My affinity for cheese and disdain for early holiday propagandizing

There's just no simple way around it. I love cheese. And it's not something I see changing any time soon. And it is a very curious thing when people don't like cheese. Yeah, I didn't think it could happen either. But they're out there, watching you, judging you with that queso contempt. Is it a jealousy thing? Like, "O, I wish I liked cheese."

And I remain perplexed.

I like all kinds of cheese. Cheddar, mozzarella, asiago, pecorino romano, cotija, bleu cheese (crumbles and dressing), cheddar, jack, pepperjack. I like cheese dip, cheese sauce. You know those chocolate fountains? I want one of those with melted cheese. Nachos 24/7!?!?! Are you kidding me? I would be the happiest man alive. And there would be no reason for a soul mate. All I would need would be a blow-up doll...made entirely out of goat cheese.

But to temper happy thoughts of all things cheese, I realized that the holidays are upon us. And every year you hear some people bless the season and some people openly hate it. There's no right answer and no right opinion, but I can tell you this time of year drives me nuckin futs. And I always blamed it on my family. However, recent research has shed light on an interesting approach. The week of Halloween I walked into a store and found an ever-growing Christmas section in the rear of the store. And as I walked by, it hit me.

It was the aroma of "winter" scented things. You know the smell that when you smell it you think, "Ah, Christmas." But there it was, October 22. And already that smell was around. I think the reason people hate the holidays is because we are for so long exposed to all that drives the season. Over two months of candles and Christmas trees and stockings and Santas and fucking elves and yule logs and bright, cheery signs EVERYWHERE and after the first month, you become numb to it. But then it seeps its evil and cheery spirit into the masses. News reporters report about it, people make a full-time job out of shopping for other people, phoney-baloneys plaster smiles on and sing carols so highly-pitched you'd think they never crossed the puberty threshold. And that pisses me off. Walking down the street, have some stranger pop out of nowhere, "Merry Christmas!"

I just feel like screaming, "Fuck you, cheery man. This isn't a jack-in-the-box, you can't just pop out of nowhere and start spooking people, you creepy bastard." My point: two months is too much time to be exposed to this crap. It's just too much. By the time Christmas or Kwanza or Hanukkah or Festivus come around, no sane person wants to smell another scented pine cone or see another stocking or be heckled by little elves at the mall. All I want is a Big Gulp-sized cup filled with peppermint schnaaps and hot chocolate.

In short: cheese makes me happy. Two months of faux-happiness doesn't. Just buy me some cheese.

Walmart: The Wedding Warehouse Wonderworld

I feel robbed. My bank, WaMu was bought and resold last week, all without my knowing. There was all this talk about people's money being insured up to $100,000. I have two problems with this. First, I don't even have $1,000 in my account, let alone 100 times that. Second, If you have more than $100,000 sitting in a bank account somewhere, chances are you are wise enough to move your money into other accounts to avoid losing that excess.

But the economy's in a bad state. We all know it. We've seen, heard, felt, and heard and seen more about it every...single...day. But I didn't think it was this bad.

How bad?

Pretty peacocking bad. With people having less money to spend, low-price superhouses like Walmart are seeing some of their greatest growth in 10 years. Damned be the free competitive market this country used to be praised for. Will Walmart's balloon ever pop? I don't know. But I do know there is a stereotypical Walmart customer, and that the stereotype is there for a reason. This is no secret ---->

Needless to say, last week I heard disturbing news.

I was driving down the road listening to the soft rock radio station the other day when a female caller told Delilah how glad she was to be married at Walmart.

I almost crashed into a tree.

Apparently I'm the last to know of this phenomenon. Delilah seemed pretty savvy to the situation, so I did some research and came up with a Spoonful of Pathetic.

Last year seven couples tied the knot at their local Walmart Supercenters. WTF?

I'm not a woman, nor have I dreamt of my wedding since I was a bucktoothed child. But isn't there a certain novelty that might be associated with the institution of marriage? Just because a retail powerhouse is "like your second home," like one Walmart bride said, doesn't mean that should be the place to commit your life to another, does it? I mean, did they even close the store, or were there hundreds of partially nude maniacal children flailing about during the recitation of the vows? Was the sign, "No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem" posted conspicuously, so the average Joe with a shopping cart filled with car tires, a pound of ground beef and a box of condoms can stop by, wearing nothing but tie-dyed elasti-pants and a straw hat and cheer his friendly shoppers on?

I thought one day I would get married. Then I saw this. There's no hope. I think I'm gonna go cry.

Short Temper; that's my thing

Before I begin, I want to thank The Mrs and Out of Focus for the superb driving/bird-flipping/maniacal ways of getting from point A to whatever comes next.

I like to think of myself as a generally calm and collected guy. But let's be real. I am not a saunterer. When I walk, I walk with a purpose. I am not one who will throw my arms to gain momentum like speed skaters, but if you are out for an afternoon stroll, GTFO. I have somewhere I need to be and I don't want to deal with your pathetic meandering. The only time you should be walking that leisurely is if you physically don't have the capacity to move that fast. In such a case, drop the crutches and get a motorized wheelchair.

Driving is very much the same. If you fail to proceed through a controversial yellow light, expect a few honks. If I am behind you at a stoplight and see you on your phone while the light turns green and you just sit there, expect a long angry honk meddled with a beautifully formed middle, left hand finger and a blatant strand of [often unintelligible] profanities.

Where does this all stem from? Well I was driving to work today and decided to stop at the post office to buy a stamp and mail a letter. Even though the yield sign was for people opposite my lane, the jackass on his phone in front of me sat there, yielding and WAVING people through for the other lane! So I see this and start honking. As he looks in his rear view mirror I see his cell phone tucked between his chin and shoulder, and he throws his arms up like, "what the hell" style. I smile, roll down my window and yell, "You have the right-of-way, dumbass!" I take my middle finger, which was firmly vertically erected at that point, and use it to point at the backside of the yield sign.

So we pull in, and of course the only two spots open are right next to each other. I get out of my car. He's still on the phone. He looks at me and I reciprocate with a stare so dumbfounding, so demeaning, so outwardly disappointed that I think I saw a tear slide down his cheek just before he turned to look away.

I left. Already pumped up from the morning's activities, I decide to go to Satan's Crotch (AKA Wal Mart ). Trying to hold my breath to ward off the pungent aroma of stale french fries and week-old body odor, I give the token 84-year-old Welcome Man a tear-eyed smile and fought to clear the stench. For the record, I'm convinced that the only thing missing in the entrances of Wal Marts is a baby diaper changing station. That is THE missing link to make people jump from thinking-about-vomiting to all-out yak-factory. But anyhoo, I am a pen fanatic. Very weird about my pens. Almost like each one has its own personality...more on that at some other time. So I try to get to the pen aisle, as Wal Mart is the only place in town that carries a certain refill. Low and behold, families - some numbering in the dozens - in wheelchairs and cutoff tee shirts alike blanket the aisles. There is no getting around masses like these. So I tried to weave in and out of the children's clothing racks, ducking left and dodging right, and just when I see the opening to the aisle, squuuish. I look down to find my foot taken prisoner by a mutilated cheeseburger smothered in ketchup. [Profanity]!!!

Finally I make it to the pen aisle. Its not there. My f#@*%ng refill isn't there. All that boot camp bull crap for an anticlimax. Stupid cheeseburger.

Anyway, I made it to work and continued to hate life. The end.

A List of My Dislikes: Part 1

in no particular order...

1. Wal Mart. Let me explain; I don't necessarily dislike saving money. I like money. I want to have more. But I hate the fact that in my town, at 10:30 on Saturday night, Wal Mart is the liveliest place around. All of the bars and clubs combined couldn't hold a candle to the chaos that is late-night Wal Mart. Also, I loathe the scent upon arrival. They always place a stupid little McDonald's right in the very front of the store. That way, after the unnecessarily friendly shopping cart man breathes all over you and says all-too-joyously, Welcome to Wal Mart, one is immediately bombarded with the putrid stench of the culinary abortions more commonly referred to as 'french fries'. The stale aroma of plastic meat and day-old pickles is enough to dissuade one from considering fast food a better choice than good old-fashioned regurgitation.

2. Jamiroquai. That guy straight sucks. I wish there was a more elegant or elaborate explanation, but no such thing exists. He doesn't make music. His voice turns the healthy, sick; nuns to witches.

3. Global warming. Let me paint a picture. You have a girlfriend. She is loving, sweet, smart and all things attractive to you. One day you are walking in, let's say, the mall. Suddenly you see a girl you went to high school with and proceed with the courtesy five-minute catch-up, then leave. One of your girlfriend's friends happens to witness you talking to, OMG, another girl! So she tells your girlfriend that you are cheating with some mall skank, and your girlfriend blows it completely out of proportion, and never trusts you again. That's how I feel about Global Warming. Kids are doing poorly in school? Must be global warming. We go to war with Osama? Hell, blame that on global warming. The tomatoes in your garden are either bigger and jucier or smaller and fewer than ever before? You can attribute either to global warming. If you have trouble becoming completely or even partially aroused, I'm sure some quack scientist somewhere will show a correlation between melting ice caps and impotence. The thing is, politicians are always looking for a scapegoat. For a while it was 9/11. That shit got people riled. Patriotism had never been higher. Guys would go home on their lunch breaks and masturbate to the concept of liberty, focusing of course on the physical manifestation. But that all started to wear away. The politicians needed something new, something fresh. Enter: Global warming. Here's my thoughts: global warming; schmobile snoring.

4. Text or instant messaging shortcuts including, but certainly not limited to: lol, rotfl, l8r, ur, u r, c u l8r and most importantly, OMG. It is bad when i see these things on a screen, but when I hear people use them in their vocabulary, I become infused with such an insatiable rage I could do something..very, very bad, maybe even to a very, very good person.