30 Things You Probably Don't Want to Know About Me

1. I hate knots. I have almost no sense of spatial relationships, and even simple knots give me hell, when I try to undo them. I have become the guy who will screw with a tangled cord on my Ipod, for 30 minutes, and mess up my workout, due to lack of time, as a result.

Not to get off on a rant here, but... .

2. Helmet laws are idiotic. You want to wear a helmet? Cool, good on ya! You want some non-ridin', limo drivin' senator to legislate MY ability to ride without a helmet? We have a talk coming.

3.. There are times, when I am doing 100 mph on my Hog, that I look down at the pavement whizzing under my ass and think "Holy SHIT! All it would take is for me to have a wierd, never before seen, "twitch" and they are picking me, and my bike, up off of a half a click of asphalt!!!". It scares me some, but passes quickly.

4. I HATE the words "whimsy" and "serendipity". Makes me want to pull out the lungs of whoever uses them, and wear them as water wings.

5. The Swedish pop group "ABBA" needs to die. I know, I know... they aren't recording, and haven't for years. Still......someone needs to pay for "Dancing Queen".

6 I think any Merlot, other than Chateau Petrus sucks. While I'm at it, what the fuck possesses people to drink white zinfindel?!

7. Don't stand in line in front of me in a coffee place and order a 20 ingredient drink. I just want a cup of coffee and you are pissing me, and everyone else off behind you. Trust me, I'm just trying to save your life.

8. Same with using 500 coupons at the grocery store. Double penalty if you start to write a check, only after all is totaled. I'll give a pass to a senior citizen with a debit card, they provide a type of chimp-trying-to-operate-a-BluRay-player amusement.

9. When I finish a jar of Klausen pickles (Please note: MUST be Klausen), I drink some of the brine. Yeah... I know.

10. When I take a bath, I use my toes to operate the water faucet when I want to increase the water temperature.

11. I look before I flush (sorry, its a question on most personality evaluations).

12. If you are going to quote from a TV show, make it "Sopranos" or "Seinfeld", not anything from"One Tree Hill". Quoting OTH is very likely to get my Pacifico bottle broken over your head. Nothing personal, just a visceral reaction.

13. If you have a problem with steroids, don't use them. It's their fuckin' bodies, and no one has ever jacked my stereo for their next bulk cycle.

14. I believe that the "last refuge for a scoundrel" is not "patriotism", but the phrase "it's for the children!!" (being said in a nasal whine).

15. Don't EVER touch my Bike, unless you are a gal who I have invited to go for a ride. If you fall into that "protected class", have the class to put up your foot pegs when you jump off.

16. I am a smoker. If I am in your space, I will ask if I may smoke. If you say "no", that's it, I won't, no hard feelings whatsoever. If you come into my space, please have the courtesy not to ask me to put it out. That's it. Common courtesy, not legislation. Oh, btw, a phony cough, coming from you, sitting 20 feet away from where I am smoking will more or less guarantee that I will walk over and extinguish whatever I am smoking in your eye.

17. I LOVE my Country, but damned if I don't fear my Government.

18. I am a conservative, in the truest sense. I believe in smaller government. That means, not only stay out of my wallet, but don't tell someone what consenting adult they can "bump uglies" with, or what they can put in their bodies. Just guard the coast, and stay the fuck out of our lives. That's not asking too much, is it?!

19. I am Ex-Special Forces, and I Ex-Foliate (as well as get manicures and pedicures) I don't see a conflict. Yes, I know that "Exfoliate" doesn't have a hyphen, allow me some latitude, will ya?

20. I still open all doors for Ladies, and rise when one comes to, or leaves from my table. I was just brought up that way, and don't see a need to change, unless the Lady prefers it otherwise.

21. When someone pisses me off, I always try to fall back on "Heinlien's Razor"; "Never attribute to malice that which can be explained by simple stupidity".

22. Proposed National ID cards scare the shit out of me. They are all too close to the old Nazi/ Soviet "May I see your "papers", please.". Sure, terrorism needs to be dealt with, but lets do it in a way that we do not become a greater evil to our own citizens than the threat we are guarding against.

23. My Achilles tendon is James Joyce. It was a month long struggle to read "Ulysses". I have a copy of "Finnegan's Wake" that I have tried three times to get through. It sits, open, near my bed stand and mocks me.

24. Clowns give me the creeps. I don't run from them, but I'll be damned if my sphincter doesn't tighten.

25. Mimes are worse.

26. No matter how drunk you are, I never was the Governor of Minnesota, nor have I appeared on WWF.

27. My ancestors did not claw their way up to the top of the food chain for me to eat only vegetables.

28. No matter what the expiration date on a carton of milk says, I always sniff before I consume.

29. Same with my women, with or without expiration date.

30. I hate it when cretins talk in theaters. The characters can't hear you, so yelling "Look out!" to the protagonist, will probably have little affect on the outcome. Don't explain what is going on to your date. If they are too stupid to understand the plot line, you shouldn't be breeding with them.

Stupid Stripper Tricks (or Little Things Mean a Lot)

Long ago, I was a bouncer at a strip club in the Phoenix metro area. The work, much like the oft quoted observation about war, could be described as "Long periods of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror". The pay-to-pain ratio was shit, and for those who think hanging around 75 strippers every night is glamorous?

Say what you will, but I believe that the studies performed by Martha McClintock were dead-on; women who maintain a close physical proximity often wind of having their monthly cycles sync, and my "crew" was synced tighter than the Grambling Tiger drum section. Roughly every 27-29 days the ladies toilet would become stopped up on nearly an hourly basis, due to improper tampon disposal. Guess who got to go in there with a plunger? Yeah, if you ever want to wind up hating humanity as a whole, I might have a career for ya.

One day I saw this new girl (let's call her 'Cheri', my attorney has enough on his plate) start her career as a dancer. She projected a ton of enthusiasm but, being very inexperienced, could not mesmerize the fifty customers in the building with "Sex on a pole" stage work. As a result, her number of lap dances, far and away the majority of a dancer's income, suffered.

One night, she came to me for advice. I pointed out "Tiffany", a seasoned veteran who did almost nothing on stage, but had developed a strong following of regulars due to some amazing (but within bounds) lap dancing tricks. Tiff's "stand out", and one you all probably have seen before, was facing the customer, placing the top of her head down near the front of his crotch, and doing a head stand, placing the customer in an interesting "69" type of perspective. Cheri brightened up. "I used to be a cheerleader. I'll go home and practice tonight and "watch out world", Cheri's making a ton tomorrow!" She kissed me on the cheek and left.

The next day, Cheri briskly exited the locker room and asked me to suggest a target. Looking around, I see "Dave", a generous tipper who always keeps his hands where he should, and made the introduction. Within about 15 seconds after the song started (7 seconds after her top came off), Cheri executes a picture perfect head stand. Dave's expression changed dramatically. About three times during the song, Cheri did an iteration of the trick, Yes, it was a bit much, but she was clearly proud of her new skill and I thought worthy of some slack.

The song ended, and Dave emphatically shook his head "no", indicating he did not want another dance, and he handed her a couple of twenties...not bad for a ten buck day dance! I walked up to Dave and asked, "So, how was Cheri?"

Dave answered "Fine, but she really needs to learn to wipe better..."

The Line Between Lust & Madness

Even in the South Carolina twilight, I can see the very air roiling, steam draping like the breath of a L'ung Dragon in the pines. Right now, I have a wee dram of Macallan. Though not the norm for a non-cask strength single malt, due to the heat, I floated a single ice cube to liberate the cooler notes of the whiskey and combat the heat.

Every season is evocative but, sometimes, Summer seems the most so. The hot, dry summer nights of my youth in Phoenix were a vehicle for my first tentative steps in adulthood. For a male teenager, Summer is the universal season of liberation. No school, no suggested bed times and parental control vaporized like a drop of sweat on the sizzling Phoenix asphalt. The issuance of a drivers license led to clandestine, midnight liaisons with girls who had the courage to sneak out of their bedroom windows to meet me. Clumsy, muttered, meaningless phrases led to even clumsier fumbling in the back of my '67 Shelby GT500. After the "conquest", tradition would dictate that I would hook up with my male friends. Sitting on the hoods of our cars, we would slag each other, hold forth on philosophies that we thought would make us look "world wise and deep". We all spoke individually of our bright futures, that would never come to pass, and the insipid behaviors of our parents, who we would all eventually come to emulate. The rising sun conferred both benediction, as well as our assurance of immortality.


Moving to Myrtle Beach changed the nature of the Summer night, and the cascade of associated feelings. There really is something about sultry southern/tropical nights. Inspiration to the likes of F. Scott, Faulkner, Tennessee Williams, and Poppa Hemingway, the wet heat,sounds and fragrances...all lead the mind to a fine line between lust and madness.

There are qualities to the desultory nocturne that evoke my memories as a young soldier at Fort Bragg. Much like viewing a decaying film, I see myself entering the down-at-the-heels off-post clubs that were constrained by the 70's blue laws and ordering a mixer for the bottle of cheap hooch I brought with me. Allowing my eyes to adjust to the dim light within, one by one, I would take in the women; locals all, who were there in search of a distraction from the boredom and swampy miasma of Southeast small town life. The men, boys actually, were all fellow troops, wallets filled from pay day, all fronting an over-the-top nonchalance while doing a fast male-to-female count, assessing their chances for the evening.

As the quiet desperation of both sides eased, the air became filled with a mix of female southern accents, and male tones that ranged from the Bronx to Puerto Rico, all driven by the cacophony of a bad house band. Slow dances led to parking lot gropes and the beginning of a ballet that would end in either a seedy motel or back at her rental.

Sweat glistening on bodies. Perfumes and after shaves re-liquify and meld with the honeysuckle and night blooming jasmine, latent in the muggy night air. She was making love to the man who would eventually take her away. He was finally nailing some high school crush of the past, who wouldn't have even given him the time of day. Ultimately, it didn't matter. For a few precious hours, reality didn't exist, they were both the person their needs dictated and in a place they wanted to be.

Eventually, I married one of those local girls on a hot southern night. You would think that the jasmine scented breeze that is now wafting through my screen door would remind me of that woman. Rather it fills me with the bitter-sweet melancholy of youth that has been lost, and a wistful yearning for a return, if one last time, to that wonderfully fine edge between lust and madness.