The American Cancer Society recently conducted a 14 year study on the health of over 123,000 people. The study found that people who sat more than 6 hours a day were more likely to die during the study (20% more likely for men, 40% for women), were at bigger risks for cardiovascular disease, obesity, type 2 diabetis, depression and a specific type of butt cancer.

While reading the article I thought “well no shit not exercising and sitting on my fat ass all day is bad for me” the study specifically showed that “sitting for extended periods of time does significant damage to human health that cannot be undone by exercising. Sitting for several hours each day is bad for you, like smoking is bad for you, regardless of whether you do healthful activities, too.” Having worked at a call center, this study doesn’t surprise me at all.

My last job was working at a call center for a cable company that everybody hates and will remain unnamed for the duration of this story. I have worn a lot of different no-college-degree-required office job hats in my adult life but this was the first time in a few years I had been in a call center. Twice during my training was I reprimanded for moving around. The first time I was yelled at by a lead for standing up and pacing a bit during a phone call. Her rationalization was that by standing up my voice would project over the cube walls and disrupt other employee’s work. Nothing makes you feel like you’re in a shitty job like being told you don’t get to stand up. I still hate her to this very day.

The second time I was reprimanded for scooting around in my office chair. This one really hurt because office chairs are meant to be scooted around. The only reason those chairs have wheels is because office work is soul crushing and scooting around in them provides the tiniest bit of pleasure and a scant illusion of freedom in a corporate drone’s soul. When I protested that “chair travelling”(their term) was my god given right and protected by the constitution, they explained that this was outlawed in the entire building. The reason this law went into effect is because last year alone, 4 people in the building injured themselves falling out of office chairs.

They didn’t dive head first into the chairs. They didn’t stand on a chair and attempt to backflip off the chair. They were just sitting on the chair, a mere 1.5 feet off the ground. They fell, a whopping one and a half feet to the hard, unforgiving office carpet and suffered injuries that required them to go to the hospital.

I’m no scientist and I can’t tell you if call center work creates the morbidly obese, tweety bird sweater wearing middle age lumps of middle age lethargy that fill it’s cubicles or merely attracts them but with this study one thing is certain. They’re an endangered species. If we’re not careful the North American Call Center Rep will go extinct and be completely replaced by the leaner, more agressive Indian Call Center rep with it’s keen survival instincts and ability to do yoga while programming a universal remote over the phone.

Jared lost a tooth yesterday (baby tooth.  He’s 10 and not a methhead).  Since Jen was sick she texted me while I was at an open mic that she was going to sleep and I was to play the role of the Tooth Fairy when I got home.  Now, the kid’s 10.  He knows there’s no Tooth Fairy.  He hasn’t said anything, most likely, out of fear that his only source of income will cease.  I’d love to tell him the truth and just say “Listen.  There’s no Tooth Fairy.  I’ll still give you a dollar for every tooth you lose because adults liquefy them and inject the liquid into our hearts to slow the aging process.” but he needs to initiate that conversation.

Unless, of course, he catches the Tooth Fairy scam in the act.

I’m not going to lie, this was my first Tooth Fairy gig.  I did my best to make this a covert operation but I may have been a little overconfident.  I’ve stated in the past that we live in an old house and that means creaky floors.  That’s okay, I just took it slow.  Once I found myself within arm’s reach of the pillow I pulled the dollar out and held it in my left hand and reached under the pillow with my right.

Looking back, I have no clue as to why I thought having the dollar at the ready was a good idea.  Was I going to pull some Indiana Jones switcheroo so he wouldn’t notice?

I searched around under the pillow but no tooth was found.  Did it get shuffled somewhere else on the bed?  Was it under the part of the pillow his head was on?  I slowly made my way to the end of the pillow when Jared snapped awake as if a fucking gun went off in the room.  His head swung left until his eyes met mine, a look of shock and horror on his face.

With my right hand under his pillow and my left hand holding up a dollar bill I looked him in the eyes and said “…I guess you’re old enough to learn there’s no such thing as the Tooth Fairy”.

He didn’t move.  His expression didn’t change.

“I mean… this is all a dream!  You’re sleeping!  Sleeeepiiiing.” I shoved the dollar under his pillow and ran out of the room.

All in all, I think I got this step parenting thing down.

My dad turns fifty…something today (pretty sure it’s 56) and he’s the best dad any kid could ask for.  Not only did he work hard to provide for his family and try to teach his kids the value of hard work and doing what was right (a little bit of that stuck, I’m sure), he was fun.  He went to great lengths to make sure that stuff like birthdays and holidays were special and memorable.   While he genuinely enjoyed doing all this for my siblings and I, he loved one thing above all else.

Pranking the ever loving shit out of us.

My favorite example goes back to 1990.  Nelson Mandela was just released from jail, the tabloids were all a buzz with the new romance between Paula Abdul and MC Skat Kat and Stephen King’s “It” was adapted as a miniseries on ABC.  My parents urged me to go upstairs.  It was too scary.  I wouldn’t like it.  I told them “goddamnit, I’m not fucking five anymore.  I’m eight motherfucking years old and I think I can handle a little network television horror”.  It was a long time ago but I’m pretty sure that’s what I said.

It was the scariest god damn thing I’ve ever seen in my life.  I screamed, cried and covered my eyes on all the gory parts.  I even left the room at some parts but like an idiot kid, kept poking my head back in because I had to see what was going to happen next.  I had nightmares for a week and didn’t walk near a sewer grate for two years.

I rented “It” from blockbuster as a teenager (came on a whopping three VHS tapes!) to confront my childhood fears and I couldn’t believe what a pussy I was.  The thing that haunted my nightmares was Tim Curry?

The only people this guy should scare are right wing closet cases.

Nevertheless, I had a hard time getting to sleep after the first night of watching “It”.  I did eventually fall asleep, though and when I woke up the first thing I saw was a clown.  It was the Happy’s Potato Chip mascot* cut out of the cardboard box and hanging from the ceiling from a piece of string right above my face.  Taped to it was a word balloon that said “They all float down here, Billy and so will you!”  I shrieked and immediately heard an all to familiar maniacal laughter come from the kitchen.

It’s still nothing compared to the time he scared my sister’s friends so bad at the Halloween party they wouldn’t stop crying for five minutes (I helped with that one).

So happy birthday, dad!  I love you and I swear that one day I will have my revenge.

[*note:  I searched the internet up and down for an image of the Happy’s Potato Chip Clown and could not find a single picture.  I even read blog posts where people were looking for the image and called the company up (they’re still alive and kicking in NE Minneapolis) and the company wouldn’t even talk about it.  The only rational conclusion is that the Happy Potato Chip Clown was evil and banished from this realm, never to return.]

Note: Sick as hell today so I’m reposting an old myspace blog story about how Justin Caesar and I almost saved Aerosmith.

Saturday night. Los Angeles.

The New Order Nation had made it’s move. The oppressive dictatorship had taken over the country and were quickly enforcing their policies on the people. On top of the list: No rocking.

Justin and I rushed down to club X with our machine guns after hearing that Aerosmith was playing a gig. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out NON would want them out of the picture. We get to the club and are swarmed by hundreds of identical NON agents in yellow jumpsuits and rollerblades. With inexplicably limitless ammunition and hundreds of CDs at our disposal, we fight our way into the club.

Aerosmith is on stage, rocking hard in spite of the fact that the club has literally turned into a warzone. We take out all the NON agents, fueled by the knowledge that Aerosmith is the key to winning this war for some reason but it’s too late. Aerosmith has been kidnapped.

With the information from a cleverly hidden tape in Steven Tyler’s dressing room, we travel the world from the jungles of Africa to the Middle East and finally, NON headquarters. This is where the fight really begins. There’s only one problem. Justin’s running low on CDs.

I lay down cover fire as Justin picks up CDs found in broken light fixtures, Orwellian posters featuring NON leader Mistress Helga displaying phrases like “SUBMIT” and “SHUT UP”, trash cans and conveniently placed crates. After killing literally thousands of identical foot soldiers we make our way up to the boardroom. A lone figure that fucking looks exactly like every single goddamn character we’ve come across so far sits behind a desk, waiting. If only by reflex we shoot him down and his desk converts into a giant robot with machine guns and rocket launchers for arms. I fall after about 10 rockets to the face. Like Obi-Wan Kenobi, the disembodied voice of Steven Tyler shrieks “Don’t give up!”.

Knowing that Justin isn’t far behind. I race to the change dispenser and deposit my only 10 dollar bill. Quarters in hand, I run back to the game but it’s too late. The screen only reads “Enter Your Initials”. It’s over. They’ve won. Kiss loud music, video games, Coca-Cola and everything associated with youthful fun goodbye.

My wife and I live in an older house (built around 1910 or something). Living in an older house has it’s ups and downs. One of the downs, we’ve learned over the last several months, is that older houses have lots of tiny holes for little critters to slip through with ease. We first discovered a mouse, which led to sealing up all of the bigger holes with a mix of caulking compound and steel wool. Not a big deal and haven’t seen a mouse since. Then there were ants. Which led to a thorough scrubbing of floors and a can of raid. There’s been a couple of ants since then but nothing major. The latest unwelcome guest, however…

centipede!

I fucking hate centipedes.  They look evil, they’re fast and poisonous. They eat earthworms. They molest kids. I don’t have any evidence to support that last one but I’m pretty sure it’s true.

Why couldn’t we be infested with caterpillars? Caterpillars only care about two things. Eating leaves and turning into butterflies.

Now I shouldn’t say we’re infested with them. My wife just found one last night and sprayed it with enough Raid to kill a horse. Before that we saw one a few weeks ago. I think it was smoking crack and posting messages on tea party forums.

Centipedes are racist and drink milk right out of the carton.

I fucking hate centipedes.

Rep Anthony Weiner finally decided to resign from his post in Congress today. It was the right thing to do. Being pervy is bad enough but lying about it makes you untrustworthy. Most jobs wouldn’t urge you to quit if you were sexting a porn star (sorry, “featured dancer”) but when you’re in the position to help shape the direction of this country, it’s only fair that you’re held to a higher standard. It’s a shame because he was one hell of a politician. [youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTlhFr1KYSU&w=560&h=349].

So what else is in the news this week?

Oh fuck Michele Bachmann is running for fucking president? Why can’t she leave people alone? If only there was a legitimate reason for her to resign…

I now know what I must do. I must seduce Michele Bachmann.

It won’t be easy. I’ll have to bump into her “by chance” hanging out at a city where she mistakenly thought a revolutionary war battle happened. Perhaps our hands will touch behind the bushes as we stake out a gay rights march. She’ll catch a whiff of my cologne and ask what that intoxicating scent is. “Eau de O’Reilly” I’ll respond. I’ll get close to her as deviants all around us try to destroy marriage and whisper into her ear that I’ve always thought if the founding fathers hated taxation without representation, what would they think of representation with taxation?

We’ll see each other again, at the Arizona/Mexico border, a klan rally, whatever. We’ll start emailing back and forth about secret muslims when she’ll ask if I want to see a picture of what the founding fathers fought for.

Nah, that’d never work. She’d probably find a way to blame flourescent light bulbs on the whole deal.

There’s a facebook protest a brewing for the annual Basillica of St. Mary’s Block Party in Minneapolis.  Stated in the “event” –

This was created to take a stand and let organizations, businesses and other groups know that it is NOT OK to support those that do not support equality and want to change the MN State Constitution to ban gay marriage. To make a real change, we need to start taking action now. Do not wait until you vote in 2012.

The Minnesota Catholic Church has made it their number 1 priority to define marriage in the State Constitution between one man and one woman, in tern, banning gay marriage. 

The Catholic Church has already spent millions of dollars in the production of Anti-Gay DVDs and lobbying the State Legislature to add this hateful amendment to the Minnesota Constitution. 

Please do not attend the Basilica Block Party this year. Please do not contribute money to a Catholic Church fundraiser while they are spending millions of dollars to write discrimination into the MN constitution. 

I also encourage you to contact the bands and stage sponsors. This is the time to get peoples attention, sponsors and businesses attention.

Cities 97 is the main co-sponsor of the event, contact them as well.

Thank You Paul Harding for the research*

(*research= going to the Block Party’s website)

The BBP has been going on for 15 years and slacktavists are now just realizing that the Catholic Church doesn’t cotton well to homosexuality. The church, in my opinion, is wrong but when have they been right about anything? That’s beside the point.

None of the money is going into homosexual reeducation camps, lobby money to outlaw rusty trombones or research to create a fully functioning Gaydar. All of the proceeds either go renovations of the church building or to the St. Vincent de Paul program, a charity that provides food and shelter to nearly 3,500 people a month.

Don’t protest Basillica Block Party because of it’s association with the Catholic Church. If you really want to make a statement, write a letter to the Archdiocese. Better yet, write your congressman.

Besides, there’s plenty of legitimate reasons to not go. It’s overpriced, parking is a nightmare and there’s only three bands worth seeing and you can probably catch them at First Ave. in a month for $15.
Whatever you do, facebook protests aren’t going to kill the Basillica Block Party. That’s Rock the Garden’s job.

I don’t need to tell any of you dear readers that my autobiography, The Falcon’s Call has sold over 10 million copies and been translated to 6 different languages. I had previously leaked excerpts on my MySpace blog before it was released and thought it would be nice to give a sneak preview to the unabridged version that will go to press with 300 new pages and a forward by Kurt Vonnegut’s ghost. Here’s some of chapter 6.

He woke me up by slapping me across the face. I tried to get up but noticed that I was tied to a chair. My grunts echoed off the damp, stone walls as I struggled to break free but my muscles were stiff and sore, my head swimming. I struggled to speak just to see if I could. “The bullet train…”

“The train and all of it’s passengers are safe thanks to you, Señor Young.  You seem to have a…knack for getting out of tough situations.”  Even with my vision blurred, I could tell that El Toro was looming over me, tapping the air bubbles out of a syringe.  “You get out of all these scrapes and save all these people, Señor Young, but you can’t save one poor, simple, Guadalajaran priest!”  He jammed the needle into my chest and pushed down on the plunger.  I bit down on my lip, not giving the bastard satisfaction of hearing me scream.

“What did you-”

“Adrenaline, Señor Young.  You lost a bit of blood and as much as I would love to see you slowly die in that chair, I have use for you.  I patched you up the best I can but I am used to drawing blood, not stopping it.”

I was definitely more alert now.  Alert enough to realize we were no longer in Morioka.  The air was thick with humidity.  I raced to think of how to escape when I notice he didn’t bother to take my cufflinks.  I carefully unhooked one and began to unscrew the disc from the bolt, making conversation to buy me time.  “We’re in the Phillipines.”

“Excellent deduction.   Just outside of Surakarta.”

“Mayor Jokowi wouldn’t like knowing you have me prisoner.”

“The law is not likely to find us out here.  It’s just you, me and Congressman Stone.”  El Toro turned on the light to reveal an unconscious Stone tied up to a chair in the corner of the room.   He slapped him in the face to wake him up and grabbed another syringe from the table.  I could feel the rope starting to give as I slowly sawed through it.  I needed to keep him talking.  “Going to give him some adrenaline, too?”

“Oh, no.  Our esteemed guest here only gets the finest Sodium Pentothal.”  He jammed the needle in the congressman’s neck.  “The congressman will tell us where the Amulet is and you will take me right to it with all your fancy false identities,  passports and security clearances.”

Stone started to show that the truth serum was taking effect.  El Toro would most likely kill him once he got the answers he wanted and as much as Stone deserved to die, he had to stand trial for what he’s done.  Having finally cut through the rope, I ignored the pain in my legs as I dashed to the table and grabbed a syringe.  “That amulet belongs in a museum and you belong in jail.  Let’s dance.”  I lunged at El Toro with all my might.

San Fransico…nians get to vote November on a bill to outlaw circumcision of anybody under the age of 18 in the city. The supporters who, seriously call themselves “intactavists”, say that it’s a form of genital mutilation that’s unnecessary, painful and even dangerous. Although many say it’s protected by the First Amendment, the intactavists (they actually call themselves that) say that religious practices aren’t protected if they’re too barbaric. Case in point –

KALI MAA!

As if turning a gag from the first episode of Arrested Development wasn’t ridiculous enough, intactavist and Jim Lee Art School of Huge Tits and Muscles graduate Mathew Hess created the superhero comic book Foreskin Man!

"Is that emblem on his chest a -" Yes. Yes it is.

Here’s the actual, not made up plot for Foreskin Man.

Miles Hastwick is the curator for the Museum of Genital Integrity in San Diego. When he’s not literally showing patrons exhibits such as a wax figure of a baby looking terrified as a doctor looms over him with a bloody scalpel, he flies around as Foreskin Man, protecting baby dicks from the evils of such villians as Dr. Mutilator and Monster Mohel.

Yes, Monster Mohel.

I first found Foreskin man after issue two prompted Gawker to point out its blatent anti-semitism. Hess stated that they’re “not trying to be anti-Semitic. We’re trying to be pro-human rights.”. You can go to foreskinman.com and read issue two for yourself or I can just describe it for you (Warning! Spoilers ahead!).

Miles Hastwick (aka Foreskin Man) goes on a date with a woman to her nephew’s bris. The mother decided to not have the baby circumcised but the father has different plans. Everybody’s having a good time when suddenly a 1920s political cartoon bursts through the door. At either side is a henchman sporting a yarmulke, ringlets and automatic weapons (I’m not jewish but I guess machine guns are a tradition thing?). Miles puts on his Foreskin Man outfit and beats the shit out of them. As he has Monster Mohel in a headlock, he blurts out “You th-think you’ve won, Foreskin Man? Jethro (the father) wants Glick (the unfortunately named baby) circumcised. I’ll just keep coming back until his foreskin is m-mine!” Foreskin Man realizes the Mohel who is also a monster is right so he kidnaps the baby and gives him to some hippies on the beach. They have a bonfire made out of stuff they stole from a hospital.

All in a day’s work for Foreskin Man!