i'd like to give a big shout out to those drivers who have taken it upon themselves to restore safety to our streets and highways by driving 15 mph below the posted speed limit. often, you sacrifice your own safety for that of others by driving over the speed limit in order to get in front of the unsafe, maniacal, and reckless drivers who drive at the posted limit and then you promptly slow down to a much safer, much slower speed. so, thank you. your contribution to the safety of the streets and highways of america cannot be overestimated.

i caved

while i thought that "poop in the pants" was a clever, slightly humorous name for a blog dedicated to an infant, there were others who felt it might be offensive. too crude. too bathroom. and after much prodding, some spitting, and a few well-timed kicks, i caved. ethne's blog is now titled for my first description for her. i hope that's better, because i've been kind of sore...

this may be too late to undo the catastrophic damage that may have been caused, but i need to make a correction to a previous entry. after seeing his picture and the corresponding caption (posted april 14), he made sure to tell me that he is not a 9 out of 10 on his current rating is, in fact, 9.7 out of 10. after i let time pass without posting a correction, he has reminded me on several occasions that he is actually a 9.7, not a mere 9. and while i am sure that my appearance would garner no more than a 1.2, i hate the idea of robbing joe of his untouchable, out-of-control, and completely raging hotness. so, without further ado, may the record show that joe is actually a 9.7 out of 10 on and not, as has been previously stated, a 9. joe, i apologize for the embrassment i must have caused you by downgrading your achievement. i love you. like a brother. a hot one.

"covering fire!"

fox news was on at the gym today, and while i was drinking some water i got to see the transition from the anchor in the studio to the reporter in the field. i'm not sure if it matters, but they were both women. the anchor launched into the transition with, "and now, judy loren reports from [someplace important in the world of constantly-breaking news]. j-lo?" and then, the feed cuts to loren, who stands there looking quite confused. soon, a moment of stunning comprehension. "oh, i'm... sorry, i was caught a little off-guard... you called me j-lo..." and then on to the news.
it got me wondering, was the anchor trying to make the reporter look as awkward as she did? is there some sort of bitter rivalry between the anchors and the field reporters? do the anchors all sit around in their news meetings and talk about the ways they can keep their colleagues down? "let's make 'em look real dumb, then they'll never take our jobs."
or maybe the anchor is just a naturally witty person, and realized the possibility for humor on the spot. but why use it? did she think that perhaps all those who care about journalistic professionalism wouldn't be watching tv? that all those people who really cared about that type of thing would be on tv at the moment, and those that weren't didn't matter? maybe she just wanted to see if she could get away with it.
in any case, i liked it. i think that the anchors and reporters should be encouraged to partake in some witty banter every now and again. obviously, there are times when this behavior woud be inappropriate. but if there's one thing i've learned by watching 24-hour news broadcasts, it's not all bad news. why not have some fun with the good?

my brain is foggy
my eyelids are droopy
my throat is sore
and snot drips from my nose
like poor writing from this pen.


well, i guess she got tired of crying and decided to go to sleep.

it's saturday morning. aimee went to help out with the special olympics. little did she know that i'm hosting a little special olympics of my own. the baby woke up about 45 minutes ago, ate an entire bottle from which there was supposed to be leftovers, and is now furious with me. she doesn't like it when i hold her. she doesn't like it when i put her down. she didn't like it when i changed her diaper. she doesn't like music. or toys. or singing. she doesn't like being on her back. or her stomach. and aimee won't be home for another SEVEN hours.

so i was putting on my shoes in the locker room after my lunchtime workout, and i sat down on one of those little stools they've got. they locker door was almost touching my head, so i reached up and nudged it away. immediately, my brain screamed. but my hands did nothing to stop the door from closing. and locking. locking my keys inside my locked locker.
i looked for one of the maintenance guys. after no success, i went back to the locker and assessed the situation. it didn't look good. unfortunately for me, i had locked my keys in the most secure place in the locker room. with a lock. so the stuff inside the locker would be totally secure. i checked all the locker's seams to see if i might be able to push something around. the top was kind of dented, but of course, it is still solid metal afer all.
apparently, the maintenance guys also go to lunch at lunchtime, and none were around. eventually, though, someone found the beefy bolt cutters and snapped my lock open. i was ten minutes late getting back to work. no one seemed to notice. at least, no one said anything.
i only almost cussed once. at least, out loud. the phrase finished itself in my head. it was right as i realized that the door was closing with my lock fastened on it and the keys inside. i wish i hadn't even started.

the cable connection is no longer. for a couple days it was about as slow as dial-up, but that was better than nothing. after calling the company yesterday (monday), they said they could have somebody come out to take a look on thursday. we should have told them we wanted a new service. they would have come out within the hour to set it up and get those bills rollin'...

i received this as a psuedo-present from a friend of mine who probably bought it because he knew that i would laugh. i did. but now i'm concerned for the mental health of the individual who conceived such a peanut-butter mockery.

my folks took us out for barbecue last night to celebrate my birthday. great food was had by all, but the greatest part was the free bibs. jim and my dad received them to protect themselves from flying barbecue sauce and squirting meat juices. these things are amazing. they may just look like a cut-up white garbage bag, but they are so much more. if a more perfect barbecue bib exists, i haven't seen it. there's an actual trough at the bottom of the bib for spilt anything.
there are engineers who plan cloud-piercing skyscrapers. there are those who develop cutting-edge medical technology. and there are those who design barbecue bibs. the first two types may be wasting their time.

jimmy and the baby. just waiting. waiting for you, sweetheart.

waiting can be fun



after i talked to you today
i slipped my phone
back into my pocket
and found myself
at the yellow stitching
that marched down
my inseam to the
fraying hem of the
too-long leg of the
factory-faded blue jeans my
little brother
gave to me
when he grew
too tall for them.

look! he's practically folded into that chair!

joe is sooo 9 out of 10 on

I just realized:
1 plus 9 plus 8 plus 2 equals 20.
20 divided by 4 (the number of digits in the equation) equals 5.
1 plus 4 equals 5.
2 plus 3 equals 5.

pretty crazy, huh?

on the way to work this morning, aimee told me about this dream she had last night: we were on a road trip with joe and the baby and making our way home. it was getting late, though, and so we decided to stop and finish the drive the next day. i didn't want to spend money on a hotel, though, so we found a neighborhood and a house that looked nice. in the dream, aimee told me that she didn't want to knock on these people's door and just ask if we could stay in their house. i said, that's not what we're doing, and jimmied the lock and went inside. i just walked right in. that's right. i'm a badass.
i know what you're thinking: "well, it was just a dream. you didn't actually do that." sure i did. and in my wife's opinion (or at least her subconscious), i'm a badass.

everyday at lunch i walk two blocks down to the Y to work out. down in the men's locker room, they've got this old-school urinal (the kind that's really just a misshapen toilet bowl up off the floor). well, you flush this thing with a little pedal down on the floor. it's pure genius. how was this thing ever phased out? what kind of space-age urinal technology sent the nasty urinal flusher from foot-push to hand-contact? the only problem with this thing is that it's set in the wall very nearly under the facility itself, so you have to lean back to get your leg under there without an encounter with the bowl's rim. but come on, surely we have the engineering prowess nowadays to move this to the side or something for a modern iteration. right? i mean, right?

quoted from an email from joe himself:
"i hate you. good lord, that's a really old picture
after taiwan, i believe.....
make no mistake though, you'll pay for that (of course, that could
just be the niquil talking)"

i didn't mean to make you angry, joe. really, i didn't. for all of the millions (zeroes) of people who read this blog: joe is now older and much better looking. and much more mature looking. this lovable young buck turned into a rather dashing fellow. in fact, he rated a 9 out of 10 on, in spite of the fact that the posted picture was taken moments after he was dragged from a river of steaming raw sewage. imagine the rating he would have received had he chosen some other picture. what a stud.

I ran across this picture of Joe today. It was taken a couple years ago (that's my sleeve on the left). I miss this haircut...

the fifth beatle? check out those stylish ear covers...

I am a copywriter for an advertising agency in this city on the western edge of Texas. I am also a hobbyist photographer occasionally hired to take pictures of people and things. I have a wife and a little girl. They're pretty great. I love my job and the people I work with, but I'd like one day to do nothing but take photographs and write stuff other than advertising. You can find my published writings and images nowhere [except the internet, but that doesn't really count for anything]. Emails can be sent to rob[dot]wordwriter[at]gmail[dot]com. Responses will be prompt unless I'm sick, dead, or lazy. And I'm hardly ever sick.

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