On Al

“Nice snag catch”. Three words put together in a seemingly meaningless and jumbled phrase. Three words that have been gently imprinted into my memory for the last 43 years. At 6 years old I was playing catcher on the tiny baseball diamond on the south east corner of Marshall Elementary School. But for the small square backstop which stood just beyond a stretch of tall trees lining Peoria, the grass covered field would be unrecognizable as a baseball field. Dressed in our standard team uniform of jeans and a t-shirt which read “Marshall Bobcats”, catching was not my usual position at that time but then again at 6 years old you might be playing any one of 9 positions at anytime…actually, make that 6 positions because as everyone knew the 3 outfield positions were reserved for those players that were still “developing” into the game. This day would be my first to ever catch, a chubby kid with a left handed fielders mitt (left handed catchers mitts were unheard of by the glove manufacturers). It’s funny, I played baseball throughout my childhood and teenage years yet I have very few memories of any of it. If not for a fleeting few seconds this particular day would have traveled where all the other memories go when you can’t remember them anymore. This day was different. A pitch was thrown wide to my right in the dirt and I dove for it and caught it. That’s when I heard those 3 words, “nice snag catch”. Those words came from the opposing coach standing just a few feet to my right. Those were the first words that Al Padek ever spoke to me. 43 years later I sit here wondering why my young heart dove and snagged those words and held them tight for so long. I’ve often pulled those words out to look at them. It’s not like I had never been complimented before. What made these words so special? I think it is a testament to the fact that Al’s words were just different, more special than others and his words made you feel special. Al was like comfort food, you hear his name and you are instantly “back home”, a place where life was simple and baseball was simply life. Maybe that’s why I smile every time I think of him. Since hearing those first 3 words I had the fortune of listening to Al for many more years to come. There are very few people in my lifetime that I have respected more than that man. I’m not alone. There are countless others who Al left his mark on in his own special unassuming way. Al is a constant reminder that each one of us, in our own special way, can make a difference in someone’s life. I’m sure Al never realized the impact that he had on so many lives. Don’t forget how special you can be to some chubby kid out there. If I could see Al just one more time I’d tell him, “nice snag Al”, he’d know just what I meant……

On Yoga

What sick twisted Indian invented yoga and how the hell does the word serenity come remotely close to describing the feeling you get while doing it? Ok, admittedly I’m a little inflexible, maybe a lot inflexible. What I do know is that I’m moaning every time I sit down, or tie my shoes…….or look at my shoes. I’ve been trying to follow a yoga routine on TV every morning and it is just seriously not working out. The foul sights and sounds of me attempting these moves resemble something you’d see on the documentary of the 800lb man. Are these moves for real? I mean seriously am I being punked here? Which gives me an idea… I’m thinking of contacting the TLC network and pitching them on the idea of filming me doing yoga every morning. I think a lot of guys out there could relate to me straining to downward facing dog…but then again they might get less squeamish watching the 800lb guy. Namaste this.

On Highways and Poetry

I was watching tv the other day and happened to see one of those “Vacation In Our State” ads. It was a nice piece put out by the State Tourism Department. I was really impressed by the beautiful waterfalls, mountains and forests. What puzzled me is that I’ve lived in this state for over 40 years and have never seen anything that came close to what I saw in that commercial. I’m thinking maybe our guy’s may have snapped a few of those shots just across the border. I decided that I was going to get in my car and find out for myself just what this state looks like. I regret to report that I found no waterfalls, mountains or forests. What I did see were a number of impressive motels that actually had ( now brace yourselves) FREE HBO AND……….COLD AIR!. That’s right, I said COLD AIR. The hopelessly uninformed would not realize that cold air happens to be a very hot commodity in the motel business these days. I also had never noticed what an Old World feel my state had. This was obvious by the number of businesses that ended with the word “Shoppe.” There was the “Pizza Shoppe,” the “Nut Shoppe”, the “Gas Shoppe”, and the “Junk Shoppe”. I always feel like instant “classe” is achieved when “shoppe” is used. Of course the spelling could have been my imagination as my vision was blurred from the vibration caused by my car hitting the award winning potholes that dot our beautiful state highways. Although all these sightings were memorable none were more moving than the impressive signs put out by the State Highway Dept. You see them about every 3 miles. First there was the one promoting seat belt safety, it read “Click it, or Ticket”. Another encouraged general driving safety, “Drive to Arrive Alive. My question is who is the gifted State Highway Poet coming up with this stuff? I mean, when you can bring words to life like that it can almost give you chills. In addition to the amazing creativity that went into this roadway literature, it probably only cost the state a few hundred thousand dollars to create such art. Well worth it of course. I mean, these poets work hard for their money. You can just picture a staff meeting now. “Ok people, we’ve got a tough one today, we have got to come up with a phrase that rhymes with ticket.” Although “Wicket”, “Stick it”, and “Lick it” came very close, when “Click It” rolled off the tongue of the Master Highway Poet the tears flowed freely that day. Drive to Arrive Alive was of course a stroke of genius, obviously because of the the three word rhyme or the “hat trick” as it’s called in the highway biz. By far my favorite highway poetry was the one dealing with the sick crime of child abuse. I feel the highway poets gave child abuse a black eye when they came up with, “NO EXCUSE, CHILD ABUSE”. Whoa. Just sit back, close your eyes and just feel the impact of that statement. There’s no telling how many child abusers out there drive by those signs and instantly change their mind about beating Johnny. Now, I’m not that good with rhymes and I’m definitely not worthy of highway poet status, but I’m thinking that a sign dealing with child abuse should rhyme something like this, “CHILD ABUSE, DO IT AND WE WILL PERSONALLY BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU.” Okay, like I said, not great with the rhyme thing, but I think it’s one of those catchy phrases that could just run through your head all day long. So Highway Poets I salute you. Keep putting your art out there. My fear is that with state cutbacks your work could be in danger. I implore the state, leave the potholes and keep the signs! And readers, remember this, “READ NICK DANGER, YOUR DANGEROUS WORLD RANGER.” Still working on ye old rhyme. Enjoy the cold air.

On Black Choirs and the Plight of the White

As a white kid attending a Baptist church I was held hostage and forced to listen to what was known as the “worship service”. As memory serves, the choir was made up of older men and women who looked just as reluctant to be there as I was. Add to this an older woman playing the organ and a man of equal age leading this “worship service”. If you were to close your eyes, you would not be able to distinguish this “worship service” from a funeral service except that funerals were a little more lively. I’m sure God appreciated the effort and God being God can sit through just about anything. I don’t recall the exact circumstances but for some reason I found myself sitting in a black Baptist church service with my family one Sunday. It was there that I was introduced to the “black choir”, and it was then that I realized that this was the channel that God was watching. (Note to reader: I rarely if ever pay any attention to political correctness. I use the word black because it’s shorter, flows better and because of the fact that I’ve never had an African American friend refer to himself or any other African American as an African American.) People in this choir seemed to actually like being there and at the risk of sounding sacrilegious appeared to be having fun! It was a great experience that I would never forget and it would be difficult to forget because for the last 10 years the music industry has taken advantage of the spiritual inspiration of these choirs and continually trots them out anytime an act needs a big finish. I mean it was definitely cool the first time I saw U2 use a black choir but my god it’s gotten a little stale. Even The Boss, Bruce Springsteen played the black choir card at the Super Bowl halftime performance. (Note to reader: I use the phrase “black choir” when in reality the choir usually has a token white guy. Probably some politically correct statement. This dude is trying really hard but it’s just not working.) (Additional note to reader: I use the term white instead of Caucasian. I do this because I’ve never referred to another white guy as a Caucasian and I have trouble spelling it.) No other point to this other than it’s been done, go on to something else. Get creative, like maybe three quarters of the way through a Beyonce performance, haul out my old white Baptist choir (with of course the token black guy), If nothing else it will bring to light one of the many plights of growing up white.

On Bitches and Breeders

So you want to buy a dog. Sounds so simple. It can be, until you make the decision to buy a pure bred dog of some kind. Now, there’s nothing wrong with that and you’ll probably enjoy your pet for years to come, IF AND ONLY IF you are worthy of that particular breed. Yes, I said worthy and that will only be determined by the inquiring and all knowing mind of…….(que scary organ music)……THE BREEDER. Before you decide to continue this quest could I recommend some other adventure, say, smuggling cigars from Cuba or wearing a heavy underwire bra through airport security. Getting caught can be painful and humiliating (not that I have tried smuggling cigars), but not quite as humbling as the interrogation you will experience when trying to obtain a dog from (organ music) THE BREEDER. See, just the mere fact that I used the term “dog” would probably ruin my chances of obtaining one from (organ……and this will be the last time I do this) THE BREEDER. You see, when inquiring about a certain breed you are to reference the dog by the breed. For instance, if you want a Golden Retriever you should ask the breeder that you are looking in to the Goldens that are availabe. If you merely state that you want to know about that breeders “dogs” this is somehow condescending and your chances of any luck with this breeder are slim. It’s also a good idea to reference the dog’s sex as either a male or a bitch. While this does not work well at a bar it seems to be the preference of breeders. Breeders seem to relish bragging on their animals with phrases like, “Oh, she’s a wonderful bitch” or “this bitch has a wonderful temperment”, again not so much at a bar. Once you get the terminology down be prepared with such information as your age, marital status, ages of your children, yard size, blood type and astrological sign. Most breeders would never sell their bitch to a Taurus. I once had a friend that lied in a breeders application just to get a dog. He stated that he was married with 3 children and had a large yard, all of which were untrue. The breeder bought the lies but turned my friend down when the puppies were born because my friend had not called to “check in” during the bitch’s pregnancy. The fatal mistake came when my friend said “What’s the big deal, it’s just a dog!” As you can guess my friend remained dogless. The only thing left after the inquery is actually paying for the animal. The price varies between breeds but always goes up when there are dog show awards in the dogs lineage. Mind you, the dogs do not arrive trained. You pay hundreds if not thousands of dollars for a puppy that acts like your kid on sugar. Apparently the well bred dogs have the “potential” for greatness, that is of course only after years of training. So you finally have the dog. Don’t think you have escaped the watchful eye of the breeder just yet. Expect phone calls ever so often and maybe even a surprise visit! It is so worth it though. Who cares that your neigbors $8 pound puppy is incredible. You have a $1500 puppy eating the legs off your coffee table but your bitch is pure quality. Cuba is nice this time of year…….and go braless.

On Child Molesters and Babysitting

Do you know who lives next door to you? Well, our judicial system is doing a wonderful job of providing 2nd , 3rd, and 4th chances to some interesting characters who just may be living next door to you. To tell you the truth, I could care less…….as long, of course, as it doesn’t affect me or my family. Let’s take your run of the mill tax evader. I don’t mind this guy getting another chance at perfecting his tax evasion skills. I’m not going to lose any sleep with this guy moving next door to me. If anything I could use a few tax tips. What I do have a small problem with is when I go online and find that there are a dozen sex offenders and child molesters living within a 2 square mile of me. I know, I know, it’s wrong of me to discriminate against a criminal who has gone through our great judicial system and is now getting on with his life regardless of the hideousness of his crime. I’m sure our system makes certain that this individual is totally rehabilitated before releasing him back into the wild again. Rehabbing a sex offender doesn’t quite ring right with me. How does one go about rehabbing a convicted child molester( who may be living next door to me)? Should a person really have to go through rehab to get him to quit sexually abusing a child? I know, I know, there I go again. Me and my stupid politically incorrect thinking. Sure these guy’s should have a chance at rehab and sure they should have the right to move next door to me……..but before they do let me suggest one final stage of rehab for these convicted child molesters (who may be living next door to me). This is my plan. Before the convicted child molester(who may be living next door to me) is totally set free, he must complete one more assignment. He must baby sit for the attorney who just defended him. A simple assignment for a rehabilitated child molester ( who may live next door to me), and a great show of faith for the attorney who stood behind his client and believed in him when the chips were down. So, Mr. Defense attorney you and your honey take a well deserved trip out of town for the weekend and leave your children in the safe and rehabilitated hands of the convicted child molester that you just saved from doing hard time. I hope he does a good job for you because next week he’s sitting for the judge that ruled in the case. Wow, babysitting a judges grandkids! Won’t that look good on your resume! Well, those are my suggestions but what do I know. I’m just a regular guy with kids who probably needs rehabilitation for the overwhelming desire to kick the ass of the convicted child molester that just may be living next door to you.

On The Problem and Getting a Clue

Our society is plagued with kid’s who have THE PROBLEM. I have seen parents lament over THE PROBLEM. I have seen parents panic over THE PROBLEM. I’ve seen parents send their child to doctors because of THE PROBLEM. I have seen parents send their children to clinics that deal with THE PROBLEM. I have even seen parents send their kids to….God forbid…..a personal trainer to deal with THE PROBLEM. So, what’s the problem? It’s drugs right? Gotta be drugs. Nope. Anorexia? Nope. Bulemia? Nope. Depression? Yeah you wish. No, this is the BIG problem. Brace yourselves! Their kid is OVERWEIGHT!!! Scary isn’t it. I’m not talking obese here. I’m talking a little chubbier than the other kid’s. I’m not talking unhealthy. I’m talking about a girth that may keep their child from being as popular as Mom and Dad had hoped they would be.
Moms and Dads have some ingenious ways of dealing with a little heft in the family. Here are a few, write these down, your therapist will need them for her files.
1. Start Early. The earlier you begin nagging your children about food the better. If done properly, by the time the child is a teenager, food will have such a whacked out priority they won’t know what to do.
2. Let your kid know that he or she is fat, and do it often. Always a great esteem builder.
3. Send your child to a nutritionist. Make food an even bigger giant in their life.
4. Send them to a personal trainer. Gee thanks. Let us yell at your kid for a change.
Let me tell you something. Scoot real close cause this is real important. GET OFF YOUR KID’S BACK!! Kids aren’t stupid. They know what you are doing. It’s not about you wanting them healthy. It’s about you wanting them as thin as their sister. Be honest with yourself. Have all your efforts ever really accomplished anything? Kids bodies change so quickly. Give them a break and let them change without you staring down everything they put in their mouths.
The above methods stink for getting your kid thin but I’ll tell you what they might produce. Just read the problems I listed at the top. Drug abuse, Anorexia, Bulemia, Depression and worse. Not a pretty picture.
So what is a parent to do? This is a tough pill for some but here it is. Swallow your shallow social pride and love on your kid instead of worrying about them being the prettiest in their class. Love on your kid and produce a self esteem that will empower them to succeed at whatever they want to. I know you love your kid and you want the best for them but a lot of you don’t realize the pressure you are putting on them. You use the excuse that you’re teaching your child how to build a healthy body. What you’re really doing is building a healthy wall between them and you.
And by the way, save your complaint letter to the editor. I’m not talking about kids who have health problems and need special diets or young athletes who want to be pushed. You know who I’m talking to. I’m talking to you with the sick feeling in your gut hoping it’s not too late to mend the damage you’ve already done. It might not be too late if you’ll be man or woman enough to admit it. Then all you need to do is love your kid. Love them in a way that they’ll know you love them no matter what they look like. If you start now, you may just end up with a happy, healthy, kid who will, later in life, have the discipline producing self esteem that it takes to look the way THEY want.

On Jury Duty and Peers

Maybe I live right or maybe I’m just plain lucky because for the third time in 12 years the court house computer has once again spit out my name to serve on Jury Duty. If you’ve never had the pleasure of participating in this civic duty the word Duty is taken very seriously by the courthouse staff. When you hit the courtroom floor you will be informed no less than 150 times that it is your honor and Duty as an American to serve as a juror. Make that 175 times if you have the misfortune of meeting with the judge in an effort to get out of said honor. The honor part is a little hard for me to take. I mean, I’m required to rearrange my entire life and spend a week with “ the midway at the fair” people because someone did something stupid. Why should the ignorance of one person be an imposition on my life? Is that selfish of me? Why isn’t someone assigned to Nick Duty? Everytime I do something stupid I can count on someone on Nick Duty to help me out. Of course, I really shouldn’t gripe, jury duty pays $20 a day. Pretty sweet deal, honor, duty AND I get paid.
Let me walk you through the process. At 8am you are herded into a room with about 500 other potential jurors. Our courthouse happens to be in the basement of the building. There’s nothing quite like being underground with people you would rarely say hello to, much less spend time with and decide the fate of another persons life. Most people down there look as miserable as I do but there is always a group of people that are giddy over the experience. No doubt these people watch reruns 12 hours a day and are living their dream. As a professional juror I have learned one very important lesson. I want to share this lesson with you now so pull your chair up a little closer….are you ready?….here it is…..YOU DON’T EVER WANT TO BE TRIED BY A JURY! Why? Because jurors are CRAZY. The 7th amendment of the Bill of Right states that you have the right to be tried by a jury of your peers. According to the dictionary, peer means to be of equal standing or belonging to the same societal standing based on age, grade or status. I gotta tell you, in all my journeys to the underworld, I have yet to find any one close to what I would call a peer or would want as a peer. That doesn’t matter to the court. Basically your peers will be selected for you by attorneys who will ask you questions in order to ascertain if you will be the correct peer who will believe his clients lies in order to win the big bucks. This line of questioning is called “Voir Dire”, and is the next turn of your adventurous duty.
Voir dire” is a french term meaning “speak the truth”. Voir dire is fun. The attorney asks you your name, address, occupation, children’s name and ages, blood type, turn ons and turn offs etc…… to determine if you fall into their peer requirements. All these very personal questions are answered in the presence of an alleged serial killer who is assumed innocent until proven guilty. The assumed innocent defendents family and friends are also privy to this information as well. I’m always a little concerned that this assumed innocent guy or his family will show up at my house with an axe and allegedly chop me into little pieces.
After selection of the jury the trial begins. The jurors are all instructed to avoid discussing the case with ANYONE during breaks. Approximately 2.5 seconds into the break every juror is talking about every facet of the case as well as the guilt or innocence of the defendant. Trials are as a rule VERY BORING. During my last two cases, the judge actually fell asleep. As boring as they are, we jurors tend to quit listening to actual facts of the case and begin to notice personal things. It might be the attorneys tie, or his shoes, or the way he clears his throat. NOTE TO ATTORNEYS: Don’t be an arrogant jerk, this may be impossible for some to overcome but the jurors notice it and you WILL lose. Trust me, it happens every time. Evidence shmevidence, you make one arrogant move suit boy and we will fry your client. Like I said, jurors are crazy.
Deliberation time. The jurors are sent to a room to reach a verdict. The operative word used to describe deliberations is, scary, FREAKING SCARY. As soon as the jury is dismissed into the deliberation room, something happens. All the crazy peers get even crazier. Maybe it’s because the case can be “officially” discussed but all this pent up insanity comes pouring out. Some just want to get it over with, guilty, innocent, they just want out of there. Some want to relive every court case they’ve seen on television for the last 25 years, I swear once I actually heard someone mention the “grassy knoll”. Did I mention how scary jurors are? How a verdict is ever reached is a miracle and is exactly why there’s such a thing called an “appeal.” An appeal in a nutshell is the search for more or less crazy jurors based on what verdict you are looking for.
The verdict is the final stage in which a decision of guilt or innocence is made and with that decision the chance that the now proven guilty may write a new “Silence of the Lambs” sequel. But hey, it’s a dangerous world out there, a world that needs us peers to stick together and perform our duty with honor……….. and did I mention the 20 bucks?

On Turnpike Tolls and Other Invasions of Privacy

I get a lot of telephone calls. These calls are usually labeled “unavailable” on caller id. These calls are almost always credit card companies. They call me because I owe them money. I owe everyone money. I probably owe you money. These calls, which come at a frequency of about 35 a minute, are constant reminders to me of just what a loser I am. My car, which I still owe on, is the only place in which I can find solace from these frequent reminders of loserdom. Ahhh, nothing like driving down the highway. All alone, cell phone off, just me and the road. Just beginning to feel good about myself when I pass a turnpike toll monitor and it flashes LOW ACCOUNT BALANCE. Great! Not only do I know I’m a loser but now every other car on the road knows it too. You can sense the minivan pulling up next to you and the father saying, “Look kids, there he is, THE LOW ACCOUNT BALANCE GUY!” And there is no way you can get off the turnpike. At last count, Oklahoma had only 2 streets that were not turnpikes and I owe money to half the people on those streets. Not a bad slogan for the Chamber. Come to Oklahoma, Land of Pikes. Of course, you know what’s going to happen. In a couple of years these pike monitors are going to get smarter and smarter. Well not that smart. I mean smart enough to be governor but not smart enough to own a Krispy Kreme franchise. Anyway someday, and mark my words on this, you’ll be driving down the pike and you’ll hit one of these monitors and boom, it’ll spit out, LOW ACCOUNT BALANCE, THERE’S SOMETHING IN YOUR TEETH. There will be no escaping the watchful eye of the evil turnpike monitor. Most writers would now insert a reference to the phrase “Big Brother is Watching You.” Those writers of course would have actually read the book 1984 with that phrase in it. Unfortunately, that book was not one of the 8 books I have read since the fifth grade and regrettably the phrase “I do not like them Sam I am” does not fit at this time. Anyway, the point is, everyone knows too much about everyone else. No one likes it unless of course it’s not you, but hey, that’s they way it is in our dangerous world so deal with it. See, you feel better now don’t you. You laughed a little and for just a few minutes you forgot all your problems except one. I’ll pay you man, I’ll pay you I swear!

On Choosing Your Disease Wisely

Generally speaking, I think that most Americans like to think of themselves as a compassionate people. The sad truth is that our compassion is, in most cases, influenced by beauty, fame or how it will affect our tax deductions. “What on earth are you suggesting?” you ask. I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you that you will have more compassion on someone who is pretty or famous and will only give your compassionate dollar to a cause if and only if it is the cause de jour . Let me give you a little advice. If your going to choose your disease please do so wisely. Only choose a disease that is popular. Preferably one that a celebrity has, and I don’t mean any celebrity. The celebrity has to be hot today not yesterday. You get a hold of a disease that a hot celeb has and you have got it made. Not only will billions of dollars be pumped into finding a cure but there’s a darn good chance you could end up on 20/20. You’ll have honorary front row seats at the “ROCK (enter name of disease)” CONCERT. and IF, AND ONLY IF it’s a very hot disease, maybe, just maybe you could make it on Oprah! If you really play your disease right you might even be on her Christmas gift show. Unfortunately not everyone is so smart. Some people unwittingly choose a disease that small children get. What are they thinking? These kids don’t have a chance to be famous because their silly disease keeps them a little occupied. While some attention is garnered for such diseases they really don’t have the fire power or elite disease status to really pump the big bucks into. Don’t take my word for it. Check out the contributions given to each disease out there. If the less attractive diseases had as much money as the diseases of the bold and beautiful there would be a cure for some of them by now. If you really drop the ball you’ll choose a disease that only affects older people. An old person disease? Now you’ve really gone and stepped in it. There is about a 0% chance of getting any help on this one. Even when old stars get sick, their black and white sitcom fame just doesn’t have the pull it used to. Oh sure we’ll shed a tear……maybe but that will be our only donation to that cause.
I’m probably not the best person to be talking about compassion. I’m more honest than compassionate. It’d be nice if you guy’s would quit wearing that compassion like you do your hairstyle. There are a lot of ugly, poor, untalented hurting people out there that need your help. Helping them won’t be fun, you won’t get a wrist band and worst of all…you may be the only one that knows you helped.

On the Golden Globes and your Abnormality

Ok, so I just watched the Golden Globe awards and I want to puke. I knew better, every award show that involves actors does this to me. It’s not difficult to decipher why I have this reaction, I mean please, you’ve got these one time high school dorks who get paid millions to play make believe, accepting awards with a pomp and zeal that would give one reason believe they were being honored for curing cancer. Trust me, cancer cure awards just don’t get the ratings…..however, a golden globe for best supporting actor in a mini series about the cure for cancer, well we’ve got something sponsor worthy right there. The acceptance speeches are what suicides are made of. I found myself actually praying that the winner was absent and that the presenters would accept on their behalf. These people really, really, really believe that they have something radically important to say and that you really really want to hear it…no, you NEED to hear it. You know what? It’s not their fault. This small twisted group of people have self admittedly always been a little different. These speeches simply reflect this strangeness along with the fact that they are being recognized for playing at the top of their game. So what does make them think that you really really want to hear what they have to say? IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT! You empower these people into actually thinking they ARE important. You want it and you need it and why? BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT NORMAL. Take it from me, you may think your normal but you are not. I know this because I am one of the few normal people out there and YOU ARE NOT ONE OF THEM. You people watch these award shows and have a warm and fuzzy feeling afterwards. You cry at the acceptance speeches and you swoon over the dresses. The one positive thing is that you will walk away with a lot of very important political advice from these very important people, thank god, how would you ever have known who to vote for? You think this is normal behavior……it’s not. Here is a sampling to determine if you are abnormal.
You religiously watch Oprah.
You religiously watch Tyra, skip religiously…. If you’ve ever made it to the end of a Tyra show you are not normal.
You regularly laugh at commercials.
You laugh at Oprah.
You laugh at Tyra.
(note to reader: my agent has brought to my attention that I have only mentioned African American hosts to this point)…….(additional note to reader: I actually have no agent .)
You watch The Real Wives of Orange County, let me see…..ok, I think I’m good here.
You regularly watch The View
You regularly watch any morning News Show…..and like it.
Now if you’re reading this article you just may be norm-curious. You’re wondering what this normal thing is all about. Let me tell you, it’s not worth it. It is a very lonely, frustrating and painful existence. Trust me, you are much better off remaining abnormal and to be honest the economy could not survive without you. Just imagine a world of normal people…….and I’m only touching upon the entertainment segment. To begin with, Hollywood would actually have to come up with a creative thought. Television would be relegated to only showing Seinfeld reruns. 99% of all commercials would disappear…..yeah no more Taco Whatever commercials. Tabloids would fold and Blockbuster would have to downgrade their inventory to around 100 movies. You trying to be normal is like going on a diet for the rest of your life. Just imagine being in the grocery line and trying to resist the People with Clay Aiken on the cover, tough stuff. See if you can avoid the Oprah episode where she grieves about gaining 50lbs...no not that one, I’m talking about the 3rd time after that last time, yeah that one, you know you need to watch it. My advice to you? Soldier on you abnormal freaks. Go ahead, stare at the local weatherman eating lunch, live your life through the Bachelor, laugh till you pee at every lame sitcom out there and for gods sake go soak up some Tyra. As for me, I’ll be watching Seinfeld and getting shrinkage thinking of you.