Danny Boy put it best...

We as a nation/human race have gotten a little confused as to what "happiness" means or what needs to happen in order for it to happen.

My friend, Dan, is stationed in South Korea serving our country, and as such is not able to be here for Christmas (or his wifey, Adrienne either). Not long ago on "The Book of Face," he posted the following, and it goes without say that he hit the nail on the head!

If you quantify your personal happiness as follows then you are wrong: happiness = location where (([distance between family] < x miles) AND [time of year] = "Holidays"); happiness != [codependent behavior] + [personal needs]; happiness != [artificially inflated ego]; Happiness starts with you, not with your location or surroundings.

an open letter to my dog...

Dear Kipper-

When I say to move, it means go someplace else, not switch which side of me you are standing next to.

The dish with the paw print is yours and contains your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming
your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by Nascar and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help, because I fall faster than you can run.

I cannot buy anything bigger than a queen size bed. I am very sorry about this. I have no room to spare for one, nor the fundage to get one. Do not think I will continue to sleep on the very edge of my bed to ensure your comfort. Look at videos of dogs sleeping, they can actually curl up in a ball. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to my body and the bed frame, stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking your tail straight out and having your snout stretched out the other end to maximize space used is nothing but doggy sarcasm.

When I am using the Wii for exercise or entertainment, jumping up and trying to grab the Wii remote from my hand is not helpful. Barking at me because I'm not helping you achieve your goal does not win you any extra brownie points.

My compact discs and DVDs are not miniature Frisbees.

For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, try to turn the knob, or get your paw under the
edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. In addition, I have been using bathrooms for years, canine attendance is not mandatory despite what you may think.

The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dogs butt at the park/doggy day care/on a walk, etc. I cannot stress this enough. It would be such a simple change for you.

real men of genius...

The Portland MAX Presents: Real Men of Genius
(Real Men of Genius)

Today we salute you, Mr. Arm Shoved Through MAX Door Commuter.
(Mr. Arm Shoved Through MAX Door Commuter)

Without your unwavering commitment to board a train that comes every ten minutes, fellow commuters would have to arrive at their jobs on time.
(No one hopes you make it)

Armed with nothing more than a Starbucks cup, you squirm furiously, undeterred by the total loss of circulation in your right arm.
(Your fingers are turning red)

Please stand clear of the doors? I think not. While others may heed these warnings, you dare to push the envelope, and all others within five feet of the doorway.
(No one else matters)

So crack open an ice cold beer, oh gatekeeper of the Blue Line, because MAX may Open Doors but you keep 'em that way.
(Mr. Arm Shoved Through MAX Door Commuter)

snakes... why did it have to be snakes?

Earlier this year while hanging out with Tori at Gaffer's, our friend Jesse and I got into a mini debate which then evolved into a full on debate about "Who's the bigger badass: Indiana Jones, or James Bond?" I claimed that Indy is hands down the bigger badass, while Jess (surprise surprise) put stock in Bond. The question is not "who's hotter" or "who's got more stuff" (even though we all know that the Brits give Bond gadgets hand over fist like it's Monopoly money)... The question is between these two extremely popular fictional heroes, who takes the cake? Someone tried to tell me "Indiana Bond would be the be all end all of badassedness." Nice try. And no, you can't say Chuck Norris wins this fight. Norris isn't invited.

Even Lego Indy is more badass than James Bond. It's science.

So, here we go with the facts. This entry is dedicated to my icon, Henry "Indiana" Walton Jones, Junior (yes, that is in fact his full name...don't ask me how I know his middle name. Admitting how I know would just prove how big my nerdiness actually is)
Nicknames
Indiana
Indy

Personal
Date of Birth July 1, 1899 - Princeton, New Jersey
Family PARENTS: Henry Jones, Senior (1872-1951) & Anna Jones (?-1912)
SPOUSE: Marion Ravenwood (March 23, 1909-?)
CHILDREN: Henry "Mutt" Walton Jones, III (1938-?)

OCCUPATION: Professor of Archaeolgy (Marshall College, Connetticut)
Archaeologist
Associate Dean
Soldier

Alright, now that all the personal information is out of the way...here we go. Frank Marshall, who produced the Indy movies, said of the character, "Indy is a fallible character. He gets hurt. He makes mistakes. He's a real character, and not a superhero."

When not in the classroom at Marshall being that teacher that is ever so crushworthy (ex. female student who wrote "Love You" on her eyelids so he could see them when she blinked. Hell, even if I *wasn't* a history nerd, I'd take his class just to drool over him), Indy is either globetrotting, searching for lost and ancient artifacts, or kicking the bad dudes' butts. While some view Jones as simply a mercenary, he honestly believes that these relics "belong in a museum" (Last Crusade). His motives are not for self fufillment, but honestly for the preservation of history. Sure, he may not be the *best* archaeologist, with his tactic being more rough around the edges instead of carefully uncovering history's hidden treasures, the dude's got gusto! 

Pictured: Gusto

In 2008, Archaeology magazine (yes, it exists)one of the editors said that Indy was "a horrible archaelogist, but a great diplomat for archaeology," then awarded 8 past and current archaeologists who they felt embodied Jones' chutzpah with the "Indy Spirit Award" (yes, that really exists too).
Both of Indiana's personas (Dr Jones and Indiana) reject one another in philosophy, creating a duality. Harrison Ford said that the fun of playing Indy was because he got to be both a romantic and a cynic. A lone wolf. Man on a quest. Human superhero. Patriot.

On to more...rugged...territory ;)
Armed with nothing more than his iconic bullwhip, fedora and leather jacket, his World War I Webley-Green revolver, along with a wry sense of humor, deep knowledge of many ancient civilizations and languages, Indiana more than proves his awesomeness. Seriously. Sure, he's scared crapless of snakes...so what? I'm scared of clowns. My mother is arachnophobic. Whoop de doo. Everyone's got a fear of something...his is slithery, hissing reptiles.  Quick on his feet, he's narrowly escaped death numerous times while still looking hot. Did I say hot? Um, I meant "dashing"...yeah...that's what I meant. Remember how he faced down Hitler...okay, so he didn't face him down, but did you know what I mean. Had the perfect opportunity to kill him if he wanted to, then Hitler gave him his autograph. Hilarious. Taking on Panzers, Egyptian swordsmen, Nazis, Indian cults, etc....*sigh*. He doesn't need fancy fast cars, a high salaried job, tons of gadgets or super intelligent technology to save the day...and he gets the girl everytime (well, except Elsa because she died....but that was her own fault for being a greedy Nazi bitch, and we all knew from the beginning that it was always Marion. BBQ bless Karen Allen).

Raw. Intelligent.  Not afraid to get down and dirty for the better good. And oh...that smile.... Henry Jones, Junior...it's all you!

This is also acceptable as swoon worthy.

Trader Joe's, I am breaking up with you...

I know doing this via blog is a little gauche, but I really don't care.

Sorry Joe, it's not you, it's me.

No, no... that's a lie. It's you, and the other people you've been seeing.

When we first started seeing each other things were great. I loved you for your tasty and unique variety of frozen snacks, sauces and dry goods. I was never so happy as when I was sipping a glass of your shockingly inexpensive chardonnay or tasting a wonderfully decadent miniature dessert. It never bothered me that your pleasantly hippy exterior was just a transparent cover for your low-grade snob appeal and nagging need to be trendy. I admit, it really attracted me in a forbidden way - I'm also an elitist ass and couldn't come to terms with my nascent desire to be cool.

But those feelings are gone now. When I see you now all I can remember are the awful battles to get through your cramped little parking lot, the eternally long lines and the other obnoxious shoppers you insist on seeing.

Specifically, I can't handle you seeing these people:

The parking lot meanderers - I understand that you're not in a hurry. And, truthfully, I don't HAVE to be anywhere urgently either; but I would much rather spend my time doing something I enjoy than waiting for you to cross the parking lot crosswalk with all the speed and alacrity of an old person with a walker in a tar pit. Also, walking down the middle of the lane while the cars behind you move at your strolling pace isn't helping anyone. Please, just get in your damn Volvo station wagon parked diagonally into 2 lanes and go home, someone there may just appreciate you getting in their way. I don't.

The faux-wine snob - You would almost entertain me, if I didn't despise you. I'm glad that you like to flash your platinum card while buying a few bottles of overpriced wine that you scrutinized for 15 minutes while I ignoring my polite requests to be 'excused' and allowed to pass you in the wine aisle. Perhaps I should give you a cheat sheet which could make your wine shopping a little easier. Here are the tips you need to know:
-Joe's is great for inexpensive wines. Charles Shaw is really a wonder of the free market. Remember, you don't get to drink the price tag.
-No one is impressed by pretention. Also, for future reference, Neitzche doesn't rhyme with "peachy."
-That bottle of Sutter Home you considered for it's "earthy tones?" You can buy that at Safeway. Also, "earthy tones" means that it tastes like dirt.
-The expensive wines are just there to make you think that the selection is "great." Those are decent, but incredibly overpriced bottles for people with money who can't tell the difference. Wait... sorry, that's for you. Would it be easier for you if they just labeled them with your name?

Anyone buying organic pet food - Have you watched your dog lick his own balls or chew the life out of a piece of colored rubber lately? They don't care if their food is organic, they just want to eat a lot of it and then crap it out on the sidewalk so you have to scoop it up. Seriously, watch how happy they are the next time you scoop up their deuce for them.

The guy buying frozen vacuum packed Atlantic salmon - You're truly the antithesis of the Wine Snob, you are the guy who doesn't appreciate what he has or could have. You live in the greatest seafood area in the world. The Pacific Ocean is only an hour and a half away. If you're snobby enough to shop at Trader Joe's you can suck it up and spring for something good from a real fish market.

The people lingering at the free samples counter - Sadly, my formerly-beloved Beaverton Trader Joe's was designed by a sadistic freak who placed the sample counter at the narrowest and most highly trafficked point of the store, creating a painfully constipated shopping sphincter. There's no avoiding the poor design, but must you linger for minutes at a time savoring every crumb of your craptastic little want-to-be-DiGiorno pizza. If you do find it necessary to stand there and not step out of the way I promise that I will also find it necessary to jab you in the kidney as I squeeze through.

Whoever decided to discontinue the Trader Joe's peanut butter Oreo knock-offs - How can there be any value to life in a world without those wonderfully tasty treats?

The "Everything here is so cheap!" people - Obviously there was no math requirement at your liberal arts college. Either that, or you can't be honest with yourself through your haze of liberal guilt over your trust fund. Get over it and admit that you're a snob who doesn't really care if they pay a little more for something they like, or shut up and shop at Safeway.


I'm sorry Joe, I just can't go on living a lie. If you can't change, or stop seeing other people then I have to end it.

the other ten commandments...

1. We are the retail associates thine greeters, cashiers, and fitting room attendants. Thou shalt have no other expectations before us. Thou shalt not raise thy voice in anger if thy humble customer service servants cannot validate thy parking ticket, tend to thy ADD-afflicted progeny, or tell thee where thou canst find the nearest Radio Shack in the mall.

2. Thou shalt have but a few select items before thee when thou enters the hallowed fitting rooms. Thou shalt choose thy items with care whilst thou peruses the racks of plenty, considering carefully what thou wouldst appear flattering in as well as what thou can fit thy self into. For we thy retail associates are but go-back-despising, lowly-paid peons, cursing for all generations them that pluck freely from the racks, try on multiple items, and purchase none, leaving the bounties of the retail gods strewn across the fitting room floors.

3. Thou shalt not take the name of the retail associates thy fellow human beings in vain for acts of God or corporate policy, e.g., refund policies, product selection and availability, or long lines, none of which thy humble front-line servants have any power to change.

4. Thou shalt remember thy retail establishment's closing hours, to keep it holy. Thou shalt not enter any establishment less than fifteen minutes before closing and thou shalt seek to purchase the cotton-blend fruits of thy labor within fifteen minutes of closing, particularly on the most holy days of holiday eves. If thou must enter or stay past closing time for emergency purposes, thou shalt pluck from the shelves of plenty only that which thou needs, being aware that every minute thou loiters or every article thou mess'd up damns thy retail associates to further toil and sorrow in the purgatory of night time cleanup.

5. Thou shalt honor thy retail establishment's general appearance and level of cleanliness. Thou shalt always fix or pick up that which thou hast so obviously disarrayed or caused to drop the floor, and thou shalt never leave on any random rack or shelf that which thou no longer desires to purchase. Thou shalt consider how thou wouldst feel if a multitude of thy patrons came to thy office and randomly scattered thy filing system, office supplies, and the beanie babies which sit atop thy computer monitor.

6. Thou shalt not seek to kill thy retail associates' belief in humanity. Thou shalt realize, particularly on busy days, that thy humble front-line servants are often under-paid, under-staffed, under-trained, and over-worked with more tasks than thou may be aware of. If thou art approached by an associate, thou shalt acknowledge thy associate as a friendly fellow human seeking to assist thee, not as a scourge upon the sales floor to rob thee of thy cash and credit cards.

7. (I can't believe I have to list some of these, but) Thou shalt not commit gross iniquities against thy retail establishment. Thou shalt not masticate, urinate, defecate, excoriate, regurgitate, masturbate, or procreate in the holy halls of retail apparel.

8. Thou shalt not steal, especially not by using thy baby stroller, foreign grandmother, or wrinkled Macy's department bag lined with tinfoil. That wouldst make thou hella ghetto.

9. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy true clothing size. Thou shalt be realistic about thy physical proportions; if thou hast never before fit into a size three, thou shalt not attempt to wedge thy portly self into ten articles of size three clothing in the hopes of divine intervention, generous sizing, or loose seams.

10. Thou shalt not covet thy retail associates' phone numbers. Thou shalt not misconstrue friendly desperation to meet sales quotas and/or earn sales commission as sexual advances or invitations to such advances.

The retail gods have spoken; go forth and spread the word, my fellow shoppers. 'Tis the season.

so...you think you want a tattoo?

 I have a 5 year old daughter that wants to gauge her ears someday and I keep trying to make her think, "What is the FIRST thing I want people to think when they see me?" Because, baby, if you gauge your ears then you will NEVER get the chance to recover from the instant judgment that will be passed upon you by most of society that is OUTSIDE your own age bracket. I have plenty of friends that have their ears gauged, and honestly if my earlobes weren't the size of the average 8 month old, I probably would do it too. Before you get all "Well, aren't you a hypocrite?" on me, understand this: I know who I am and don't care if my physical appearance is pleasing to your eye. I am one for freedom of expression, as are most of my circle...

But this isn't about ear gauges; it's about similar expressions of creativity and individuality.

It is both a Rant AND a Rave. And it's long. I have a great combination going on right now of passion for the subject and total boredom with whatever else I should be doing.

So for what it might be worth to you, here is the same advice I give EVERYONE that's contemplating their first tattoo.

1. Be sober. Stone. Cold. Sober. Period.

2. Research beforehand. Meaning, watch the artist work, check out samples of their work. Make sure their place is clean. If you wouldn't sit down there and eat a burger, leave immediately.

3. If you're going to get something written in a foreign language, have someone of that nationality (someone that you TRUST) write what you want FOR you and bring it to the artist. Alternatively you can have that person go with you so they can translate what you see before you get inked. Otherwise, you could end up with a tat on the back of your neck that you THINK says "I love my mother" but you're constantly getting your ass kicked because it really says, "Your mother's a whore".

4. Make sure you chose something that means something to you, not some trendy thing you're constantly going to have to explain once that fad passes. For those of you old enough to remember imagine if you had...say...Jem from Jem and the Holograms in portrait style...across your back. Yeah. SEE!?!

5. I used to make this "point #4A" since it is so closely related. But about 10 years ago (wow, I'm getting old, I just realized it was more like 11 years now) I decided it is probably THE single most important thing I say to prospective ink recipients so it gets its very own number now. In regards to things that REALLY mean something to you...and this is IMPORTANT: never, never never never NEVER NEVER NEVER put someone else's name, initials, portrait etc. on your body to whom you are not related BY BLOOD. EVER. Never. Did I say never? Okay, we covered that.

6. Put it someplace that the whole world isn't going to see it, because later, you may not be so thrilled (now proceed to #7 because it's relevant, I swear).

7. Most people find that once they get "my first tattoo" they either regret it instantly and start wondering "is there a way to get rid of it?" OR they love it and almost instantly start thinking "my next tat's gonna be...." So become comfortable with the notion of having multiple tattoos before you get your FIRST tattoo. Or don't get any at all.

8. Make sure you have plenty of money and a high tolerance for pain. A good tat shouldn't BE cheap, man. You are paying an artist for a permanent piece of art. If that person is doing the drawing for you then it's twice the work of art. If you want a cheap mass production, then by all means, go to the Wal-Mart of tattoo studios outside the back gate of the nearest Basic Training camp and pay $40 for the same thing that FOUR THOUSAND other dudes JUST LIKE YOU have *See caveats before you jump on me about Unit Crests and the like. Anyway, the reason you need to have the money and the tolerance for pain is not necessarily for GETTING the tattoo, it is just in case you fall in the first group from #7. Because, for you folks, removal is an option but it is not cheap, it is NOT pain free and it will probably leave a scar that ranges in severity from "Hm...is that a scar right there? I've never noticed that before" to somewhere in the neighborhood of, "Holy SHIT! Were you NAPALMED as a child!?!" (As a bonus, though, IF you followed the advice in #6, no one ever has to see the scar unless you let them because YOU were smart enough to put your first tat someplace discreet.)

Okay, for the caveats: No, I am not a tattoo artist. Yes, I have multiple tattoos. Three to be exact. For those of you sporting the Double A's of the 82nd, or the Head of the Screamin' Eagle or something similar, ROCK ON. That doesn't fall into the "cheap mass production" category it falls into the "means something special to me" category.

The thing about MY tats though is that like one lady said to me when we had a tat conversation, NONE OF THEM is in a readily visible area. I have none on my hands, wrists, arms, face, etc. I have one on the back of my neck which is only visible when I pull my hair up, and the others are on my ankle and hip. I wear pants or jeans 99.7% of the time, and I know how to cover them to a point where you will never even see them unless I tell you they are there. (For those that care to know how, I'll put that at the very end) My point is, I don't HAVE to cover mine. I'm fortunate enough to have family and friends that actually like them. In addition to that, I'm also a bartender. No one CARES what we look like. Most people are slightly frightened of us even without tats and they barely let us out from behind the bar anyway. But unless you want to spend your life working with inanimate objects, or you are Blessed to be talented as a clothing or interior designer, or capable as a chef, blah blah blah...then you better LIKE living in squalor because you're going to have slim pickings in the job market because people ARE judgemental. If you have studs in your face and tattoos across your neck and are up against an equally qualified candidate that appears "Clean Cut" the dude may very well be a scum bag, but he'll win because all they see is your adornments.

Being the mother of a girlr these days, though, I WHOLE HEARTEDLY AGREE with random lady. You can be a free spirit and you can be an individual without compromising your ability to make a good first impression.

So, to my baby girl, when you're 18 you'll be allowed to do whatever you want. And I will just have to hope that you heed my words and the words of the random lady and, thus, you make a good decision. If so, we'll go see if CAITLYNN is still working at SKIN CITY TATTOO in TIGARD, and if she's there, then I will leave you in her highly skilled hands and you will be free to get whatever ink you want. But until you are 18 NO INK and NO GAUGING.

And that's my take on Tattoo decisions.

Here's the "free tip" about covering I promised. It's more directed at the female population, unless you are like my dear friend Adam and do drag, but I digress...
I once worked for the most recognizable and "trusted" lingerie company in the world, and I had about 4 managers. However there was a certain one, I saw her almost every day, for months and she had no idea I had any tattoos - I only had two back then - until someone told her. with this company, you were not allowed to have ANY visible tattoos or piercings.
First of all, do an allergy test first, just like the makeup package says. Get yourself a Maxx Factor Pan Stick and slather that stuff on over the tat until you can just barely even see it anymore (it's gonna be pretty thick and the stuff isn't cheap but Maxx Factor is the kind that NEVER FAILS to work. You get what you pay for, I suppose). Okay, after you slather that on, feather out the edges so it's not just a big ass circle. Throw on a good dose of loose facial powder so it isn't sticky anymore. Now carefully put your nylons (if you are the type to wear them....I'm not) on and NO ONE will ever know they are there. This works for me because yes, you will have to put hose on and if you constantly scratch at it or cross and uncross your legs all day long you may have to touch it up (it's makeup, don't you usually have to touch that up?) but if done right you can wear anything you want, even open toed shoes because they DO make nylons with no toes, you know, and no one has to know you have them. Now...I wouldn't do this without hose because the makeup would wear off onto your clothes and you'd probably spend a fortune on dry cleaning bills...but for me this works. Getting the stuff OFF, is a trick in and of itself so here's the follow up: Get yourself some cheap ROLL ON deodorant. Old School style, wet ass, roll on deodorant with the roller ball (like Sure or whatever's cheapest) and a big tub of cheap ass baby wipes to go with it. And grab some moisturizer while you're there. Okay, shake up the roll on and slather THAT all over the makeup until it starts to get wet. Use the baby wipes to wipe off. Repeat as necessary. Then moisturize. Deodorant has a tendency to dry the skin out..and we all know that tattoos that are dried out and flaky just look nasty. You don't want it to be left having the appearance of a dried up chunk of sunburned skin do you? I didn't think so.