Big Hair + Big Beard = Big Style

13 08 2013
bearded one-page-0

Meet Hank. His hair is massive, and he’s got style for days.

Did you know that big man hair is back? I mean really big. “What died on your head?” big. I saw on the Tony awards that big man hair is really big in New York, so it’s only a matter of time now before the rest of the country is inundated with beard/hair combos that could hide whole families of lost squirrels, etc. We at badapple salute big-haired guys like our own trailblazer Hank. Who cares if they call you the Unabomber, honey? I certainly don’t!

You know, not every man can get away with this much hair in his life, but those who do are the envy of us all.





Checking In on 2013: The Year I Take No Crap

7 07 2013

So with the year half over and all, I thought I’d check in on how the No Crap in 2013 Challenge is coming along. I had promised to kick the crap out of the crap this year, back in the delirium of late December when I succumbed to that annual mass hallucination known as the New Year’s resolution. Read the rest of this entry »





2013: The Year I Take No Crap

31 12 2012

I asked myself what I really wanted for myself in twenty thirteen, and I decided that best gift of all would be if this is the year I finally take no more crap. From anybody.

I don’t know about you, but I took a lot of crap in 2012.  2013 really should be easy sailing because I’ve simply had enough crap to last.

Unfortunately, I’m aware I”m having one of those new year’s time hallucinations where I’m convinced momentarily that I can create and control change in my life.  I know full well the crap isn’t over.  The crap just keeps coming.  The crap never ends.  In real life, a “tough patch” isn’t always followed by a blessed reprieve.  In this world, the crap storm is followed by the crap fire and the crap flood.

So let’s drink to the crap!  The crap that doesn’t kill us is the crap that makes us stronger.  I plan to kick the crap out of the crap this year.

I see now that the crap is already on its way over to me across the crowded ballroom that will soon be 2013, but I’m not taking any crap, Crap.  I mean it!

How about you?  Will you join me in the No Crap in 2013 Challenge?  Just say no to the crap!





The doctor said I am a very emotional person, honey

18 12 2012

The doctor said I am a very emotional person.

Understand, she was testing my tender arm nerves with little electric shocks on Frankensteinian equipment.  It seemed perfectly reasonable to me to be sweating in spite of that anti-anxiety pill.

No, she said, people even sleep through the tests.  Really?  It felt like she was sending telegraphs from my funny bone to each of my fingers and all the little towns in between.  I’d rather be pricked by pins any day than to have her play on my nerves again like they were bio-electric guitar strings.  I’m not some robot motherboard ready for a bionic re-wire.  Determined, I finished the tests and dragged my singed nerves home.

Whatever I learned about my arms that day, and they turned out to be in better shape than expected, what I learned about myself is this: According to the doctor, and she should know because she zaps people’s nerves all the time, I am an exceptionally emotional person.  Oh my god!  That explains so much!

All this time, I’ve wondered why me?  Why I have to be me, that is, and such a bad apple?  Why, for example, why do multiple question marks at the end of sentences leave me a twitching mess?   That kind of thing.

I’ve always figured it was because I’m a redheaded freak, which is disorienting enough.  After all, for me irate IS normal.   But now I learn, well into midlife dear reader, that all along these espresso-strength emotions I assumed everyone had are really actually concentrated inside of me in a need-to-add-water proportion.

Sure, I had my suspicions, but it’s official now, the doctor said.  I am a very emotional person.   Do you hear that, Hank?





I’m almost ready for my Holiday coma

17 12 2012

There’s a lot to do to prepare for the holidays, especially if you plan to take a big nap and wake up January 2nd.  I’m looking forward to the “rest.”  I always look forward to a little time off, completely checked out of consciousness for just a little while.  I used to come back from the holiday furlough strained and anxious from all that magnificently-unfulfilled expectation and Christmas music.  But now I come back rested and free of holiday pain, and without my liver being singed with all that self medication.

Yes, I’m almost ready for my temporary voluntary holiday coma.  How about you?

 

Read more about Holiday comas at Comatose for the Holidays





Thank God for Blame

13 12 2012

As the nights get darker and colder and everyone’s brain begins to shut down and go into holiday mode, I find myself turning inward, not unlike a toe nail.  Something about the “season of lights” makes me feel so spiritual, for me anyway.  And I start to counting up my blessings.

I want to thank God for the entire idea and concept of blame.  No matter how effed up things are, no matter what goes wrong, everything is always just a little bit better if you can blame someone, anyone else.

I don’t know about you, but there are few comforts in life as satisfying as when you can blame something bad happening on another person, entity or thing.  Blame provides me so much relief, in fact, that I usually find myself trying to locate external blame for things where clearly none exists.  Fortunately, I’m extremely talented at locating blame, even in the most desperate of situations where it really seems I am the one at fault.

Years of nearly taking the blame have prepared me for finding external blame under the most challenging of conditions.  Sometimes I’m forced, though, to still blame my parents, and that gets more difficult with the passing decades.  (Enjoy this while you’re young, kiddos.)

Blame has been a good friend to me, and though I often stretch credulity even in my own mind to find a good source of blame, understand I truly respect it.  Being able to blame someone like Hank, my boss, my cats, my neighbors — these are things that make my life livable for me.

So in the spirit of the holidays, best blame-worthy wishes to you.  In your darkest hours, may you always find someone else or something to blame.





Punctuation Abuse Is a Serious Crime!

12 04 2012

Let me ask you this:  How many question marks does it take to ask a question?  I know it seems obvious, but some people don’t seem to know.  So here’s the answer:  It takes ONE question mark to write a question, at least in English.  So why are some people addicted to no fewer than three question marks per sentence?

Rare enough in published language, this excessive punctuation is all too frequently received in communiques directed only at me.  Each time, this crowd of wondering sentence-enders pummels me like a shotgun of inquisition when it appears in my personal incoming notes, letters, and emails,  which it too often does. Did you get my email???  Did you do what I asked???  Where’s the document???

Every extra squiggle is like a little mental whip beating my naked vulnerable grey matter into a bloody submission.   Worst of all, these writers are not particularly desperate for an answer.  They do this to nearly all their sentences, blithely churning out interrogation point after interrogation point after interrogation point, as if each added one were not the printed equivalent of a Malatov cocktail.

Somewhere, a poor punctuation bank sits empty because people keep adding another and another and another mark to otherwise perfectly good one-question mark questions.  Meanwhile, these superfluous scrawls send me to the end of my sanity when I receive them.  Why?  Why? Why three?  One is enough.  Two is over the top. Three is ruinous.  Four and you oughta be arrested.

The problem here is a lack of repercussions.  People are abusing punctuation with impunity.  There is no punctuation prison, or even punctuation stockades.  Punctuation abuse is a serious offense, but I’m guessing that it’s nothing a little good old-fashioned humiliation wouldn ‘t cure.