Useless decorations

Cultures are distinguished by their living quarters. Many of those native to the North American continent made tepees and wrapped them thick with animal skins. The skins kept their house insulated from the cold. The early settlers of the Southwest caked mud on the inside of their walls. When dried, it protected the house from the blistering heat.

I worry that the current condition of our living quarters may throw some future anthropologist off. A few modern household decorations, in my opinion, are completely non-functional:

Lots of pillows on the bed. I don't know why, but for some reason my wife thinks our bed looks better when it's overflowing with pillows. If it wasn't for the purple and green pillow-covers, the bed would stand for a cumulus cloud.

The annoying thing is, you have to take them all off when you want to sleep in the thing. But that's the easy part--you can just chuck 'em on the floor. What sucks is placing them back all pack on in the morning in their appropriate order. My wife is trying to figure out a way to number them because I can't ever place them right; all I know is the cylindrical one goes last.

Along the same lines, our bed features a folded blanket at the foot of the bed. A "runner," I believe it's called. According to my wife's rules, it can't be used as a blanket. It's just placed after the bed is made.

So if our house were to sit as is and was unearthed later on, the discovering anthropologist would have to conclude we slept with our necks propped up at 90 degrees and our feet were always freezing. They would also assume our bodies were only about three feet long, since the pillows take up the other three feet of length.

The barn star hung on the house. You don't have to drive around suburbia long before finding a large and rusty star nailed to the front of someone's house. For those out of the loop, it may seem that someone just forgot to take down a 4th of July decoration. Not so, some people think it's a great way to add a rustic accent to their home. People who hang these usually have a kitchen themed after some type of farm animal (e.g., cows, pigs, roosters).

Future anthropologist will quickly realize the barn star served no structural purpose, and therefore conclude it was a religious symbol. They would figure inhabitants worshiped it as they came and went.

Fake fruit. Utilized as a decoration over real fruit because it doesn't draw fruit flies, fake fruit is found in many homes today; a bowl of rubber grapes on the end tables in the living room, a pile of plastic pears on the table in the dining room. No doubt, fake fruit has gotten amazingly realistic over the years. The real thing is mimicked down to the wood-grains in the stems, to the dimples in the peels.

This decoration will really throw anthropologist a curve ball. After much deliberation, you'd have to imagine they'd think the homes with fake fruit were homes of the peasants. They couldn't afford food, but they didn't want visitors to think their cupboards weren't stocked. So they'd form fake fruit and set it out all around the house.

Whatever the case, as a man I'd hope future anthropologist would realize we didn't adorn our homes with non-functional decor because we were a regressing society. We did it because we realized the best way to progress as a culture was by keeping the wife happy.

Photo 1: http://www.fdlhome.com/index.asp?PageAction=COMPANY
Photo 2: http://www.picanswers.com/questions/530-barn-stars-made-in-the-united-states-
Photo 3: http://www.seefred.com/cgi-bin/shop.pl/page=newfruit.htm

New Sport: Competitive Blood Donating

I'm a card-carrying blood donor. I don't donate as often as I should, but I usually do it at least once a year.

I got a donor card from the Red Cross on my first time. It says "A Positive" underneath my name. Whenever my wife tells me I'm being too negative, I pull out my donor card and correct her. "No, I'm a positive." That's about all I've been able to use my card for so far.

I had the opportunity to donate a couple weeks ago. As I'm sure you're aware, I started out by going through the rigorous screening process. I had to answer questions like...

"Have you ever made love to a cow from the UK?"
"Have you ever spent more than five days in Little Rock, AR?"
"Do you eat at Arby's more than twice a week?"
"Do you swim in public pools?"

I guess I cleared the screening, because I was sent over to sit in one of the reclining donor chairs. The nurse that was going to tend to me was just getting another guy started. He seemed rather confident, as the nurse prepped him for the needle. She worked mechanically, and it was easy to tell she was nearing the end of her shift

"This will be 6 gallons," he said proudly, and then waited for the nurse to give a compliment. It never came. "If you want to look away, now's the time," she said. "I don't," he said with a smirk, and he stared at the inside of his elbow as she inserted the needle.

He must have thought he could win a date with her if he came across as the bravest patient she's ever had, or something. Once she hooked him up he clenched his teeth, furrowed his brow, and started pumping away like he was in a competition.

The nurse walked over to me, went through my paperwork, and then started to clean my arm. "You're going to want to come over here, I'm almost done," the cocky guy shouted triumphantly. It looked like he'd broken a sweat. "Yes, you're about done," said the nurse. She then unhooked the blood bag. "What's my time?" he asked. Without emotion, she said, "4 minutes and 39 seconds." The guy's eyes lit up and he shouted "yes!"

I didn't realize they'd be timing me. I wondered if it actually was a competition. She walked back to me and again started cleaning my arm, then asked me if I was allergic to iodine. "No, I don't think so. What's it used for, anyway?" "It kills all the icky little germs."

I sure was glad she threw "icky" in there, because I wouldn't have understood germs were bad if she didn't. Apparently I look like an idiot when I'm about to give blood.

She placed a mini foam football, enveloped in a paper towel, into my hand. Then she inserted the needle and told me to pump away.

I was concentrating on two things; 1) trying to beat 4:39, and 2) trying to pump the foam football in my hand without having my hand come into contact with it. I figured the nurse must have placed it in a paper towel for a good reason; I believed the person before me had boogers on their fingers.

I finished, and the nurse unhooked everything. "6 minutes and 42 seconds," she said. I had thought everyone that donated blood was a winner, but at the moment I didn't feel like one. The donkey next to me had beat me by two minutes.

I sat in shame as I consumed my trail mix at the recovery station. However, as I moved on to my apple juice a thought came. I realized it was time for me to live up to my blood type, and be "a positive" person. I had just given life. I was a donor of a vital body fluid. And I'm sure the receiver didn't care if it took over 6 minutes.

Phot0: http://ia.utep.edu/Default.aspx?tabid=31047

Upset with any election results? Try out no-man's land.

The results of this past election seemed to have ticked off a lot of people. Now some people in the US are going to get taxed more. Now some people in California can't get married. Now some people in Michigan can smoke pot if they're sick. The list is longer, but in sum, a lot of things did or did not pass and now a lot of people are in an uproar.

I'm not president elect, but if I was, I'd have a solution. Our country needs a no-man's land, a safe zone between the trenches. It needs a place where people can be ruled according to what they believe should be the law.

First off, this no-man's land would require some land. I checked out a map of the US, and there appears to be a good chunk of unused land in northeastern Alaska. The map I looked at labels it "ANWR." I'm sure it's up for grabs. There's also a healthy piece of waste-land real estate in the middle of Nevada.

Let's go with Nevada--they're already flexible in their tax, casino, and prostitution laws. A large no-man's land in the middle of their state shouldn't phase 'em. So Nevada would be shaped like a doughnut, with its doughnut hole being the new no-man's land.

In the doughnut hole anything would fly. It would be the place for people to go who are ticked at what and who the majority of the people in their home town, state, or country passed and elected. It's citizens would each be governed by the laws and lawmakers they prefer.

In the no-man's land you'd have hundreds of thousands of little townships, and such townships would often consist of just one household. You could go over to your neighbors, who are from Nebraska, and they may be waiting for someone to sit in their electric chair.

There would be no mayor, governor, or president of no-man's land, because of course, everyone in the place has their own. In one household/township they'll call John McCain their president. In another they'll call Ralph Nader their president. Nader would of course stop by the Johnson's house in no-man's land every January to give the State of the Union Adress:

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to get much through congress so far, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson (lots of clapping). It's just that (lots of clapping), uh, they don't regard me in the same manner as you do (lots of clapping). Anyway, the state of our Union is, um, well how are you guys doing?"

"We're doing just fine, thank you."

"OK then, I'd say the state of the Union is, um, fine (lots and lots of clapping). God bless, and good night (lots of clapping)."

Don't think no-man's land would just be full of a bunch of no names. I'm sure Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, who will only get married when gays are allowed to, would be citizens. Yes, I believe no-man's land would be the site of the biggest Hollywood wedding ever.

Actually, as president elect I would be informed by my advisers that Area 51 is in the middle of Nevada. That would be a problem, because a number of "townships" I'm sure would make it legal to marry the aliens. Plus, I'm sure a lot of the Green Party folks would be upset about the bomb testing.

Maybe it should get moved to that ANWR place. However, if the government wanted to start drilling for oil there, we'd then have to worry about disturbing more than just caribou.

Photo: http://www.pierce-evans.org/Election.htm

I guess I just look suspicious

Photo: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/5353901/

I'm the slowest shopper in the world. The last time my wife sent me to the store for some cold-sore medicine, I came back 2 1/2 hours later with a case of ginger ale, some exotic piece of fruit from the produce section, and a pack of cinnamon graham crackers--totally forgetting the medicine. Now, when she sends me to the store, she packs me a lunch and writes the item she needs on my forehead, so the cashier will ask me about it as I'm buying a bunch of useless crap.

I just get lost in supermarkets. I'm wide-eyed and mystified by everything available for purchase. Not only that, every little purchase is a HUGE decision. If you're buying salsa, you'll need to choose mild, medium, or hot. Then you'll need to decide between the off-brand and the name-brand. Say you go with the medium name-brand. But then you notice the off-brand mild features a peach and mango variety. Well that, my friend, is a wrench thrown in your, uh, gears.

Needless to say my methodical shopping has gotten me into trouble, not only with my wife, but also with the law (kind of the same thing, though).

As you recall from a previous article, it's taken me quite some time to find a good deodorant. Every time I purchased a new stick, I'd spend a very long time scrutinizing all my options. One particular time, as I was taking forever as usual, I noticed a store clerk kept coming by the aisle I was in. She was acting very casual, but it all seemed a bit peculiar.

After walking by a number of times, she eventually came closer and started to look over the shelves next to me, as if she was scanning price tags or something. I figured I was in her way, and I knew I would need at least another 10 minutes to make a final decision, so I quickly left and walked over to the next isle to wait for her to finish. Just then she came full-speed around the corner at the other end and walked briskly towards me.

"Take out whatever you put in your pocket and give it to me!" she demanded. I told her I didn't have anything, to which she replied, "I've got security at the front door, you're not getting away." I handed her my coat and turned my pant pockets inside out for her to check everything out. "Obviously you already got rid of it," she scowled. We stood in silence for a moment, one as the accused and one as the accuser, then she stormed off.

While that happened a few years ago, just yesterday I was at a department store looking for a new set of hair clippers. I live and die by the buzz cut, so this new set of clippers I was buying was very important to me. Once I got to the aisle where they were sold a world of options was opened up to me. Did I need a cordless set? Should I pay another $8 for titanium blades? One set came with a nose-hair trimmer; should I be trimming those?

After a while I found one set of clippers that was in a partly opened box and I was able to pull out the user's manual to get some information that wasn't printed on the outside of the box. I put it back together and placed it back on the shelf.

About 30 minutes later, after carefully studying each one, I nailed down my choice and started to walk off with it. Just then I noticed two store employees waiting for me at the end of the aisle. They quickly turned away and acted like they didn't notice me. I got past them, only to have a security officer step in front of me. I knew right then what was about to go down.

"Do you need help finding anything?" he said, cynically. "No, I'm good," I replied. He followed close behind as I walked towards the nearest cash register. I looked around and figured that most of the store's employees were gathered to watch me.

I had wanted to look for a few more things, but I figured I'd be wrongfully arrested if I stayed around any longer. I checked out and walked proudly through the security beeper things by the exit doors. No alarm went off as my innocence was proved, and my refusal to make a rash decision, even if meant having a code red called out in the store, was sustained.

There are still good people in this world.

http://www.grimacenyc.com/Peeps.htm

It's amazing what every-day functions have become second nature. You sniff when your nose drips. You close a drawer after you open it. You put your wallet back in your pocket after you've paid for gas.

Actually, not so much on that last one. A couple days ago I was at the gas station. I had just swiped my credit card at the pump and was thinking very seriously about running into the convenience store for a Slurpee. But I was also running really late.

I drove off without the drink. About 10 miles down the highway, I also realized I had driven off without my wallet. Apparently my mind was unable to process simultaneously the decision to not get a Slurpee and the mental effort involved in putting my wallet back in my pocket.

Immediately I began wondering what my life was going to be like over the next couple weeks. Without my wallet I would be nothing. I'd have no power to buy, no power to vote, and no power to enter night clubs and get my dance on. Essentially, I had been stripped of all my rights and reduced to the social ranking of kindergartner.

Without a drivers license on my person, I flipped a U and headed back to the gas station. I was bracing myself for the worst. I figured my identity had already been stolen and the thief had already applied for a job as a porta-potty cleaner under my name.

Not only that, I knew darn well my credit cards had been maxed out to buy car parts for illegal street-racing. Plus, I assumed the thief had already used my insurance card to get a free doctor's visit, since robbers can't have much of a health plan (but I was sure the thief would regret it after finding out that doctor's visits are only covered in full every-other new moon by doctor's that went to medical school at a university that rhymes with orange).

The only hope I had was that the thief would buy one more sandwich at Subway to get the last needed stamp for my Subway Card, and as a token of appreciation mail it back to me so I could get a free sub. Even then I'd need some money to purchase the medium drink required to claim it.

Finally, I made it back to the gas station. Just as I had figured, there was no wallet lying around the pump where I had filled up. With a skeptic heart, I wandered into the convenience store--just in case the thief was like me and had forgotten his wallet, I mean my wallet, while he purchased a quick doughnut.

My wallet was there; someone had turned it in! All the credit cards were in their place. Even the $2 cash I had was untouched. Unfortunately, I still needed one more stamp on my Subway card.

The whole ordeal was a wake-up call. The world around has made me a hard and cold cynic. I've turned into a New Yorker (yes, I'm stereotyping). But all truth be told, when I lost my wallet my first thought was that it would be stolen, not that it would be turned in. It's time for me to start seeing the sunrise in people, and not just the sunset. There's good out there.

Mr. or Ms. Wallet-Turner-Inner, if you read this please contact me. I'd like to shake your hand and buy you a Slurpee.

As a man, I don't know what look to go for.

I'd love it if I could buy clothes just once and call it good for the rest of my life. Unfortunately I'm regularly ruining my clothes, causing my wardrobe to run thin. Just the other day I was tapping on my khaki pants with an ink pen, having no idea the lid was off.

I think buying clothes is a nightmare. Most the stuff in stores now a day is made for men that aren't really men. It all looks like it's trying to be too fashionable.

With that attitude, I was recently shopping at some outlet stores with my wife and doing my best to find something worthwhile. As I wandered aimlessly from store to store, I came to realize something. All the casual-wear clothes I was sorting through, from shoes to pants to shirts to hats, fell into one of three categories:

1) The prep-school/croquet look. This all-around look covers a man whether he's docking his sailboat in a New England harbor or playing a pick-up game of Lacrosse at the park. The key to the ensemble is the neck covering; in the summer months a popped collar will do, in the winter months a scarf is a must. Solid, assertive colors rule among men of this look. Not only should their conversation be about Thoreau's works and their late father's trust fund, but their fashion should be as well. Finally, the whole outfit is for not if the hair isn't combed and a bottle of sparkling water isn't in hand.

Vendors include Ralph Lauren, Tommy Hilfiger, and Gap.2) The Northwest/outdoor/organic look. While the look poses as rugged, if any guy actually showed up to a real mountain-man's cabin dressed as such he'd be beaten to tears and thrown to the wolves. Inspired by pine trees, granola, and waterproofing, the clothes in this category are ideal for walking along a forest trail while eating a yogurt. Most selections are found in earth tones. If this look was a car it would be a Subaru.

Vendors include L.L.Bean, Eddie Bauer, and Columbia Sportswear.3) The California-dude look. It screams cool. Maybe too cool. The letters on the shirts and sweaters are always large, usually white. Most of the garb looks faded--suggesting that the individual is often out in the California sun. Belts are key, and they come in either brown or white. Slightly wrinkled is preferred. Footwear is usually in the sandal family. Many of the suppliers, by their ads, would have you believe you'll look just as good with their shirt off as you will with it on.

Vendors include Hollister, Aeropostale, and Abercrombie & Fitch.
To be honest, I don't want to join any of those ranks. Isn't there another option for casual wear? I know if I don't join one of the above categories, I'll have to continue cherry picking the border-line items from each one. I need some common theme in my wardrobe. What about the Australian Outback look, or the Norwegian/Slavic look? Have any stores popped up supporting those?

Photo: http://www.gamespot.com/pages/forums/show_msgs.php?topic_id=26548349&page=3
Photo: http://www.guardianecostore.co.uk/guardian/product.aspx?topGroup=106&subCat=0&subGroup=2707
Photo: http://blog.nj.com/fashiontoday/2008/06/summer_stock.html

Why do I live in a place that gets cold?

It snowed last night. It was the first snow fall of the season. So today I'm wondering, "why the crap do I live somewhere that gets cold?" I usually spend the first half of every winter pondering that question.

I just don't get it. It doesn't make sense. I live in a place where for half of the year it's uncomfortable to go outside. I suppose I, like most other people, live somewhere in the vicinity of where my ancestors settled. So why did our ancestors settle in cold places?

Of the 13 original colonies, only 3 were in the south. Here's the real kicker--Florida wasn't one of the original colonies! What were those Puritans thinking? Were Florida's sandy beaches and palm trees too extravagant for them to claim it? A life by the Boston Harbor where temperatures linger in single digits for several months was more preferred?

I know Christopher Columbus landed somewhere in the Bahamas. What did he tell all the Europeans when he got back? "Oh, we found some all right places, but if you guys go north when you make your pilgrimage to the New World you won't have to deal with all the mangoes and exotic birds and lush, tropical vegetation."

Whatever the case, they did settle in cold places and so now many of us have to deal with nasty winters. However, I'm still confused/bothered by those around me that are so chipper about the winter months.

"Oh, the fresh snow is so beautiful," and "it's nice to get a break from the heat" are phrases I often hear. Snow looks OK, I guess, but the knowledge that it's cold once you walk into it turns me off fast enough. Besides, it ends up looking brown and dirty by the end of the day anyway.

And I don't see how people would rather have it cold outside than hot outside. Your fingers don't get sore and numb when it's a hot day. And I've never had to spend the first five minutes of my morning letting my car run while I scrape the windows because it was a warm day.

Furthermore, the winter optimists around me lose all credibility because they still go on vacation to warm places. In January they take off to places like Cancun, Orlando, and Las Vegas. Show me a winter enthusiast that escapes to Fargo, ND in the middle of winter and then I'll be convinced.

I understand San Diego is already jam packed with people in my line of thinking. Plus a 1/2 bedroom, 1/2 bathroom apartment there costs as much as a the whole state of Wyoming does. So one of these years I'll just have to go settle in some little corner of the Amazon or the Sahara. The heat won't bother me, but the spiders or the dust storms might take some getting used to.

Photo: http://www.silive.com/news/index.ssf/2007/12/23-week/

Rubber cement boogers vs. cell phones in school

I recently read an article in the local paper about the trouble schools are having with students and cell phones. You've got 2nd graders texting in class, 3th graders checking stock prices on the bus, and 4th graders calling the weather hotline before recess.

Apparently a lot of teachers don't know how to deal with the new distractions brought about by the cellular telephone. I guess the distractions that were around when I was in middle school have taken a back seat to the new technology.

My schoolmates and I used pen and paper to draw Picasso-like pictures of our teachers, the nose and eyes exaggerated to the extreme. We used Elmer's Rubber Cement to make fake boogers. We disassembled spring-loaded ball point pens and reassembled them into small rockets.

We used our calculators to text each other. We'd write secret notes by way of digital numbers; "316008," turned upside down, spells "BOOgIE." Furthermore, "07734," turned upside down, spells "hELL0." If we were looking to stir things up, we'd leave off the zero and just write ""7734."

Our digital vocabulary was about as large as our verbal vocabulary.

In high school the distractions became even greater. Once we got into trigonometry and calculus, we were given scientific calculators. That's when all 7734 broke lose. They were basically little computers intended to graph curves on an x and y axis. But with their technological capabilities, they could also store simple games. Suddenly Tetris and Space Invaders was being played during every class.

What we were doing as students is nothing compared to what's happening now. The article I read said students are using their cell phone cameras to take dirty pictures and send them to one another. I guess that provides new ammo for students to use when they're arguing with their PE teacher about not wanting to shower after PE.

Teacher: "Everyone has to shower. If you're caught getting dressed without one I'll dock you 10 points."

Student: "But Chuck lurks behind the lockers and and takes pictures with his cell phone when we do."

The article also said they're using their cell phone's video cameras to record after-school fights. Frankly, I wish we would have that technology to record some of the fights I saw in Jr. High. The one where Josh Bell got punched in the face and had his glasses broken wasn't half bad.

Or, maybe recording such fights would be helpful to some students. In 5th grade, when I got in a fight with Aaron Bean by the tetherball courts, maybe I wouldn't have gotten detention if some student had recorded it. Then it could have been proved that I was merely fighting in self defense because he wiped grasshopper guts on my arm.

My final word to today's teachers: if you take cell phones away from students, they'll just go back to making rubber cement boogers.

A depression would take some getting used to

I always wondered what life in a depression would be like. Everyone is saying that we'll be in one if the $700-million dollar bail-out plan doesn't pan out.

What's that? It's $700 billion? Well, whatever. $700 mil, bil, tril... is there a difference?

So how do the legislative negotiations work on that, anyway? When negotiating the price of a new car with the dealer, you usually start wheelin' and dealin' with $100 amounts, or so.

What amounts do you start with when you're working out a $700-billion plan? If the senator from Wyoming stands up and says "we should shave $10 million off the plan," is he laughed out of the room for pinching pennies?

If the bail-out plan ends up being $701 billion instead of $700 billion, will anybody care? When did billions become such trivial common place?

Sorry, I got off track. So back to the depression. From what I understand, everything will be very dry. Dust will swirl around and plants will shrivel. Fashions will change. All males will start looking like washed up businessmen--top button undone, wearing a dusty, gray suit. I say "gray" because color will be gone. If you're attached to reds, yellows, and blues, get over them.

Dogs will just run loose in alleys. Wendy's chicken nuggets will no longer be "all-white meat." People will regularly sleep on park benches, whether they have a home or not. It's just what people do in a depression.

"Sorry honey, but it's my turn to sleep on the bench down at Cherryhill Park. I'll see you in the morning." Not only that, but when it's your turn for the bench you can't use a blanket. Only newspapers will do. Newsprint is the only cover that will keep the dew off, especially in a depression.

Lastly, TV, Wii's, and laser tag will be gone. For entertainment we'll have to gather around an old radio and listen to nothing but the news and boxing matches.

No, a depression won't be any good for anyone. For that reason, let's root for the bail-out plan and hope the legislators don't hold things up by squabbling over just a few billion dollars here or there.

Photo: http://library.thinkquest.org/03oct/01794/pictures_page.htm

The halfway hamper

Item #47 on my wife's list of reasons why I don't deserve to be married is the statement "he can't put half his clothes in the laundry after he's worn them."

Ok, so maybe that list doesn't really exist--at least on paper.

Anyway, I've explained the issue many times, with logical reasoning. Yet she still gets upset with the dirty laundry, or so she mistakenly calls it, that piles up in front of my dresser or on the closet floor. But the problem is not with me; it's with the system.

Since the introduction of the washer and dryer into the average American home, the domestic process has dictated that once you wear something you should put it in the laundry pile to be washed. Dirty clothes go in the hamper; clean clothes go in the closet or dresser drawers.

My wife--and as she claims, the rest of civilized society--sees no middle ground between clean and dirty. However, to me it's not all black and white. I see a large gray area.

Before I found a reasonably effective deodorant, pretty much every shirt I wore was a lock for the wash. But now that I'm staying dry for longer periods of time, a few shirts come off me at the end of the day with a little more life still left in them. They may be able to go another half a day, or even more.

Where can a shirt in such a classification go? It isn't clean, so I don't want to put it back on a hanger in my closet. It isn't dirty, so I don't want to put it in the hamper. It's in the gray area, and thus it is homeless.

To my wife's frustration, it ends up on the closet floor where it will remain until I can find an appropriate time to utilize its remaining life.

That's why I created the halfway hamper. It was a large bin for me to throw gray-area clothing into. It was a pit stop for clothes halfway through their wear-and-then-wash cycle.

Unfortunately, my wife found out about my clothing's midpoint and secretly began emptying the whole thing into the wash on laundry day. It hurt; my wife was washing the clothes from my halfway hamper behind my back, despite our relationship built on trust and integrity.

Now I'm going behind her back in publishing this post. My hope is that this article will inspire the halfway hamper's use in more homes until one day I can tell my wife we're not with the times by not having one.

Until then my clothes are getting washed excessively. Please help.

Getting carded for cola

I don’t drink, so I haven’t spent a lot of time in bars. However, last week I was on a trip with a few co-workers. They all drink, so I spent a lot of time in bars and lounges.

The non-alcoholic options are quite limited in such places. If I wanted something to sip on while I chatted with my co-workers, I’d order a water. If I wanted something a bit harder, I’d order up a Coke. But if I wanted to get sloshed, I’d get a Coke on the rocks and keep the refills coming like waves on a beach (I'm only a social soda-drinker; I don't drink it alone very often).

On one particular night, in a lounge at the hotel we were staying at, I was socializing with a glass of cola (on the rocks, of course). I had drank about two when the bartender walked up to the group I was with and asked to see my ID.

“I’m only drinking a soda,” I stated defiantly. The bartender, undeterred, remained until I grudgingly pulled out my driver’s license. It was the first time I had ever needed to prove I was over 21 in order to finish up a glass of pop.

It was a good thing that bartender was there to keep me on the right track. Nobody should be able to drink a pop and watch other people get drunk unless they’re of age.

Getting carded in that lounge got me thinking. Young people should be getting carded in other settings and situations. It could do them good.

The first place to start would be plays and musicals. I know I would have liked getting carded when my mom would talk my family into attending a play. I’d read the program from start to finish about 8 times and there would still be another hour until intermission. A boy at the age of 12 does not have the judgment necessary to agree to attend one of those things.

Another place to start would be sports-card shops. When I’d walk into those places as a young buck I had no self-control. If people would have carded me at those places my savings account would currently be double what it is. You have to buy a lot of packs of cards in order to find the one rookie card you're searching for.

The same goes for firework stands. If I would have been carded by the vendors who supplied me with explosives, the field above my aunt’s house wouldn’t have caught fire and I wouldn’t have gone deaf for a week after lighting a firecracker with a wick the length of a piece of beard stubble.

Yes, if you're going to require ID for a pop in a bar, you might as well take the policy further and really do some good.

What I learned from the conventions

The good thing is, no matter who wins we’re all going to be living in a utopia.

When the candidates were narrowed down to the two idiots we’re currently left with, I was rather disappointed. As a voter, I was going to have to choose between a grouchy war Veteran that married a beer heiress and a hip baller from Hawaii who won’t throw his terrorist friend under the bus.

However, my disappointment fell short at the Democratic convention. That’s when I heard Obama tell me everything was going to be OK. If he wins the presidency, we’ll all be swimming in the love of change.

From his speech, I understood we were going to the doctor for free. There won’t be any more poor people. Someone else will pay our credit card bills. Our mortgages will be forgiven. Everyone will get a college degree. They'll come in the mail to those who don't have them now, like a stimulus check. Nobody, except evil people, will have to pay taxes.

He also informed me, in his speech, that John McCain is horrible person that eats bunnies and puts people in slums.

Then I started to worry. What if he didn’t win? I’d be left without everything he was going to give. I'd have a bunny-eater as my president! However, my worry fell short at the Republican convention.

McCain guaranteed some good things. Based on what I interpreted of his speech, if he won we'd have a fully-decorated war veteran fighting for us. He'd snuff out evil and rip up opposing countries with his bare hands. On election day he'd walk into the White House and punch all the incompetent people in the face. He'd lower taxes even though he's going to go to war with every country that his advisers tell him exists. And McCain would do all this while still maintaining his reputation of a family man.

On the other hand, he indicated, Barrack Obama would flush the country and it's economy down the drain while starring in Hollywood movies.

They sure make themselves sound good in those convention speeches. So what's a voter to do? I don't think it matters. They both said they're going to win the election:

...I intend to win this election and keep our promise alive as President of the United States. -Obama

But let there be no doubt, my friends, we’re going to win this election. -McCain

So what we'll have on our hands, fellow Americans, are two winners in November. Yes, for the first time in history we'll have two winners, two presidents. We won't have to worry about the character of the VP candidates; there won't be any room for one.

A good ol' biarchy. Except we shouldn't get too worried about the new form of government we'll face. Based on what I saw from Hillary in the presidential race, I think we experienced a biarchy from 1992 to 2000.