm being serious, so she doesn't want to pull the plug. One of you guys needs to make sure you show up and argue the other side. I don't want to live the rest of my life in a hospital bed with my mouth open, eyes a-glaze, and in a diaper.

Of course, if I want to pay a hooker $200 for the privilege of laying in a hospital bed in a diaper and indulging my vegetable sex fantasies (hint: they aren't about carrots) on a Friday night, I don't want to hear it from the fucking peanut gallery, alright?

Bah! Pbbfffftttt! Guhhhhh....

I also read that there's a new feud in hip-hop. Mush mouthed rapper 50 Cent has apparently kicked newbie star "The Game" out of G-Unit. This brings me back to something I wrote quite awhile ago:

I'm confused about something that’s going on in the rap world. Actually, I'm confused about a lot that’s going on in the rap world, but I'll start here. Why is it that every rapper and group out there has to record a song about "The Game." You know, the rap game, the record industry game, whatever. I'd like to propose a rule. From now on, you must have at least THREE albums released by a major label and at least 2 million in total sales in order for you to tell me about the "game." How much friggin' sense does it make to see some no name rapper on his first album talking about how to win in the rap game? Doesn't make any sense to me at all.

I guess it was only a matter of time before someone came out and just called himself "The Game." It's impossible for me to take anyone calling themselves that seriously anyway, but to be a rapper from Compton who disassociates himself with 50 Cent (and, by association, from Eminem and Dr. Dre) is a pretty dumbassed move.

We haven't had a good "hit" in the rap world in awhile. Let's keep our fingers crossed.

I'm a Pepper

I really do think I've been waiting my whole life for this.

I grew up here in Michigan, where the market for small-batch soda pop has always been strong. I remember my grandparents in the Upper Peninsula always had this amazingly good red pop and orange pop from some long-forgotten local bottler. That was good. Vernors' is another local specialty, and is one of those unique tastes that no major-brand soda outlet has been able to replicate. People who grew up in Michigan and now live elsewhere often hoard Vernors' pop like Mexican pharmaceuticals when they return home for a visit.

Of course, none of these sodas hold a candle to Faygo's Rock n Rye. Rock n Rye is kind of a black cherry vanilla cream soda flavor, and has always been a favorite of mine. Unfortunately, most gas stations don't carry Faygo cold in the 20 oz bottles, and most grocery stores don't carry Rock n Rye in anything but the 2 liter bottle.

So I don't pick it up as often as I'd like.

About two weeks ago I saw an ad on TV that nearly got me off the couch and into the supermarket in an instant: Dr. Pepper presents Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper.

Wait... Cherry + Vanilla + Dr. Pepper? That's everything I love about Rock n Rye with some caffeine mixed in for good measure!

Holy shit is that stuff good. No, it's not just good... it's perfect. This time, instead of Faygo knocking off a flavor from another pop producer (Moon Mist, anyone?), Dr. Pepper went to the well and really came up with something awesome.

So do me a favor. Go out and buy a bunch of bottles and cans of this stuff. Help me out here. Make sure this sweet sweet ambrosia doesn't end up with Crystal Pepsi and New Coke wherever it is that carbonated beverages go to die. I want this stuff in the gas station coolers and especially as a choice at soda fountains nationwide.

I'm begging you. Do you need to see me on my knees? I am covering my bases with the following note to the good people at Dr. Pepper:

I'm begging you... don't ever take Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper off the market. Ever. Well, not never ever - I mean, I'm going to pass away at some point. Seventy five years is your window and your obligation to me, the consumer. I'm thirty now, and I figure that'll cover my life expectancy and then some. If this is some sort of cruel joke where you release an amazingly good specialty soda for six months and then reel it back off the market, I'm going to be seriously disappointed.

Seventy five years. Don't mess with me on this one.

In Da Club

My old friend the Doc (not to be confused with everyone's favorite amateur pharmacist) just emailed me from the other side of her maternity leave. Of course, I get the requisite pictures of adorable children tossed my way as well.

I know you're not Jewish Doc, but Mazel Tov! anyway.

No doubt in my mind she'd have some cute kids. Sixty five years or so ago when I saw her last, she had kind of a prettier Natalie Merchant thing (Doc's face, unlike Natalie's, does not resemble that of a Pug) going on, and I'm sure did pretty well for herself in the arm candy area of marriage too.

That still doesn't excuse those Dr. Seuss striped tights you used to rock freshman year Doc, but don't worry, I've destroyed all photographic evidence of such.

See, now that she's reading me again at the office, I couldn't resist baiting her with a few paragraphs up front while she squirmed uncomfortably in her chair wondering if I was going to say anything to embarrass myself (mostly) or her in my usual wistful-for-the-days-of-yore sort of way.

You're clear there Doc. No worries.

So, as per CJ's announcement, the next WPBT live event will be in early June out in Vegas.

I'm in. I've got plane fare booked for Bob and I, and have secured a room at the venerable LAS VEGAS CLUB CASINO AND HOTEL in beautiful downtown Las Vegas.

Why the club? Well, why the hell not? First off, it was easily the cheapest room I could find. Second, despite what I had written in my first post-Vegas trip report in December...

Jen would join the Daves in the club, and Steve and I would go tackle the $5 blackjack table inside the Las Vegas Club casino next door...

Bad move. Instead of two $9 beers inside a cut rate strip club, I was the one left feeling naked and exposed after about 45 minutes at the tables. The Twin Thai Dealers Joy and Fran were tag teaming dealing duties at our table, and were throwing the high heat. It was surreal. It's not as if I have a long history with blackjack, but I've never in my life seen a dealer throw nothing but fourteens, fifteens, and sixteens to everyone around the table on consecutive hands, turning easy twenties both times herself.

It was like this all night, and by "all night" I mean "consistently for the next forty five minutes." I tried to combat the dealer luck by moving to two spots and increasing my bets to $10 per. No dice. I'd get an eleven, double, land a four, and be out $20. My doubling didn't work, splitting "by the book" didn't work, nothing worked. Joy and Fran just fucking kicked our asses. $200 down in three quarters of an hour, and I'd had enough.

By this point, Jen had arrived fresh from the Gulch, and was parked at a roulette table waiting for us to finish destroying my bank account and little Ivan's college fund. We dragged her out of there and across the street to the Golden Gate to try to make our money back from Downtown by eating some discount cafe food. Dave and Dave's wife showed up, and we managed to make it to the table without Joy or Fran taking my cab fare back to the Excalibur from me at gunpoint.

...the Las Vegas Club Casino was actually the home of my biggest blackjack victory of the trip when I went in 2002 over Super Bowl Weekend. In a six hour session, I ended up pulling in about $400. For me, to that point of my life, that was a good run. Bob, of course, got all up in my shit for being a pussy and continuing to play $5 hands when it was clear that I was on some sort of magical run.

At that point of my life I was a grinder, not a gambler.

So the Club is cheap and is a place Bob and I like to play. Do I need any more reason to stay there? Well, how about the Sunday Celebrity Brunch at Manetti's? Manetti's, if you couldn't guess by the name alone, is owned and operated by Larry Manetti. The Larry Manetti. As in "Rick" from Magnum P.I. Larry Manetti. Dude, I'm telling you, I can't pass up the chance to rub elbows with celebrities like Roger Mosley or Jonathan Hillerman over ham and eggs.

Actually, I think staying downtown is a good move for me this time. Yeah, it was pretty damn convenient for most of us to be at the Excalibur and have that base of operations in the poker room downstairs. That being said, I can suffer taxi rides to/from downtown in exchange for open seats for $5 blackjack and that coffee shop at the Golden Gate. If memory serves, I had coffee, soup, prime rib, a potato, and a shrimp cocktail for $9. And it was all delicious.

Bob has promised me that he's going to do everything he can to get our room comped at the Club, so for those of you hoping to meet the great Bob Respert in Las Vegas, just look for the guy at the $5 blackjack tables playing three spots for $25 each, screaming every time he lands an ace, and operating on about two hours of sleep. That'll be Bob.

I don't care how hot you are, pick up a goddamn shovel.

Yeah, yeah... I haven't been writing a whole helluva lot lately. Honestly? I just haven't felt like it.

So, in order to try and crack the ice and get the river of ideas flowing again, I just want to ramble.

Is there anything funnier than hearing someone use the word teabag in casual conversation? Especially if they're, in fact, talking about the sticks-and-leaves-in-cheesecloth-on-a-string sort of thing?

I figured out exactly what I'm worth this week. The charity auction was last Thursday, and with a $200 gift certificate in tow, I brought in $325. So, taking out the $200 in merchandise, that's $125. Now, I guarantee you that between planning, shopping, prep, execution, and cleanup, I'm going to spend roughly 20 hours on this dinner. Therefore, I'm worth approximately $6.25 an hour in a true market economy.

I'm way overpaid.

It's March 1, and we're in the middle of what has been a three day snowstorm. I talked to my neighbor on Sunday night as the first flakes were falling, and she said that she was going to be taking Monday and Tuesday (yesterday and today) off as "mental health days." I asked if she was getting out of town, she said no. She just wanted to kick around the house for a couple of days. We got about six inches of snow between Sunday night and Monday evening.

Can you see where I'm going with this?

She is now 0-8 for taking the initiative and shoveling the driveway this winter. To make matters worse, she was home all day long yesterday and never so much as lifted a finger to get it done. This, despite losing power on a blown fuse to half her apartment in the middle of the day. You'd think not having your stereo, TV, computer, or kitchen available for use might prompt you to get outside and surprise the guy with the bad back who lives upstairs with a freshly shoveled driveway upon his arrival home from work. No dice.

Actually, I was about 75% done with the driveway yesterday when the neighbor and her kid came trotting out. She finally offered me the extra spot in the garage (terrific - just in time for the last snowfall of the season), and said she came out to "help" finish the driveway.

If by "help" you mean "give the shovel to her six year-old and have him shovel the porch off," then yeah, she helped.

Four inches of fresh stuff anticipated before I get home today, and I know she's not working. Odds that I'm going to be shoveling again?

She did ask my help on the fuse question, but once we located the fuse box I found that they were the old school screw-them-in types, and I have no idea how to tell if one's live or dead just by looking at them. I thought better of screwing around with them.

Speaking of home improvement, I bought two pieces of ready-to-assemble furniture this weekend. $62 at Wal-Mart bought me a neo-futuristic take on a computer desk and a leather chair. Now, the chair was easy. I got that out of the box and assembled promptly. The desk? Let's just say me and ready-to-assemble furniture end up a lot like what happened when I was courting my ex-wife. First, I found a piece of merchandise that was in my league - I mean price range. Then, I spent awhile in the store convincing myself it was the right move to pick it up. I get it home and notice that the box seems heavier now that I have to take it up two flights of stairs than it seemed in the store. I shake it off, and empty out the parts. Of course, the instructions aren't clear, and about halfway through my efforts I figure out I'm doing something wrong and have to disassemble and start over from scratch. Then, on the second to last step before I can officially call this monstrosity a desk, I find out I can't drive a bolt in no matter how hard I'm trying to make it work. I eventually give up and figure that despite the structural problems that this may cause, I'll just skip that step and live with the consequences.

Infer what you want to there I suppose...

It's 815AM right now, and I was unable to have my two cups of coffee between 6AM and 7AM due to not having any backup beans on hand. I did stop at Starbucks, and now I'm debating running down to the coffee shop in the building here for yet another $2 cup of coffee to keep my motor running. Of course, I could just drink the free stuff, but I can't make myself choke that bullshit down. Office coffee is horrible swill, and if there's one thing I'm selective about, it's what I put in my mouth.

Cough.

I broke down. Bagel (everything, usually prefer a salt though) and 24oz coffee = $3. Total breakfast expenditure this morning = $5.

My cube got moved on Friday, and I'm now on day two in my new office space. Right over my cube wall I happen to have a group of awfully opinionated engineers. Nothing beats an 845AM animated discussion about permeability.

I also lost floor space, desktop real estate, and worst, my surrounding high walls. There is absolutely no angle at which I can position my PC monitor to where a passerby cannot see what I'm typing. You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone indeed.

Wondering aloud, could I date a vegetarian? I mean seriously date a vegetarian? In the weeks leading up to the charity auction I mentioned above, I had a moment of paranoia that maybe, just maybe, a vegetarian (or worse, a vegan) would win the auction and want me to cook a meat-free meal for them.

I know I couldn't do that, what makes me think I would be satisfied living a life with someone who couldn't enjoy a steak?

I'm a peculiar dude, I acknowledge this. I think I'd be well served to distribute to the single and/or adultery-prone married women of the world a questionnaire. On this questionnaire I would need to weed out vegetarians and vegans, chicks who drink nothing but Cosmos and/or Appletinis, women without those 3/2/3 proportions I dig, and women with all sorts of other problems I can't deal with, such as...

Bad teeth
Boy names like "Randy" (unless the name would work on a Mississippi Debutante like "Mason" or "Taylor"), or sharing a name with a car or a liquor
Naming Grease as a favorite movie
Ownership of more than one "techno" CD
Having 30 pairs of $20 shoes that all give her blisters instead of six pair of $100 shoes that let her walk in public after an hour like a non-cripple
Going to Vegas for the slots and the sights
Not even giving a non well-done piece of steak a try
Egregious and repeated spelling errors
Improper usage of the various homophones of they're (although I'd rather be a heteronym than a homophone, but to each their-there-they're own)
Owns less than 20 books, none by a well-respected author
Refers to herself or her friends as "just like" any character on that Sex and the City show
Aversion to housework
Lectures anyone who orders veal or lamb in her presence

Not a comprehensive list, but you get the picture.

Overheard just now from an engineer in the office: "...the quality is in inverse proportion to the size of the orifice. This is a poor excuse for a part."

Alright, fuck rambling. I just needed to hammer away here for a bit. I said earlier I haven't felt like writing lately. This is true. I don't know how much of it is "what's the point?," what I owe to "I don't have a good story to tell," and whether or not I'm dissatisfied with what I've been typing up lately.

I've been trying to post, but instead of just rambling and tossing the results up, I've been re-reading and deleting. Very unlike me.

Maybe I'm just bored. Well, I'm positive I'm bored, but that probably isn't the entire problem. I'll figure the rest out from here.