Hey, Guys. Let Me Tell You About My New Favorite Show!

While I have to admit that I was getting tired of watching Law And Order reruns, I’ve never been much for reality shows because I think they glorify the worst in humanity. But really, I’ve been hooked on this one.

It’s a contest to see who can elevate themselves to some position of high power. As with most of these shows, it starts off with several contestants (let’s call them “combatants” or “candidates”) and as time goes on (after various competitions held in different states), they get voted off the show one-at-a-time. Very compelling and dramatic, to say the least. And as an added twist, those who are rejected are often brought back in order to pledge support for one of those remaining–even after being humiliated at an earlier time in the season by that same, surviving combatant.

Can you believe that? Who in real life would subject themselves in that manner and do such a thing? But such are reality shows.

But what would a show like this be without boorish and cringe-worthy behavior? This one’s got it in spades. Instead of competing in athletic endeavors or trying to mentally solve vexing problems (other than devising a way of building an impenetrable wall around an entire country), the combatants compete to see who can most agitate the audience via pandering to their greatest fears and/or hurling personal insults at one another. Any contestant who can incite the audience to engage in fascist salutes or actual violence directed towards unsympathetic people are awarded points or “delegates”.

There still are few months left in the season and I’m watching closely to see who is declared the winner or if the entire thing just blows up.

Save A Horse – Ride A Cowboy

That’s a stupid saying.

I went to a Dude Ranch once and attempted to ride a cowboy. That’s how I got this limp. And what’s with the name ‘Dude Ranch’ anyway (and what’s with the Jerry Seinfeld thing?)? Sure there are dudes there, but there are also a lot of people who are not dudes there. And some of those are women.

I went to therapy once. Just once. The therapist began our session with the words, “Our time’s almost up.” I asked if I could lie down on the couch, as there was no room in the bed where the therapist was lying. “Tell me about your childhood…” she asked. I told her I was a late bloomer–correction–I told her I wore late bloomers. Meaning, of course, that I wore diapers until I was 12.

I don’t remember things. Like names…and dates…and…

…

Little known fact about me: I own several shirts that are the exact same color as my hair. Of course, I’ve had to throw some out over the years.

Here’s a health tip: Avoid getting sick. You’ll feel better and avoid tons of money in medical fees. Then, all your medication can be recreational. And who doesn’t need more good times?

You may or may not know this, but I eventually delete almost every other blog post I write. For reasons that should be pretty obvious. However, I never wrote a blog post with the expressed intent of deleting it later.

That is before this one. Enjoy. Until later.

Another Holiday/Vacation…

Another trip to the hospital. Not for me, thanks for asking. But when your mother and mother-in-law’s combined age is approximately 1 million years, you gotta expect a few emergency room visits. Also, toss in a few for the wife and kids. I just appreciate the fact that my family always chooses to require them on holidays and vacation days. It allows me to plan accordingly.

An unexpected bonus is that you get to be on a first-name basis with the hospital staff.

ER Nurse: Hey, Dave. Didn’t waste any time this year, huh?

Me: That’s the way we do it around here. So how are Bob and the kids? Toby must be a senior by now, right?

And I hear they are considering renaming ER Room no. 5 “The Dave Leibowitz Suite”. Sounds classy. Check availability for parties and work functions

How I Will Better Myself in 2016

At the end of every year, I take stock. I look deep within and ask myself that same, all-important question, “Just how big a jerk will I be in the coming year?”

This past year has been rather middling for me, jerk-wise. I offended my share of people, but nowhere near as many as I did back in 2010. Now that was a year. To this day, I still have to look over my shoulder after than one.

But I really want to be a better person in 2016. I guess I could start by actually thinking about what I want to say before I say it, although I doubt I can do that with any level of consistent success. Look, don’t challenge me on this; I’ve known myself for 53 years. Perhaps instead I will hire an editor to follow me around. So, when I see an overweight woman and feel the urge to ask her when the baby is due, my editor will clear his (or her) throat loudly and point to a squirrel or something to distract me and derail my train of thought.

I should probably invite my editor to accompany me to meetings at work as well. Historically, I have always done my best (worst?) work in that context, jerk-wise. I will need to be reminded not to tell off-color jokes or provide the clever double-entendre–all in the name of “keeping things loose”. No, someone is going to have to be an adult in that situation, even if that someone isn’t me.

So, if any of you are interested in a rather low-paying, but decidedly unpredictable job, feel free to email me your resume. I’m looking for a quick-thinking, socially adept and mature person for the position.

That’s right. Someone who is the polar opposite of me. The anti-Dave, as it were.

Yesterday Before Yoga Class

I was standing around looking at the upcoming workshops being held at the school. There were the standard ones on meditation and essential oils. “If they’re so essential, shouldn’t everyone have them already?”, I asked a not-too-amused staff member.

In any event, I then came upon a flyer for a workshop on Numerology and Sacred Geometry. Better living through mathematics, apparently. “Bring your recording devices, it will definitely be a cosmic event!” the flyer promised.

On the flyer itself was a picture of the guru leading the workshop, his face contorted into the expression of someone astrally projecting your money into his wallet. I trusted him immediately.

So, I signed up for the class. I’ll be bringing my recording device, as well as an abacus, protractor and compass, should those things be required. My luck, I will be the only one there who requires a tutor.

sacred geometry

Picture via.

Party Report

Last night I went to a friend’s Xmas party. This is not my natural habitat, mind you. For one thing, my conversation skills have only 2 settings: Brief, witty banter and long, drawn out proselytizing.

The witty banter sounds perfect for parties. And it is. That is until I run out of steam. Then comes the period of awkward silence. Then comes the eye darting. And last comes one or both of us looking to excuse ourselves to sample the pigs in blankets or the avocado dip. And notice, we never connect again for the duration of the party. We just smile nervously as we pass each other going in or out of the bathroom.

On the other hand, drawn out proselytizing certainly communicates a lot more sincerity on my part. And people like sincerity However, it has its downsides too. After droning on for several minutes, the person you’re talking to feels license to drone on for an equal or greater amount of time about a topic for which they feel much passion. But it’s never as interesting as my topic. So while they speak, I maintain eye contact and nod at highly calculated intervals. And all the while I’m thinking about excusing myself to sample the pigs in blankets or the avocado dip.

And speaking of eating, I tend to engage in a lot of it at parties. I mean a lot of it. I don’t just hover around the food table; I’ve been known to lay face down on top of it, with my head permanently parked in the chili bowl. Kinda makes it difficult for the other party goers to sneak their tortilla chips in but that’s the price we pay for inviting me to one of these things. In truth, the hosts probably would be better off “coning” off the area. Or perhaps surrounding it with yellow crime scene tape.

Yeah, that seems more appropriate.

Where Are My Manners?

Please forgive me. With work and kids and geriatrics and Donald Trump, I neglected to wish all of my followers (and friends, but not both?) a Merry Krampus this past December 5th.

For those of you not in the know, Krampus (the Xmas demon) is sort of the yang to St. Nicholas’ yin, although German lore suggests that the two indeed were best buds and traveled with one another. Whereas St. Nicholas would reward good little boys and girls with gifts, Krampus would hit bad little boys and girls with sticks, bind the whiny brats and put them in wicker baskets. And that’s the kind of progressive discipline I can get behind.

Now don’t get me wrong. I am not into demon worship or even most pagan rites that have been incorporated into what goes for religious holidays in this country. Not at all. That would run counter to traditional Judeo-Christian values and, ergo, would be un-American. Check the Constitution.

No, I just think that Christmas needs a little, I don’t know–SOMETHING–to kick it out of the commercialized doldrums and I think bringing back that furry little dickens might be just the ticket.

Of course, in 5 years we can all watch Fox news and hear conservative pundits talk about the War On Krampus.

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