Monday, November 28, 2005

There's more to life than soccer...or is there?


Force of habit is forcing me to come up with something today.

I’m having a bit of a reprieve from the media hell that is Christmas. For the last three or four weeks I have done nothing but live, eat, sleep and shit all that is the HO! HO! Holiday spirit and because it’s only November I’m a bit worried about how I’ll feel when the big day actually arrives. Best not to think about it.

Speaking of “Best” I’m sure all eleven soccer fans in America are expressing their profound loss of “the Best soccer/football player of all time,” George Best, by drinking until their livers explode. He surely was the Best! (See how much you can do with that name? It’s the Best! And it never EVER gets old! Even three days after he died!)

I, on the other hand, was more affected by the loss of poor Mr. Miyagy. (Insert your own “Wax on! Wax OFF!” jokes here.) Though I never really saw what the big deal was about the movie, I do have to thank Elisabeth Shue for wearing THAT sweater at the waterslide park when I was at such an impressionable age.

Wax off indeed.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Yup

Yeah...so...Happy Thanksgiving and all that. Even tho' I'm over here I DID have a Thanksgiving Dinner, which was nice. I promise to update soon. This week has been something out of a bad sci-fi flick where each day is like the other only different. Me need sleep soon.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

New look...New identity

For the hell of it, I've changed my template. I got bored. So it's gonna look like this for awhile until I get bored again...which might just be tomorrow. Stay tuned.....

Monday, November 21, 2005

This is your density...


Recently, someone sent me an email asking how I became a copywriter in Northern Ireland.

Normally, this would be an honest question-- if I had an honest answer, that is. Unfortunately, the only reply I can give without breaking into a cold liar’s sweat is: Luck.

So, for your educational pleasure I will now publish the least embellished work history that I have ever owned up to. I’m not embarrassed by my past, it is what it is, but it’s also not something I boast about when I’m looking for employment in the same way one wouldn’t confess to picking one’s nose before one shakes the president’s hand.

Will it give you an idea of how to become a copywriter? Hell no. Will it give you insight and inspire you to do the same? Lord, I hope not. But here it is anyway, in no particular order. Have fun. (And I won’t be putting any particulars in about who knew who and who sent me where to talk to whomever. Life is mostly coincidence. Accept that and you’ll go far.)

Cleaning out the bulk tank on a dairy.
General Labor for the veterinarian down the road (including sweeping out rabbit cages, painting his office building, scraping out the bull pens, bagging up dead doggies and evil cats and tossing them into an incinerator, etc.)
Mowing lawns.
Construction cleanup.
Washing cars at a Chevy dealership.
Disc Jockey at the college radio station.
Kentucky Fried Chicken.
Reception desk at a hotel.
Selling T-shirts in Galveston Texas (I was a bit disappointed to see that the store survived the latest hurricane season.)
Bartender (If you mix 'em strong, you get better tips.)
Reporter for hometown paper.
Carpet cleaning.
Milking cows.
Some pipe outfitters or something (I honestly can’t remember the name of the company or what it was I did. I remember putting things in the mail.)
Bakery.
Washing windows.
Warehouse Manager.
Telemarketer.
Bean picker.
Cold storage.
Chopping wood in New Zealand.
Production Lead for company that made extra squishy beds.
Carpet Cleaning.
Milking cows.
Copywriter.

As you can see there is some repetition in the above list—mainly cleaning carpets and milking cows—so maybe those are the best fields to study if you got a hankerin’ for wordsmithing. It hasn’t seemed to hurt me so far.

(Looking over this list has made me realize that not only am I “Ordinary” I might actually be a little more, dare I say, EXTRAORDINARY? Maybe I should change my header for the day. I think I will!)

Friday, November 18, 2005

Doing my part...


Go to this link.

Download "God's Debris". Read it.

Whether you agree or not with what it says, it's good (short) reading and will get your brain churning. And that, my friends, is what it's all about. You stop thinking, you stop living. (If the link doesn't work, go to Dilbert.com click on the Dilbert blog, and look for the entry about the book. It's free so you're not investing anything except about an hour of your time to read it. READ IT!)

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

My nominee for Religious Celebrity Deathmatch


Ian Paisley. I won't say more until I've got some time to think about it. Just wanted to post this link to wet your appetite (is it 'wet' or 'whet'?) for what may or may not come next.

The apocolypse, probably.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

This is the post I meant to post before I posted the other post...



(Just a quick note-- this is more or less the entry I wanted to make last week before my headache got the better of me and I went off to Rambling Wayne World. I say this only so you don’t think I’m capitalizing on an easy target and posting again just because I got actual comments on the previous and, by default, original entry. Not that this one is better (Heavens, no!). Anyway, here it is. Have a nice day.)

Today’s conspiracy Theory

The Theory:
Pat Robertson DOES have a direct link to God.

Scenario Numero Uno:
President Bush is friends with Pat Robertson. Jett (of LTA fame) is a KNOWN Bush detractor. Jett suffers a mysterious illness that causes him to spend the night at the slightly scary looking Belfast City Hospital where he eats porridge. Porridge is a popular food in orphanages. Pat Robertson LOVES orphans (eating them is the source of his secret powers). Jett is mysteriously “cured.”

Possible Conclusion:
The porridge is so full of the Love of God bestowed upon it by Robertson that Jett is able to miraculously walk out of the hospital under his own power less than 24 hours later.

Scenario Numero Dos:
Robertson calls for the assassination of the Venezuelan president. I write a blog condemning Robertson and ask for an “eye for an eye” response (Wink! Wink!) (See what I did there? Two jokes for the price of one!). Within minutes of posting I am struck down by one of the worst colds/flues that I have experienced in a long, long time. My chest tightens and it feels as if someone (the Devil?) is reaching down my throat and going WWF on my lungs. I “pray” as I bow in reverence over the toilet trying to expunge the demon within me. Pat Robertson uses a toilet to discard the by-products of orphan eating. I am mysteriously “cured” after drinking copious amounts of Meltus and meditating for 14 hours in total silence under the covers.

Possible Conclusion:
Armitage Shanks are stylish portals to the Almighty Power (i.e. Shit) that Pat Robertson preaches, and I am made whole again simply by puking all my evil-ness into the holy of holies.

So, as you can see from these two very convincing cases I have presented, Pat Robertson is NOT a man to be toyed with.

Unless of course he’s just your normal asshole and the rest is just coincidence.

Friday, November 11, 2005

If there is a God...


Why hasn't somebody gotten rid of Pat Robertson ?(Al Queida, I'm looking in your direction...) He calls for assassinations, claims hurricanes are caused by lesbians and now this. Can't somebody call for his assassination? Should I? (Shit! I think I just did! Am I now going to hell? What should I do?)

Actually, I think I have already taken the first tentative steps towards eternal damnation by (oh man, I feel dirty even admitting this) actually viewing Bab's web site and, oh-god-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god, almost-sorta-kinda agreeing with her about having Bush impeached.

I'm not very political in real life. Well I suppose I am political (the proof's right in front of me, for crying out loud) but I outgrew openly voicing my opinion in public when I was about 22 after a girl I was trying to date bashed my face in with a beer mug for having written a "humor" column about abortion. Apparently she didn't agree with whatever stance I had taken on that particular day.

I've never actually had a strong opinion one way or the other on abortion since my "inny" became an "outty" somewhere around the 1st or 2nd trimester. (I'm referring, of course, to how all babies are essentially female until something or the other triggers another something or other and your "Yoo-Hoo" becomes a "Ding-Dong".) As far as I'm concerned a man's view on abortion is as valuable as a woman having an opinion about circumcision.

Jeez. I'm having a hard time staying on topic today and in the process I'm invoking all kinds of evil political, religious and cultural spirits. (You'll have to excuse me. I'm suffering from a blinding migraine at the moment. Writing this is a good distraction away from the pain and the incredible desire to puke my lungs out.)

Where was I?

Oh right. I was talking some crap about something.

To summarize:

Pat Robertson? Bad. Definitely, Definitely, DEFINITELY BAD!
Barbra Streisand? Just kinda icky.
Bush impeachment? Good or Bad? Dunno.

What I do know is that codeine is a legal, over the counter drug here in Northern Ireland and I'm gonna go dope myself up nice and rightly.

Anyway, have a nice day because I know when the drugs kick in that I most certainly will.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

I LOVE Wasabi...


If it's about puppies, I'm all over it. I don't care if it's real or not... I want it. (It would save money on hair dye on St. Patrick's Day.)

Monday, November 07, 2005

I Have No One to Blame but Myself

I will spare you the normal Monday morning bitch session (yes, I’m tired. No, I didn’t get any damn sleep. Leave me alone!) and cut right to the chase. I’m sleepy because I stayed up late last night watching the last episode of Six Feet Under which didn’t finish until 12:30.

My review in a nutshell: Crap-tacular.

The only redeeming moment was when Future Brenda’s head lolled back while her insipid brother yakked away. He literally bored her to death, which I thought was nice. It was a small payoff for a show that ran for six years, but I can live with it (do I have a choice?). So maybe Crap-tacular is a bit harsh. I’m just annoyed that I stayed up so late viewing familiar characters getting knocked off one by one while wearing bad wigs.

It’s just another reminder of why I’m avoiding that shit-pool that is Lost (because of the bad drama that is, not the bad wigs. The hair on Lost is immaculate. They're just bad actors). I watched the first episode last year and was completely unimpressed but I told myself that most shows take four or five instalments to find their feet but my interest steadily declined. It’s a bit, uhmm, pish*, shall I say, for my taste. It doesn’t exactly reek of high adventure as the hype would have you believe. It does reek of something, but god knows of what.

Speaking of reeking death (see what I did there?) I’ve just been horribly reminded of yesterday afternoon when my wife and I boldly went where no human under the age of 80 (judging by the shuffling hazards wielding dangerous looking umbrellas and toxic amounts of old women perfume) has gone for a very, very long time—Marks and Spencer. It’s a shame that the bra gods of the UK have allowed themselves to fall so far behind the times (apparently they have the best and most comfortable bra selection around. I’ve yet to try them for myself…yet).

Anyway, where was I? I got a bit distracted when an image of some of them old coots trying on the Granny Boulder Holders…Oh, yeah, yesterday was kinda crappy.

And I watch too much TV.


*Pish is Northern Irish for Pissy. But you probably knew that.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Shout out to my PEEPS!


I've just been informed via email from a dear friend of mine back in my ol stompin' grounds of Colorado (Hi Annie!) that I might, perchance, maybe have a bit of cult following growing in her ol stomping grounds of Washington, Kansas. So let me just take a moment to say "Hi" to the folks in Kansas that have found my lovely little blog. (BTW I actually LOVE Kansas and the Midwest in general. You folks are some... no I take that back... you ARE the nicest people I have ever met (I went to school in Iowa, so I know.). It's a good topic for another blog.)

So anyhew, spread the word and write in sometime and let me know what you think about my Ordinary-ness. I'm all about spreadin' the love. And if you find something interesting, send it to me and I'll post it for ya... or maybe not. (I'm kind of a fickle son of a bitch sometimes. You have been warned.)

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Meet lovely Lulu


Today, after a rushed start (Wow! Copy for a poster! Lines for a whiskey company Direct Mailer! 67 whole words!), I finally found time to settle into creating my artistic masterpiece for the day.

Witness the Ben & Jerry Action Toy Cow! (No, I'm not going to show you the finished project. That would ruin it for you. Maybe someday...)

I’ll admit right up front that I found it harder to cut out the pieces than I originally thought it would be. I’m a grown man, for god’s sake. A four year old with safety scissors would have made less of a pig’s ear out of this project than I ultimately did--which ended with me hunched over the cutting board with an X-acto Knife, sweat dripping from my brow. (It was high drama, people. Not for the faint of heart.) But I enjoyed it nonetheless. In fact, I’m enjoying looking at it so much I wonder why I didn’t get around to this project sooner.

The aesthetically pleasing black and white bovine-ness is adding a certain vibe to the office environment I didn’t think possible. I’m feeling pretty tranquil, like I could burp up part of my pork pie and chew dreamily on it for the rest of the day. (I’m really tempted right now to do Ye Olde Blog Bait and Switch and ask you to post your lamest time wasting tricks. But I can’t do it. I JUST CAN’T!)

But alas, no chewing of cud for Wayne. Duty calls and I must dart to the recording studio for more glamorous, star-studded VO direction.

I hope Lulu will be OK.