An Eight-Year Old’s Bucket List

The word “priorities” takes on several different meanings through the course of a lifetime. In 1988 in Orange County, California priorities were very much on my brain. As a typical eight-year old, a wife, kids and career were considered but not a major concern. There were many other goals much more pressing.

Marathon sessions of playing pretend in a suburban backyard were fueled by a fantasy/adventure aesthetic with a show-pop soundtrack. Thrift store coats and fluorescent shorts was traditional garb, plastic guns were commodities, crayons were used as cigarettes and fake mustaches were made with hair from mom’s hairbrush and two-sided tape. All that said to put into a context my bucket list at the time:

• Have a miniature rideable train system installed in my house.
• Partake in some international travel via large prop plane. I figured I’d just lower my fedora over my face, wake up 18 hours later and be in Burma.
• Have Peter Falk read me a story in bed.
• Ride behind a car on a skateboard.

The Wisdom of Jean-Claude Van Damme

By chance or by providence, these jewels of wisdom found their way to me about a week ago.  Since that discovery, I have probably made over a dozen passes at writing an introduction for them, but nothing measures up.  It did not matter what I produced, nothing came close to the level of excellence that was to follow.  So, as we have learned from the French, if you can’t win (or even if you can, but would rather not make the effort), just surrender. Ladies and gentlemen...the Wisdom of Jean Claude Van Damme.

A cookie has no soul, it's just a cookie. But before it was milk and eggs. And in eggs there's the potential for life.

My wife is not my best sexual partner, but she's good with the housework.

God gave me a great body and it's my duty to take care of my physical temple. 

Obviously I've taken drugs.

I love karate, it's like a bible to me. But deep inside I'm so I mean, I'm so sensitive.

I love people. I love life. I love animals. I love friendship and it's good for people to know that.

If DJ Tanner Were My Best Friend

If DJ Tanner was my best friend, we would hang out every day after school.  Her Uncle Jessie would share his hair accoutrements with us and we would sit in her fake bedroom and talk about Nelson (our favorite band.)  I would convince DJ that Kimmy Gibbler was really trying to get her to join a cult that would send her to Taiwan to be a child bride.  Then Kimmy Gibbler would be arrested

Dirty Laundry: A Family Legacy of Bedwetting

I grew up the third of five. My sister is the oldest and in some ways very different from the rest of us. One of the main ways she was very different was in her nighttime vices, or lack thereof. That’s because my three brothers and I were all bedwetters with a vengeance. I mean we would do it like if we did it enough we would win something. We drowned pee machines and grew to love the initial warmth, then sudden chill from drenched underroos. And jockeying for first spot in line at the washing machine first thing in the morning.

But life as a bedwetter wasn’t as perfect as it may seem. Watching your mom dry-heave any time she helped with your laundry left an impression on you and then of course there were the sheets. The plastic sheets that is. Every bedwetter knows about these. This was your cross to bear for being exceptionally lazy. And the thing is, it wouldn’t even be that bad if they were on underneath your regular sheets, but since your regular sheets were usually in the wash or in a clean pile of laundry (which you most certainly won’t put on yourself due the aforementioned uber-laziness) the chances of those making it on the bed are not good. This of course means two things: one you have to sleep on top of plastic sheets, which is about as comfortableas a bed of nails. And two, you now have plastic sheets to explain to anyone entering your room outside of your immediate family. My younger brothers probably handled this best, when the neighborhood friend came over and asked what the plastic sheet was for to my 9-year brother. My brother, without hesitation, went into an elaborate explanation of how our mom makes them use these to keep dust off the mattress.

Top 50 Albums of 2013

1. Vampire Weekend – Modern Vampires in the City

2. Volcano Choir – Repave

3. Dale Earnhardt Jr Jr –The Speed of Things

4. Arcade Fire – Reflektor

5. Frank Turner – Tape Deck Heart

6. Daft Punk – Random Access Memories

7. Elton John – The Diving Board

8. Lorde – Pure Heroine

9. Avett Brothers – Magpie and Dandelion

10. Kanye West – Yeezus

Sexual Positions or Things You Might Find in Your Garage

1. Long Red Screwdriver
2. Dirty Sleeping Bag
3. Rusty Bike Pump
4. Cincinnati Bowtie
5. Sham-Wow
6. Toyota Prius
7. Iranian Gasmask
8. Dirty Old Shoe
9. Daisy Chain
10. Angry Spider
11. Vintage Schwinn
12. Dry Erase Marker
13. Amish Plow
14. Canadian Jackhammer
15. Ghetto Blaster
16. Mormon Missionary
17. Polish Toboggan
18. Israeli Pocket Taser
19. Snuggie

You Have Cancer. I Have Alcoholism.

Tom. I just heard the awful news. Needless to say I was shocked and saddened to learn that you have been diagnosed with cancer. I cannot imagine what you and your family must be going through. I wanted to write you in a feeble attempt at inspiration. For I too have been battling a disease that threatens everything I hold dear- Alcoholism.

So you see Tom, we both have diseases. And while yours is eating away your organs and will surely kill you in less than 6 months, mine has forced me to go to bars night after night and sleep with strange and sometimes unattractive women.Oh who am I kidding, exclusively unattractive women. But yet I press on Tom. I will not go quietly into that good night. I am sure your family is devastated by the news. Mine was too when they first learned of my disease. My wife cursed the Gods the first

Bison Wisdom: June 1, 2013

The Bison at Work: Take the Pledge

Charles Barkley Patted (Jiggled) My Man Boob

It’s not every morning you wake up beaming with pride over your bosom. Well at least not if you’re a man.

Six months ago I moved to Las Vegas. The year prior to the move I had put in a lot of work at the gym and lost a good amount of weight. I was in pretty good shape, firm(er), had some muscle starting to show in select areas of my body, and had a chest that with dramatic lighting and a partially obstructed view could pass as pecs. This all changed after the move. Since I arrived I’ve been busy with work, traveling more and just never really got the gym in my regular routine. However I haven’t had much problem making time for food and beer in said routine. I’ve even found a new meal, it takes place between second breakfast and brunch. Anyway, as my routine shifted so did my bod, in particular forming gelatinous breasts. This is not something I was particularly proud of…until yesterday.