MySpace

After much delay and avoidance, I have submitted to the beast of MySpace. Check out my links to get there, it's nothing fancy yet. And since I can't access it at work (security settings) I may not update it much. But, we'll see.

new view & irony

If you haven't noticed all ready (I am not making the assumption that your intelligence is the equivalent of a brain damaged sewer rat, please don't take it that way) I've made some changes with this blog's format.

Well, the template didn't change. I'm a black and grey kind of guy, and grey is my favorite colour. But, there are some additions to the side bar at your right.

First up... Tunes. This is basically a track listing from my MP3 player. Well, a short list, it's the songs I listened to on my way to work. So, if your interested in knowing what fills my earphones for twenty minutes a day (and I'm sure you don't) it is now available for your reading enjoyment. Someday I might make this section a little more interactive, but until then I'll be thinking about joining procrastinators anonymous.

The links section hasn't changed much except I've added a link to Redmark's website. Talk about procrastination... I've been meaning to do that since Halloween. On a side note, Redmark is in India touring with Luis Palau through February 6th. So if you know (or know of) Drew, Dan, Zach, and their crew, please keep them in your prayers.

Also new... Idiot Box, Silver Screen, and Written Word.

Idiot Box is dedicated to television enjoyment. All of the links go to the show's official website and some of the sites are fairly entertaining. I.E. The Monk Website features a phobia of the day; today's fear is heresyphobia: a fear of challenges to or radical deviation of official doctrine.

Silver Screen highlights the last movie I saw in theaters. Unfortunately, this section will not be updated as often as I would like. Bekah and I don't get out much.

Finally, Written Word. Written Word is for my fellow literary enthusiasts, where you can see what I am currently reading with a link for info about the book and author.



Moving on. Irony. I remember my dad once said that one of his greatest regrets was not encouraging music in his household while Aaron and I were growing up. I find it funny that from a house where music was not "encouraged" my father raised two boys with a passion for music.

Aaron sang in choir throughout school and is now a concert promoter. Most of my friends in high school and even in the years following school were musicians. Some of my fondest memories involve friends and guitars. I've been in a couple bands and have done promotion, booking, and management for other bands. I dream of one day running my own recording studio. As for my own household, I want Christian to grow up surrounded by music.

Dad, you say you wished you encouraged or focused more on music. I think you did just fine.

confessions of a music snob

"It used to be about the music. Now what is it about, marketing? Marketing to a ten year old girl or tying the album to the latest Vin Diesel flop. Anyone can sign the latest lip syncing Ashlee Simpson. Right? I mean... Hansen. Remember Hansen? Where are the new classics? Where are the things that we'll be talking about thirty years from now? Dylan, Clash, Stones, Pistols, Run DMC, Aretha, Smokey. Where are those things? You know? So what if we're not some giant chart topping lable. That shouldn't be our goal. Money shouldn't be our goal. You know what our goal should be? Find the music and putting out the music out there that would change people's lives. Because THAT is the power and the beauty of music. And that is what I believe. If we focus on that, believe me people, the rest will take care of itself."

The above rant was taken from a new CBS comedy Love Monkey. I watched the debut episode today, I know it debuted on Tuesday, DVR's are a wonderful thing.

Love Monkey may not be the greatest show ever, but it is entertaining. And I can relate to the main character. He's a A&R rep for a major label, music obsessive, and wants to start his own record lable. Granted, I am not employed as a A&R rep but I would probably excel as one. I am however music obsessive and would love to have my own record lable.

The above speech garnered a standing ovation and got the main character fired. But I wholeheartedly agree with him. We need music that will change lives. Growing up in the Seattle suburbs during the grunge revolution, I remember the impact of songs like Evenflow and Smells Like Teen Spirit. I remember listening to Alice in Chains during a junior high math class and thinking the world is changing.

I felt the same way when hearing Steve Taylor's Jim Morrison's Grave and Smashing Pumpkins' Bullet With Butterfly Wings for the first time.

One of my passions is sharing music with others. Whether that is in a Jack in the Box parking lot at two a.m. or passing a guitar around with friends in my living room, I love sharing that power and that beauty of music.

I also lament the loss of talent. The music industry is a horrible place, and I could write a thesis about its dark heart. As much as I want to bring people to music, I don't want to see anyone repeat the mistakes of the industry's fallen victims.

Elvis, Morrison, Hendrix, Keith Moon, Randy Rhodes, Hillel Slovac (RHCP), Shannon Hoon (Blind Melon), Kurt Cobain, Tupac Shakur, Biggie Smalls, Layne Staley. It's a long, list and I'm barely scratching the suface. They changed the way we look at music and wrote some of the most enduring athems of the last fifty years. Then their lives tragically ended, some at the peak of their carreer, some had yet to reach their full potential.

You may not care, but I do. The idustry can't afford to lose any more innovators. It's too late to save past heroes, but what can we do to reach those that are following in their footsteps?

the cute ones are always stupid

I am a dog owner. Rephrase that... a proud dog owner. Wait... a proud owner of a stupid dog. When I say -stupid- I am not trying to imply teasing as if really saying "just kidding, he's a smart dog." I'm serious, Psuchen is a stoopid dog. He is adorably cute, in a crooked sort of way, but as dumb as dirt.

For example, last summer he learned to climb out the bedroom window by using our bed as a stepping stool of sorts. He played in the yard for most of the afternoon. However, it took him over a half hour searching to find his way back to the window to return to the great indoors.

Bekah and I have discovered a fantastic game to play with him. (disclosure: this probably will not work with animals of greater intelligence)

I called out his name from the kitchen to scold him for digging through the trash (again). Normally this irritates me, as I'm sure it does most dog owners.

"Psuchen!" I called. Psuchen comes sprinting down the hall from the living room, jumps the baby gate, and dashes into our bedroom. Confused his human is not there he looks around for a moment. "Psuchen!" I yelled again. Out of the bedroom, over the baby gate, and down the hall to the living room. Despite being out of sight, I'm sure he had the same dumbfounded expression as displayed seconds ago.

We repeated this process two or three times: "Psuchen!" prance, leap, prance, stand confused, then repeat. Finally, he thought to look in the kitchen where I had been observing this routine with my typical passive-aggressive tendencies.

Bekah had been watching us boys play from the bathroom doorway, the midway point in our hall. She wanted in on the fun too, I guess. She called his name, "Psuchen!" as soon as the dog reached her feet, longingly looking up at Bekah, I called. "Psuchen!" Back he came over the baby gate and into the kitchen. "Psuchen!" Bekah's turn. Away from me and over the baby gate. "Psuchen!" Bekah. "Psuchen!" Me. "Psuchen!" Bekah. "Psuchen!" Me. Back and forth the dog ran, from owner to owner, chasing the voice of whoever called.

This continued for nearly twenty minutes. The trash mess was forgotten. How could anyone stay mad at such a simple creature?

I've suddenly noticed some spiritual significance in this post, but I'll save that for later.

fun things to do with a pocket full of change

If you walk in to Ambrosia Tattoos in Coeur D'Alene, you will find a quarter glued to the counter near where you would normally expect to find a cash register.

Tattoo shops are a slightly different environment than most businesses. Customers are not always there to get work done, sometimes they are there to just hang out. Rock music and heavy metal seems less obnoxious than it would say... at a bank. Everyone for the most part has a "eh, whatever attitude." There is a natural camaraderie where complete strangers instantly consider each other friends. Despite the fact that the artist that owns the operation looks like he could fold you into a pretzel and break you into a million pieces, he is usually the kindest person there.

But I'm getting off the point. Back to the quarter. As soon as I saw the quarter I knew it had been set in place with super glue. Bekah didn't quite notice it as quickly as I did, but after rubbing her elbow over it a couple times she finally caught on.

It reminded me of brighter days. Getting kicked out of K-Mart for super gluing quarters to the floor tiles near the entry of the store. Not to mention getting kicked out of K-Mart for playing hockey in the sporting goods isle, and getting kicked out while acting like a gay person for "suspicious behavior." (We threatened filing complaints for discrimination against sexual orientation

Again, I'm getting off the point, back to the quarter. I told Bekah, they probably put it there on purpose just to see how many people would try to pick it up. As I'm sure they periodically get drunk visitors, they probably do get significant entertainment value out of that lone quarter.

After a discussion with one of the girls who works there, Bekah and I learned they derive more entertainment from a similar gluing of a mixture of quarters, nickels, dimes, and pennies to the sidewalk outside the establishment. After all, it just looks like some one dropped a pocket full of change.

There is a tax preparation service in the same strip mall as Ambrosia. Could you imagine how many people would try to get the money if some one tried a similar prank outside of H&R Block.

real life conversation

The following is an actual conversation between me and a fellow coworker. I will give her the benefit of the doubt, she was new. I will also thank HR, she is not in my department.

Her: Hi.
Me: Hey.
Her: What floor are we on?
Me: The third floor.
Her: Oh... (pause) What is it called?
Me: (inquisitive look) The Third Floor.

the upside of hunger

I will apologize now for the long post. It's been a while. So, before reading, take a quick potty break, refill your cup of coffee, take a NoDoze, then make yourself comfortable. And make sure you have some eyedrops with in reach.

What started out thought to be food poisoning (courtesy of some bad ranch at Arby's) was in reality an intestinal flu. Constant diarrhea and violent vomiting made for a long and miserable drive out to Cheyenne. The flu bug not so comfortably settled in at about 3pm Friday and seemed to have cleared (not including the lingering effects) by late Christmas Eve.

In hopes to settle my stomach, ease aching muscles, and essentially drug me enough to make me sleep, Bekah mixed a vicious concoction of V8 Splash, Sprite, and hydrocodone. Not so tasty. And, I'm not quite sure whether it worked or not. However, in the midst of a pit stop in Sheridan Wyoming, I was exhausted enough to fall asleep while sitting on the toilet (an event my parents will never let me live down).

But, enough of the gory details. The Christmas to New Years break was enjoyable, partially relaxing, and largely uneventful. Since I guessed (at random) what Bekah got me for Christmas, she was forced to lie and get deceptively creative. She managed to separate a ski parka into four separate boxes, fleece liner - right sleeve - left sleeve - and the rest of the jacket.

Christmas isn't about gifts though, it is about family. Especially every other year when the Budd clan gathers in Cheyenne. And that bi-yearly event was the sole purpose behind the grievous twenty hour all night drive mentioned earlier.

When I say "clan" I mean that in a literal sense. My mom's side of the family is a large and humorously obnoxious bunch. Gramma and Grampa Budd had a total of seven kids. From those seven came eleven grandkids and (so far) four great-grandkids. So if everyone is in attendance there is potential for a small army of thirty three crammed into the basement living room at the elder Budd's house.

We didn't quite have a full house as four were on a ski trip, a few came late, and one great grandkid lives with the other grandmother. Still, it was crowded come Christmas afternoon. Oddly enough, I wasn't the only one sick. Over the week half of us were sick with some cold or flu variation, one fell victim to strep throat, and one plain fell breaking an arm. Needless to say my flu symptoms got replaced by cold symptoms that I still have yet to recover from.

The overwhelming sicknesses were a break from the norm. The Budd family is traditionally a healthy family and a Christmas with fifty percent of us feeling like a rotting carcass had been previously unheard of. Like most large families, tensions can flare if you are not careful. With everyone out sick we talked less, keeping those potentially volatile situations at bay. I guess illness can be a mixed blessing.

By the time breakfast was served Christmas morning, I had not had solid food in over twenty four hours and still did not feel like eating ever again. During that time I most likely lost five pounds, and despite extreme dehydration I was feeling happy about that fact. A week later and I'm not yet sure how I feel about eating.

All is well that ends well. There were a couple of surprises. Aunt Penny Jo, an intelligent Phoenix area resident and golf fan who looks the part of a WPGA competitor, is a NASCAR fan. I would never have guessed. And in home day cares are among the most chaotic environments on earth: Bekah and I woke up listening to the circus music introduction of Willy Wonka (the new Depp/Burton collabo, not the classic Gene Wilder version) and The Care Bears DVD played on an nearly endless loop. Any one want to guess what my niece an nephew got for Christmas?

best songs you've never heard

It's not really a Christmas song but it is fit for winter and was included on Target's R&B holiday collection this year. Refuge (When It's Cold Outside) by John Legend, from his debut album Get Lifted, is a phenomenal tribute to the gift of love during hard times. Legend's voice is soulful yet bittersweet and tinged with a bit of pain, while the thick R&B beats and melody emotionally carry you from sorrow to joy and hope. Refuge, much like the rest of Legend's music, is colorful and well written. It is both modern and traditional, reminding me of 70's era R&B prior to hip-hop's influence. While there are a couple emcee guest appearances on Get Lifted, the album primarily focuses on Legend's talented piano work and singing, backed up by tight production work and familiar yet creative lyricism.

PostSecret

My father tuned me in to a blog where people send in a secret of theirs on a postcard of their creation. The result is artful, sometimes humorous, and often tragically heartbreaking. The postcards are sent in anonymously and highlight the darkest corners of human existence.

The secrets shared are those that most would never admit (unless we could afford a shrink). Child abuse, drug addiction, rage, lost faith, hopelessness, jealousy, abandonment, obsessions. They're all there.

I am somewhat happy with the way I turned out. No hidden secrets eating me away inside. I read the blog and feel empathetic, but never imagined I would find a PostSecret that I could wholeheartedly relate to. Until now.















OK, so I admit it. I am a bit of a music snob.

See more secrets at PostSecret.

helps if you read the handbook

The average IQ of my coworkers isn't the greatest, but it's not that bad either. For the most part, they're just average blokes trying to earn their keep. We do have a couple of winners (and I mean "winners" in a negative sense) who's axe couldn't chop a roll of toilet paper, but it's OK. I can cope.

The greatest display of the collective lack in brain power of my fellow employees is in our parking lot. I have come to expect chaos and utter disarray in the parking lots of Walmarts and malls from east to left coast during the holiday shopping season, but not while trying to get to work. After a couple inches of compact snow and ice covers the blacktop, my coworkers begin to drive like circus monkeys and park their cars as if they've never seen a parking lot before in their lives. Logic and common sense are thrown out the window. (I'm not intentionally being repetitive, to some people logic and common sense are two very different things) It appears as if the skies have opened and puked up a bunch of scrap metal, let the cars fall where they may.

The general population of North Idaho is among the least likely to qualify for Mensa. Let me rephrase that... Most of North Idaho does not know what Mensa is. When it comes to the people I work with on a regular basis, I've gotten used to a certain level of dumbness. And I except their intelligence shortcomings as status quo. If you have read some of my earlier posts (thieves, Buddha and gas) you know what I'm dealing with.

But I expect more from our leadership. Here's an e-mail sent out to my department by someone who is more or less in charge of our department. It reads as follows:

visitors on the floor
From: Bhos S. Mann
To: My whole department + some


Hey Team,
Just wanted to reiterate that unfortunately we can not have any visitors on the floor whether or not they are employed by us or not.
We work with very confidential customer information and have agreements with the clients that this info will not be accessible by anyone that is not part of this account.
As beautiful as some of your children are and/or family and friends, you must visit with them off of the floor. Feel free to use the break room or lunch room.
Also, if you are on break/lunch and want to stay at your desk your welcome to do so, but if you are wanting to visit or chat, you need to take your break/lunch off of the floor.

Thank you all for your attention regarding this,
Bhos S. Mann
Operational type person in charge
Location - Company


At first this sounds like a simple and obvious request. However for those of us with small children, banishing them from the workplace is not always possible. As much as I would like to follow the advice and pleas of my superior, I just can't. Not only is it unfair to my wife and kid, his request is against company policy.

Here's a nifty little quote from our employee handbook.

"Visitors under the age of 16 are not allowed in the call center floor without adult supervision. Visitors over the age of 16 are allowed in the work area, but for a limited time and only if the employee's productivity is not impacted."

If my wife wants to sit at my desk while I finish up a spreadsheet or answer some questions when she picks me up at the end of the day, is that allowed??? Not according to the Mann, but let me check the handbook again. "visitors over the age of 16 ARE allowed in the work area." If my wife and son wants to come visit me, great! NO ONE is going to tell me they're not allowed.

Guess it helps if you read the rules.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

It is a fitting title, despite being one of my least favorite Christmas songs. (especially the version that Regis Philbin recorded a couple years ago) Never the less, baby, it's cold outside. That song was on one of the in-store CD's while I worked at Old Navy, (or Old Slavey as I fondly recall) and every 90 minutes I was subjected to Dean Martin's sexual innuendos and probably the earliest reference to date rape in pop culture. Everytime that song came over the house speakers, I wanted to run out of the building yelling "please somebody put me out of my misery."

But I'm getting off the subject. It is REALLY cold outside. Despite my multiple layers (cotton knit and flannel shirts, fleece vest, hooded sweatshirt, leather jacket, and two pairs of pants) I still felt cold during my walk to work. I might as well have been wrapped in Saran Wrap. I've been inside for about four hours and I still can't feel my cheeks.

Considering the generous snow fall we received last week (see previous post) lack of decent plowing techniques (also in prior post) and the frigid air cast over the inland northwest, our roads, sidewalks, and parking lots make for interesting navigation. It's too bad I don't own a pair of ice skates, I could skate to work rather than walk. The mile long walk to work is rather slippery, however I manage to get through the ShopKo parking lot (and my employer's parking lot) with no problems. The road outside my apartment causes no problems. For the most part I have a safe and enjoyable journey, provided I have my gloves, and some good music to listen to.

Oddly enough, the only place where my feet lose grip on a regular basis is in the hospital parking lot. I don't know why, but that seems to be the slickest part of my 20 minute commute (walk) to work. Oh well. If I fall and shatter my tail bone, at least it will be a short trip to the ER.

...

I make to much money to get help from the government
But not enough to consistantly pay the rent
I got beaten out by some one else just cuz he has a degree
Doesn't even matter wether or not he's better than me
Don't they realize I'm tryin to support a family
So I guess I'll starve if it keeps gas in the car
And a roof between us and the stars
It gets so hard I wonder if I'll go far
Can I make a mark if I'm not up to par
Or be an example for my baby boy
Am I a failure cuz I don't make enough noise
If he who wins is he who dies with the most toys
Then I can't ever die
I gotta work all day just to provide
And stay up all nite just to survive
'Till it's my time to shine
And they call that a life
That can't be right
I must be outta my mind
Let God be my guide
Cuz all alone, I can't figure it out

we are being lied to

The Spokane/Coeur D'Alene area has been covered with a fresh blanket of snow. Actually, smothered with massive amounts of the white pordwery stuff would be a better description. Snow was expected but it didn't happen according to plan.

Now, I'm not complaining. I love snow - it's beautiful outside, and winter is my favorite season. It just didn't happen like we were told it would.

The original forcast called for 4-6 inches overnight Friday with scattered flurries through the rest of the week. We had a dizzle rain Friday evening and woke up to dry ground on Saturday. Sunday's forcast predicted light snow on Monday and Tuesday with minimal acumulation and then steady snowfall and significant (large) amounts sticking to the ground on Thursday. If the 6-8 inches we've recieved in the last 48 hours is "minimal," I'd hate to see what they mean by "significant."

And this morning, the wonderfull meteorwrongogist on NWCN said that there would not be any snow today and a slight chance of snow tomorrow. Needless to say, it has been snowing non-stop since I left for work this morning.

I'm sure that they're not intentionally lying to us, I just think they don't know what they're talking about. If someone tells me that meteorology requires years of education and scientific training I'd laugh. I honestly belive that news networks do not recruit educated people for their weather reporting.

Here's how I think it happens: A producer is walking downtown and sees someone dancing in the rain and thinks Hmmm, that person would look GREAT in a suit and tie. They should be a weatherman. Then the poor, unsuspecting fool gets slapped with the title of meteorologist and is thrown in front of a camera for a live broadcast. If ratings go up, the person stays. Due to the acuracy of reporting, I think news agencies might have better luck recruiting from the Psychic Friends Network.

As for local maintenance (now I am complaining) they plow snow here like they do in Boise. Instead of using a "plow" they use steamrollers, treating snow like asphalt. Take 6 inches of snow and compact it down into 2 inches of solid ice.

The radio this morning reported about a half dozen accidents and a couple multi-car pile-ups along I-90 recomending everyone to avoid the area if possible. Every accident, I'm sure, included an SUV with 4-wheel drive. (freaks think they rule the roads) Some may chalk up all of these accidents to inexperienced driving or not knowing how to drive in the snow. While that may be true, who can fault them when the freeway is slicker than any ice rink before the start of a hocky game. It's like driving a zamboni along a sandy beach - you can do it, but you will probably damage the zamboni.

Sports... For those who don't know

Some definitions

Hockey: Like figure skating, with violence.

Figure Skating: ice skates + jumpsuits and tu-tus + boring music = something like ballet but I'm not quite sure

Cricket: A retarded British version of baseball

Baseball: One team takes turns running around a diamond shaped circle while the other team stands around and waits for something exciting to happen

Snowboarding: skateboarding with snow, trees, steep hills, and no wheels

Skateboarding: Surfing on concrete, usually in places skateboarding is not allowed

Surfing: oceanic version of snowboarding, with sharks

Football: two mobs wearing shoulder pads fight over an oddly shaped ball, occasionally they end up in a dog-pile

Soccer: Like football, but with a real ball and you can't use your hands

Boxing: A bar room brawl, but legal and with rules

Basketball: Kinda like square dancing, only everyone is REALLY tall and wears squeaky shoes, it also involves an orange ball and a lot of yelling

Nascar: A bunch of people drive cars plastered with advertisements for Walmart, Cheerios, and cheap beer, there's no point to Nascar except to entertain drunk rednecks

Pro Wrestling: Bad acting + predictable scripts + big muscles = excuse for white trash to get drunk

Sumo Wrestling: like pro wrestling with fat guys no scripts and no white trash

Golf: a fashion show where the lowest score wins, birdies are good, bogies are bad, and the fans have to be quiet

Tennis: like ping-pong... on a much larger scale

Rugby: a sick and twisted mix of football, soccer, hockey, wrestling (pro and sumo), boxing, keep-away, red rover, hot potato, a round of team-slayer in Halo, and a mosh pit

starting from scratch... almost

I am stil working on my book, and probably will be for a long time.

However, the first person narritive that I started with was beginning to annoy me. So, over the past few days I have been rewriting the whole thing, changing everything from first person to third person.

It is not a pleasant experience, almost as annoying as people who refer to themselves in third person.

It has been a big fat pain in the rear end.








Kinda like hemroids.