Strange Places Strange Faces

It may be a little bit late for Spring cleaning, but it's never too late for "People Purging". What is "People Purging"? I think you know the answer. It's when we remove all of our cancerous friends from our lives. It's when we take the time to write-off every bad person in our life -- friends, family members, et al. Don't let anyone fool you into believing this isn't a good thing. It's not easy, but it is necessary if you want to maintain some sanity.

Examples.

1. Your "friend" who persistently asks you to do favors for them without thanking you or doing anything for you in return.

2. Your "friend" who gossips about you to your other "friends".

3. Your family member who lays out all the other family bullshit on YOU ONLY.

4. The doctor who never returns your phone calls when you really need him/her.

5. Your co-worker who uses you for just about anything and everything.

6. The boyfriend or girlfriend who abuses you in any way.

That's a good start. The entire point is that you have to occasionally take stock in who you are and what you need in your life. I think you'll find that if you know more about who you are, then you will know more about the people you need to and want to surround you. The people listed in my examples above are cancers. They eat away at us. They sap all of our energy. They retard our personal growth, and they create our own personal problems that make it more difficult to deal with these "friends" we need to "People Purge".

Posted by Ike at 10:03 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

In random order....

1. Wearing black while walking on a dark street at night
2. Urinating in public
3. Telling your girlfriend how hot she looks while she keeps saying she looks like crap
4. Having sex in public during the day in front of people
5. Talking about religion or political beliefs on a first date
6. Letting your 100 pound Rottie sleep between you and your girlfriend/boyfriend
7. Shoplifting (Okay, I never actually did this one but it should be on the list)
8. Using a foreign language to say something bad about someone standing next to you (when you are speaking to someone else)
9. Voyeurism of any sort
10. Recreational Drugs
11. Picking your nose and eating it (I was 4. No one told me otherwise)
12. Taking someone else's college final exam for them (it was a football player (now in the NFL, by the way))
13. Riding their bicycles in between oncoming traffic
14. Putting anything in writing that can later come back and bite them in the ass (like this blog)
15. Breaking into your ex-girlfriend/boyfriend's e-mail account and screwing up her new relationship (this was years ago, but damn did it feel good at the time. She's now married, and I am happy for her.)
16. Purposely eating a few cloves of garlic and not brushing your teeth for a few days. Then, try going anywhere, sleeping with anyone, or doing anything. Sure, it "wards off spirits", but it wards off just about everything else as well.
17. Underage drinking using a fake ID to buy the beverages, get into the clubs, etc.
18. Barebacking the girl/guy you JUST MET at the bar
19. Drunk dialing (see separate blog on that one)
20. myspace.com for a zillion reasons (mostly illegal)

Posted by Ike at 11:12 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Thought I would share some fluffy stuff with you from my big holiday here in good old Cleveland.... These are answers to questions I am going to create myself, so I know the answers are going to be right.

Who did you eat dinner with? I ate dinner with my Mom, my Dad and my uncle.

What was the temperature today? It was the highest in 50 years, and the second highest ever (for Memorial Day). 88

When did you get up? I never went to sleep. I think when I got a couple winks, I was up at 10 before I went to sleep again.

Where do you actually live? A frequently asked question. I have a 1200 square foot apartment in suburbia.

Why do you blog? It keeps my mind off of a lot of other things.

How long does it take you to eat a large pizza from Geraci's on your own? About six minutes, when I am binging.

Posted by Ike at 11:11 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Okay. This post will not be any fun for those of you who don't care about baseball. So, let me start here: Somebody bail Barry Bonds out of his fantasy world. When he hit his 715th home run today to pass Babe Ruth and become second on the all-time record list behind Hank Aaron, it personally made me sick. Let's be honest. Neither Ruth nor Aaron had "juice" (steroids) even available to them when they played. Neither had the technologies available to them today. Neither had to cheat to get ahead. Bonds is clearly a cheater. The Balco investigation, where his name has surfaced, will eventually provide more concrete evidence he was juiced for many of his 715 home runs. If you look at the shape of his body from his Pirate heydays to the shape of things now, there is clearly a difference. Now, granted, baseball has stiffened its penalties against users the last few years -- including random drug testing. However, that doesn't affect the fact that -- for quite some time -- Bonds was a user. In fact, the commissioner of baseball, Bud Selig, refused to recognize today as an historic event while banners unfurled and celebrations flared up in Bonds' home park in San Francisco where he hit the behemoth blast. Who knows if he can hang on to eclipse Aarons' record of 755? But, I do know this. We should all be bailed out of this Bonds charade. As my parents always taught me, cheaters never prosper.

Posted by Ike at 11:52 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

A friend of mine is a professor of English at John Carroll University here in Cleveland. We often sit at a local watering hole and discuss a number of subjects. Granted, I never had him as a professor. Hell, I never went to JCU. So, we got into this conversation about the appropriate way to address a professor. He has a doctorate, so I asked him if he liked to be called "Doctor". He emphatically replied "No."

So, I asked him, "What do you like to be called, "X"?

He answered, "I'll answer to 'Hey, you!' at this point, but not 'Doctor.' 'Doctor' is someone who goes to medical school......"

So, it got me thinking. I hated my professors who wanted me to called them Doctor this and Doctor that, as if they were high and mighty. Doctor should be a name reserved for those , for the most part, have Medical degrees.

Look, lawyers have Jurist Doctorates, but we don't address them as doctorates. Many other people have Ph.D.'s, but we don't even address them as Doctor. It's ridiculous. My friends who are truly doctors have been in medical school for a million years. They didn't work that hard to earn that title to be equated -- by title -- with some Professor who, quite frankly, is good enough for academia, but not for the real world (as was the case with many of my journalism professors).

So, who cares about someone who went to school for a few years to earn a doctorate versus my friends who worked their tails off for years to truly earn the title and respect that comes along with 'Doctor'.

Posted by Ike at 10:41 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

I AM DESPERATE. MY ARCHIVE FUNCTION ON THE SIDEBAR HAS DISAPPEARED. WHAT THE HELL HAVE I DONE, AND CAN YOU GUYS HELP ME? THAT WAY, WE CAN GO BACK AND READ ALL OF MY OLD CRAP, TOO. PLEASE HELP ME! I AM SO DESPERATE. :)

Posted by Ike at 11:44 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

So why did I name this blog Strange Places Strange Faces?

First, I thought it was original.

Second, it was my intent to write about all the strange places I have visited/been, and all the strange places I have met/seen.

Third, it just made sense at the time.

Don't get me wrong. It still makes sense. It's just that I lost track of what I was supposed to be doing. I think most of you will agree that is probably a good thing. But, in the spirit of the blog, I am going to write about Strange Place(s) and a Strange Face(s).

It was the Summer of 1999. I was working as a TV news producer down in Miami, and a friend of mine was having a lavish birthday party, thrown by Gloria and Emilio Estefan, at a swank hotel. I had no idea what to expect when he invited me, last minute, to the party. I knew what to wear, and I had an idea some celebs would be there (my friend was just as ordinary as I am, but I think he was somehow related to the Estefans or a friend of theirs).

Obviously, there was security and I was a STRANGE FACE. They were imposing, and they looked me up and down like I was OUT OF PLACE. I felt like it too. I had been to South Beach parties before, but none like this. After I convinced these "gorillas" to let me in, I found my friend to wish him a Happy Birthday.

A couple hours, and several drinks later, I felt this tap on my back. "Nigel, I have some people I would like for you to meet."

"Fine," I said, half drunk and not really interested at this point.

"This is Gloria and Emilio Estefan."

I was wowed.

"So, you're a friend of David's?"

"Yes," I said, more alert.

"Any friend of David's is a friend of ours. Drink on us for the rest of the night. By the way, Nigel, these are our friends, Jon and Maribel Secada."

Okay, so now I damn near died. It was cool, and I was tripping. The breeze of the ocean was gentle, and hitting all of us in the right way. The music was loud. The people were totally cool, and we partied all night long.

My friends, those were the days. I was a strange face. It was a strange place. But, in the end, everything was totally comfortable and I felt like I really belonged.

Posted by Ike at 11:15 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Recently, one of my friends introduced his toddler to me. "This is Mr. Vossap," he told the child.

"Can you say 'Hi' to him?"

"Hi, Mr. Vossap," the young boy grinned.

Jesus, I thought. When did I become my father? Only my father is Mr. Vossap. I am plain old Nigel. Seriously, when do we cross over from a simple introduction to a more formal introduction?

"It's okay. You can call me Nigel," I said to the boy.

I remember when I was that boy's age that my parents rule of thumb was that every adult was to be formally addressed unless they asked otherwise. So, in my childhood, most everyone was "Mr." and "Mrs.". Kind of like the Cunninghams from "Happy Days".

No kid would ever call them Howard or Marion.

My friend nearly glanced a hole through me when I told the boy he could address me as Nigel. Apparently, the boy is being taught to address everyone formally. Maybe I just don't get it, or maybe I am a little less uppity than my friends (whom I respect). At 33, please call me Nigel. Call my Dad Mr. Vossap. Loosen up. It's all good. Years from now, you are not going to want to feel like your parents either.

Posted by Ike at 10:26 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Two words: Taylor wins. I have called it for a long time (okay maybe a bit more than two words).

You can all write as much as you want to about Idol.

I am going to write about board games, and, in particular, Monopoly. I like Monopoly a lot because it awakens the competitiveness in me. I am looking at the millennium Edition of the game right now. I get really competitive when I play the game because I am willing to take a ton of risks and chances. I play aggressively. I love the cards. I love jail. I love mortgages, buying, selling, the whole damn thing.

There are a million facts you should check out at www.monopoly.com. The game is sold in at least 80 countries and dozens of languages. There are different versions of the game from college campuses to children's tv shows.... it even morphs into other games, etc.

Bottom line. It's an exceptional game. You can have amazing fun with your friends. Some people complain the game can last forever, but I suppose that is part of its allure. Further, in an age when DVD games are gaining popularity, Monopoly can take generations of Americans back to their youth. You can play it with your parents, grandparents, other friends and family. Since the game has been around more than 70 years, you can pretty much enjoy it with anyone. But, please, don't take advantage of the elderly!

Okay, so that's it. I like Monopoly, and I wish you would celebrate it too.

Posted by Ike at 10:49 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Hi.

Posted by Ike at 12:00 AM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Why do they call them cocktail hours when they never last an hour? They most always go over. Hell, I was at a wedding last year where the cocktail hour went nearly two hours. By the way, the hors d'ouerves trays were looking pretty empty at that point. Speaking of hors d'oeurves, why do we have to call them that? They're appetizers or treats or cheese and crackers or "some stuff to much on" or, best yet, finger foods. We don't need some fancy French name to describe our finger food anymore. Heck, when was the last time the French really did anything wonderful for us? Google "French hate U.S." and you might learn something. What's a nom de plume (I have one by the way)? Why does heartburn seem to be "chest pain" and not really part of our hearts? Um, aren't raisins shriveled grapes or something like that? Why do they call some snacks "junk food" when it's not "junk" at all? Why is a compact disc referred to as compact when it's a good 5 inches in diameter? Why do our clothes have to be sized? Doesn't it just make us feel good or particularly bad about ourselves? Do you think there's a way to make sure I use every letter of the alphabet in this blog? Is that a stupid question? Why do zebras have stripes? Why does the word xylophone start with an x? Do you think (having used q, z and x) that I used all the letter for my blog? Do you even care? When Will Rogers said "I Never Met A Man I Didn't Like", was that a load of bullshit or what? I have only been on the Earth nearly 33 years and there are plenty of people who could live without me just as I could live without them. Can't quotes be dumb sometimes? Maybe that's why we should all shut our mouths. But, then again, if we shut our mouths we'll never be able to enjoy that cocktail hour.

Posted by Ike at 10:48 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Follow me. Life is a huge game, and we are all but pawns. Even life and death are eventually a game, because we never know when it is our time to go. I remember a passage in a book I once read in high school where there was a sentence that said something like, "(our) birthdays are always known to us but not the days on which we are to die." So, here are just a few of the popular (mind) games I thought of today while driving around:

Who will be my friend?
How will I know if they are my friend?
How will they remain my friend?
How am I going to get a better grade?
How am I going to get into the college of my choice?
How am I going to get ahead in school?
How am I going to make the team?
How will I start on the team?
How will I get chosen for an activity I want?
How will I become President or head of a club?
What will it take for me to better than the person across the table?
How will I get the job I want at the place I want it?
How will I find the right boyfriend/girlfriend?
How will I keep the right boyfriend/girlfriend?
Will he call?
Will she call?
How can I win the damn lottery?

YOU GET THE PICTURE.

We are constantly asking the "How" questions (for the most part) about life and its offerings. "How" questions lead us right back to the game. The questions force us to answer, mostly, in rhetoric. For the most part, it's a game, and we just don't know. So, y'all, we just have to accept that we are pieces of the puzzle; that even life and death are -- at the end of the day -- a game; and, finally, most unfortunately, there just aren't any clear rules.

Posted by Ike at 10:57 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

I hate bumper stickers, because they usually slow me down as I try to read them. Plus, I usually hate their messages which make me look at the other driver with disdain. Plus, they often make your bumper look like some ungodly tattooed piece of rubbish. So, it's only natural that I came up with a perfect bumper sticker idea today. Oh, don't worry. It's now covered under intellectual copyright laws and crap like that. So, please don't try to produce it. Here's what I saw: "Proud parent of a Cub Scout". This figures, because everybody is a proud parent of someone, something or another when it comes to bumper stickers or someone is backing some politician, which leads me to my idea.

"Still proud that I voted for Bush"

Now here's an idea. How many people do you think would put this on their car? First, the car would be vandalized for sure. Second, no one would buy this stupid bumper sticker. No God-fearing Republican would even think to slap this bumper sticker on their car. Who in their right mind would want to admit they are still proud of their allegiance to a guy who took us to war under false pretenses, has cost us nearly 2500 troops, not to mention nearly 18000 wounded? Plus, he has this whole immigration thing hanging over his head, this C.I.A. appointment debacle, Karl Rove (in general), I. Lewis Libby... and on and on.

So, I suggest this bumper sticker. I dare anyone to slap it on.

Posted by Ike at 6:56 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Okay. I admit it. I am a huge fan of the blog, "My Scattered Thoughts" which recently published a blog I am completely plagiarizing just as its author had done. Of course, this is my own stuff I am listing. So, am I really plagiarizing? And, do you really care? Let's have some fun for a Friday night.

10 Favorites
Favorite Season: Summer
Favorite Color: Pink
Favorite Time: 3 a.m.
Favorite Food: Barbecue (almost anything)
Favorite Drink: Knob Creek
Favorite Ice Cream: Ben & Jerry's Chubby Hubby
Favorite Place: The Outside VIP section at Pure Nightclub at Caesar's in Las Vegas
Favorite Sport: Baseball
Favorite Actor: Jeez. For the sake of argument, I'll put Sidney Poitier.
Favorite Actress: Reese Witherspoon


9 Currents
Current Feeling: Nymphomanic
Current Drink: Deer Park Bottled H2O
Time: 10:36 p.m.
Current Show on TV: None
Mobile Used: AT&T Wireless (now Cingular)
Windows Open: Blogger (Strange Places Strange Faces), Blogger (My Scattered Thoughts), Google
Current Underwear: Calvin Klein Striped Boxers
Current Clothes: White Socks, Black Jeans, Striped Button Down, Those Boxers
Current Thought: Who am I going to F**k next?


8 Firsts
First Nickname: Egghead
First Kiss: Summer camp, on a pathway
First Crush: Guys don't really have crushes, so I can't answer this crazy question.
First Best Friend: David
First Vehicle I Drove: A pickup truck my Dad let me use to learn how to drive
First date: "Making Mr. Right" (1987 movie)
First pet: Barnaby, an obnoxious black poodle


7 Lasts
Last drink: Deer Park Bottled H2O
Last kiss: My friend's wife's cheek
Last meal: Cajun chicken salsa salad from Pizzazz
Last Web Site Visited: Google
Last Movie Watched: Assault on Precinct 13
Last phone call: A friend who is in from out-of-town
Last TV show watched: American Inventor finale


6 Have you Ever...
Have You Ever Broken The Law: Hell yeah.
Have You Ever Been Drunk: Knob Creek and I are practically blood brothers.
Have You Ever Kissed Someone You Didn't Know: Guilty.
Have You Ever Been in the Middle/Close to Gunfire: Yes, during a jewelry robbery in Miami Beach when I was a TV producer.
Have You Ever Skinny Dipped: Does Having Sex in a Hot Tub count? Yes.
Have You Ever Broken Anyone's Heart: Unfortunately


5 Things
Things You Can Hear Right Now: My computer, traffic
Things You Can See Right Now: Deer Park Bottled H2O empty and full bottles, Febreeze, my home phone, my cellphone, my TV, some CDs, some books, assorted papers and bills, my Birks, bottlecaps, more junk...
Things on Your Bed: Dirty Clothes, Ike (my dog), sheets, lots of pillows, my blankey, my home phone (I have several), my remote control, dry cleaning, miscellaneous papers and bills
Things You Ate Today: Grilled Salmon, Fingerling Potatoes, Cajun Chicken Salsa Salad
Things You Do When You are Bored: Drink, Nap, Play on the computer, download music (just music, I swear), chat with friends, write, stuff I can't write about here....and on and on....


4 Places You Have Been Today
The Office
The Mall
My Place
My Parents Place


3 Things On Your Desk Right Now
A paper-weight depicting the area outside the Kotel in Jerusalem
The Weight Watchers Daily Companion
My late grandfather's rolodex


2 Choices
Salt or Pepper: Pepper
Hot or Cold: Hot


1 Place You Want to Visit
Portugal

Posted by Ike at 10:25 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Okay. Here I go again. More stuff about men and women. If I write a few more columns, I may become an expert on this. TV can be more satisfying than T&A because women think that most of our lives revolve around T&A (see Breast Men post). Granted, T&A is always nice to have around. READ THIS: T&A is always nice to have around. So, what I am saying -- in essence -- is that it (T&A) is always there. If you don't have Tivo or a beat-up old VCR, you could end up screwed out of your favorite TV show. Worse yet, what if you just plain out forget to tape or Tivo your favorite show (you women will accuse of being forgetful anyway because of everything including playing with T&A or ourselves). That's exactly why TV can end up more satisfying than than T&A. T&A is always there. Your tv program can disappear without notice. So, in the end, TV equals satisfaction guaranteed. After all, you can always get that T&A.

Posted by Ike at 10:13 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

If I were my dog, I'd never have to leave my house. Period. End of story. Those of you who have one will understand exactly what I am saying.

Posted by Ike at 10:50 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

My 11-year-old little nephew just had his first sex ed class. I was probably the same age when I learned about penises, vaginas, how babies are made and all that crap. The fact of the matter is I sat there and giggled with my friends because I already knew how babies were made. I already knew about vaginas. And, for that matter, I was probably already thinking ahead about how sordid my little life could become. Hell, as an only child, I had older cousins around me who would talk about sex all the time -- even at the dinner table. Sex was definitely not taboo in my family.

So, here is the one thing I think my sex ed teacher failed to mention. You girls will probably like this one, and you guys may think I am some freaky drug-driven turncoat. I think that sex ed teachers should have taught us how to be more up front about what we want from women in a relationship. No one ever taught me to tell Jane Doe that all I wanted to do was have sex with her -- and absolutely no commitment otherwise. And, the other way around (though lesser displayed), nobody ever told me that Jane Doe just wanted me for sex. Far be it for me to complain about the latter (in most cases).

All I am saying is this: If all I want to do is have sex with you, I should be honest about it. I shouldn't string you along. If sex is an integral part of my relationship with you, I should say so from the beginning. I shouldn't just go out with you and try to make the sex thing happen, or -- worse yet -- pump up the volume on the relationship when it does. Then, the "good" relationship that you want becomes the raunchy sexual relationship I want. You are mad. I am grouchy. I get dumped.

In the end, you be the judge. Maybe nice guys do finish last.

Posted by Ike at 10:45 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Okay. So here is the situation. I am downing about my third Knob and Coke when I clearly hear this guy next to me say, "I wish I could come back as my wife." His two friends start laughing and totally agree with him. I am alone, without a wife and I just want to butt in that I (would) agree. Not to offend any of you women folk out there, because it is 2006 and you do more than your part. Then, there are some other things these guys took lightly -- things which made you look, well -- vain, at best. The sky-high credit card purchases for shoes, handbags, makeup, etc. The lavish lunches with your girlfriends, charged to our credit cards. The weekly manicures, pedicures and coiffures. Counseling to deal with us (well, on second thought, maybe they didn't say that part). Now, this shtick was reaching a whole new level -- one that I wasn't sure I was comfortable with. It was locker room talk. It was modern day machismo. It was -- well, I don't know. But, still, I found myself sitting there cackling in my cocktail. These guys had me guffawing in my gut. This is starting to sound totally crazy to me. Yet, their silliness and stupidity (together) seemed to make a lot of sense.

Posted by Ike at 11:46 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

My mother has turned me from a boy into a man. During this long journey, I have reverted back again numerous times. Yet, this strong woman has helped me stay the course. A lot of people argue we don't get to choose our parents. No matter what, they choose us. To have my mother in my midst is the greatest blessing of my life. In my case, I couldn't have gotten luckier. When I was younger, she put the socks on my hands to make sure I didn't scratch myself when I had chicken pox. She attended all of my school plays and thensome. She went to work to help me out (I was an only child). She bought me every present I ever wanted (that I can remember). She opened her own boutique children's clothes store to show me how she could be a small business owner. She has accomplished so many things I am proud of that I would have to start another blog just to hit the tip of the iceberg.

Posted by Ike at 5:43 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

"I wish I was (or could come back as) my Wife." Can anyone explain this one? It's food for thought, and I'll come back tomorrow with my own personal take on this one.

Posted by Ike at 11:46 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Many of you have opined that my blog has been doom and gloom of late, so I am happy to entertain you today. (It just so happens today's blog came up as a result of a casual conversation, and it seemed perfect to break me out of my misery.)

I find myself in the grocery store's hot prepared food section. Notably, I am in front of the fried chicken. Now, I know this stuff is bad for me, but this particular store has meat I have to eat. The aroma is like a damn aphrodisiac -- and it's fried chicken we're talking about. Forget about the calories, my arteries and such. Forget about anything bad anyone ever told me about fried chicken. Forget about the fact that the word "fried" has become such a stigma in this country that even Kentucky "Fried" Chicken became simply KFC. You think that made people forget about what they were getting into? Hell no. So, anyway, I am addicted to this fried chicken. I like the thighs, love the drumsticks and can't stay away from the breasts.

So, here's where I get down to the brass tax of today's blog. A few "girl friends" have asked me if I am a "breast man" or not. Come on, guys (and girls). You know what I am talking about. A breast man, I think? As opposed to what? A nose man? An eye man? A hair man? A hand man? Okay, you got me. I admit. I used to be a breast man. Now, I like everything. Drumsticks, thighs, breasts -- all of it. But, in essence, I find the whole concept funny that we men are thought of as "breast men" -- a category in and of itself; a category where men prefer "boobs" to the rest of a woman's body. I laugh silently to myself when I think of how you women view us based on how we view you.

Look, if you want me to be a "breast man", and pay more attention to that area of your body, fine. But, if you want me to be the "best" man -- seriously, I should enjoy those thighs, drumsticks and the rest of you, too.

Posted by Ike at 4:14 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

I was born on a Friday. They say that I am loving and giving. We'll save that for another day. You may know the actual saying itself, according to Mother Goose:

Posted by Ike at 10:23 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Cancer sucks. It pisses me off. It has taken/affected cousins, aunts, uncles, mentors and friends from me. I am 32. For me, it's so hard to comprehend. So, now that my Dad's first cousin's husband is up against it, I find myself focusing on this crappy disease once again. It's amazing to me that we have found cures for so many other diseases, but we can't solve so many types of cancer.

Now, let me make a very personal interjection here. In 1976, my mother developed Hodgkin's Disease. Thankfully, specialists at Stanford helped to treat her and save her life. I never met them, but I am eternally grateful. So, why was she spared, and so many others have succumbed? My Uncle, an incredibly educated doctor, explained to me, "It's just bad luck."

Bad luck, huh? I guess you could say that. After all, our cousin's husband was cracking jokes with us two nights before he became sick. He was playful with us. He picked on the server (in good fun). He showed every sign of life. Just two days later, he became very sick. Just like that. No warning. No fun. Just a giant load of that "bad luck".

When there are Races for the Cure, or events for the American Cancer Society, or other events to help victims and survivors of cancer -- I strongly urge you to learn more about them and become involved. Truly, if we start to focus more of our energy on the cure, it may happen in my lifetime... and I may not have to see family members, mentors and friends die because of this awful disease.

Indeed, cancer sucks.

Posted by Ike at 6:34 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Today's post on cancer suffered technical difficulties, which is a nice way of saying my browser up and died on me at the last minute. Please come back tomorrow for the actual post.

Posted by Ike at 10:59 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Just give me my Kentucky Derby. This thing is a couple minutes of the most amazing sport ever. Now, granted, I am not a horse racing fan throughout the year. But, every year I am glued to the tube for this amazing race. It's a great rush, and today was no different. There are always a series of story lines that accompany this race.

Today, the winning horse, Barbaro, was trained by Michael Matz. Matz is an extraordinary hero because he saved children from the carnage of United Airlines Flight 232 that crashed into an Iowa cornfield in 1989. I remember seeing that fiery crash all over television at the time. Today, three of those children sat with Matz and Barbaro's owner to enjoy the great victory. That's what makes Matz extraordinary. He not only saved these kids, he never forgot them.

Barbaro, at 5-1 and undefeated, will probably head to the Preakness on May 20 as the favorite in its effort to be the first Triple Crown winner since Affirmed in 1978.

Posted by Ike at 6:38 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

I am the great procrastinator. I have made a commitment, of sorts, to blog every day. Today I am just running out of time. An English poet, Edward Young, wrote that procrastination "was the thief of time." I suppose this is true, simple as it may seem. For me, procrastination has always been about getting the job done with my back pinned up against the wall. For some people, it's the easiest way to accomplish things. You have to push that deadline. You have to let time run out. The sand in the hourglass has to trinkle down to the very end. It's 11:58 p.m. right now, and I only have a couple minutes to get this blog in on time. Can I do it? Will it be my best work? Yes and No. I will do it. It won't be my best work. Alas, procrastination is, has and always will be one of my greatest downfalls.

Posted by Ike at 11:54 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

If you are a music aficionado like me, you get screwed every once in a while. Here's what happens. You're minding your own business and some song just enters your head out of nowhere. You want to sing it aloud, but you know your voice sucks. If you're in your car, you don't want everyone looking at you, so you put your cellphone up to your mouth and sing into it as if it is some kind of new age microphone. Now, this isn't the worst part. The worst part is that the song isn't really anything you want swirling around in your head at the particular moment. Right now, I have "Forever in Blue Jeans" by Neil Diamond running around in my head. Neat song. Talented artist. But, how the hell did this song jump into my head? I don't even know all of the words. I have the chorus down pat, but the rest of the words are lost on me. Is there no justice in the world? And why Neil Diamond? Why can't it be Neil Young or Neil Sedaka for that matter? Ugggh. I have no explanation for this one. I may as well hop in my car, grab my cellphone and just keep singing. Eventually, like everything else, it will work itself out.

Posted by Ike at 4:05 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Yep. Your intrepid bloggist (or is it blogger?) has been blogging for about a month now. I am tired. We have covered a lot of ground, and you have been very good to me. So, I am asking for a day off to think about a lot of topics from adoption to the death penalty, idiot haiku to childish humor, reality tv, and some recent personal stories I have held out on. I leave you with this bit of wisdom before I go to sleep for the night (something I have been having trouble with).

"I am not influenced by the expectation of promotion or pecuniary reward. I wish to be useful, and every kind of service necessary for the public good, becomes honorable by being necessary." -- Captain Nathan Hale, 1776

Keep this in mind as I explore community service later in Strange Places Strange Faces.

Posted by Ike at 9:46 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

My parents have been married for 36 years. They have, by all perspective, a wonderful marriage. This makes me one of the most fortunate guys in the world, because they have set a very good (if not high) example for me about marriage and also about friendships. You see, in this life we have very few TRUE friends. We may have plenty of peripheral friends, but none of these are TRUE friends.

Case in point. I just went through a series of unhappy events in my life. I have plenty of friends. But, the events made my TRUE friends stand out from the peripheral friends in my life -- those people who are really just acquaintances or simple friends. My best friend of 28 years had my back the entire time. He was there for me, solid as a rock, and able to handle my burdens day in and day out. Another friend of 15 years was so amazing to me. She basically dropper her son, husband and family to hear me air out my dirty laundry every day. She is a Saint to me, and I owe her big time. Another friend of 15 years just simply called me to make certain I was okay. My family was all with me, all along (as they should be).

On the flip side, another friend of 28 years did not call. He did not return phone calls. He was basically void throughout my experience. Now I am supposed to be there for him and be happy for him throughout a pleasant life cycle event for him. Now, I will be there for him -- as a peripheral friend -- but not as the "true" friend he has known in the past, because we are simply past that. Another friend of 11 years was so involved in himself, and so caught up in his "own crap", that he forgot to check in with me too.

Folks, when the proverbial "shit hits the fan", you find out who your TRUE friends are. They are the people who call, write, care, take you out, lift you up, have your back. They are not the ones who listen to your problems, tell you how sorry they are, and drop back to that peripheral part of your life. In life, we only have a few true friends. Earlier, I told you my parents had been successfully married 36 years. They only have a few TRUE friends (couples) and then other peripheral friends.

Learn now how to distinguish between the two, and it will certainly make you stronger as time goes by.

Posted by Ike at 10:55 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Yeah. Sure. How many times have you heard this hypocritical crap? I even found myself proffering up this advice to a friend of mine today under the context of relationships. If you don't know me, there is one thing you should know. I am one hell of a relationship expert when it comes to "Do As I Say, and Not As I Do". Hell, I may be the king of this parlance.

When it comes to relationships, in particular, my advice is inimitable. I am the modern day Sue Johanson of my friends when it comes to relationships and sex. I am the modern day Dear Abby when it comes to relationships, marriage, children and the like. I am Miss Manners to people who are simply inept when it comes to that shit, and I am like Suze Orman or someone when it comes to financial advice.

So, how come I can't heed my own damn advice half the time? Am I that stupid? Am I a defeatist at every juncture? Do I really tune myself out that much? Let's see. My relationships have been solid for long periods of time, then they suffer cardiac arrest. Sex is just about the same (Okay, not really). I don't have children or a marriage or anything like that, so I am semi-objective and seemingly knowledgeable when it comes to my Dear Abby phase. ( I figure there's just nothing like seeking advice from someone who doesn't know shit). I never had to worry about Miss Manners because my parents sent me to that manners school when I was four years old, and gave me that ridiculous book "Stand Up, Shake Hands and Say How Do You Do?". So, that pretty much made me an expert in that category. Nonetheless, I am continuously plagued by "doing the wrong thing at the wrong time." I always hear, "I can't believe he did this" or "I can't believe he did that." And, my theory on money is, "have money, will spend." That's why I did so well on South Beach living paycheck to paycheck in my twenties.

So, now I figure that it is time -- as I approach the ripe old age of 33 -- and I have completed five plus years of serious ass-kicking therapy that I start to heed my own advice. And, those of you out there who find yourself in the same jam, should do the same thing. Indeed, now is the time for all of us to do as we say, and say what we do.

Posted by Ike at 5:58 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery