End The Stupid Sale Card!

Remember when shit just went on sale? We didn't need any of those stupid club cards or tags on our key chains? Or, god help you, trying to remember what phone number you put on what account. Man I'd love a way to do away with them.
Its all for tracking anyway. Stores just want to know what you buy so they can stock stuff for you. But they never have what you want and even if they do, it never goes on sale.
So how to defeate the system? Simple. Imagine if all the cards had one phone number. Sure your Giant, Safeway, CVS and Rite Aid cards all have the same phone number already, but I mean ALL the cards. What if whenever you had to apply for a new card it was with the same phone number everyone else used.? Yep, then you probably wouldent need to apply in the first place.
So here's the plan. Change your existing accounts so that your phone number is 123-456-7890. Think about it, do you want some random-ass store to have a record of your phone number anyway? And the only real reason to have a single account that I can see is that Giant has a buy 6, get 1 free gallon of milk twice a year. I'm not that hard up for milk. And anyway, if enough people do this the stores will shit milk.
So throw off the shackles of tags on your key chains and empty your wallets of pounds of plastic club cards! Spread the word and join the movement. Change your numbers and tell your friends too as well. If we can get enough people to do this we might just be able to do away with the whole club card bullshit altogether.

I met Red Green!!!!!

Yep, I met the man himself. Got me a roll of duct tape signed too. And thanks to Blaise, a hat as well. It was at a local hardware store in Bethesda earlier today. He is doing a stand-up show later tonight and was doing a signing. The thing I don't like is that it was sponsored by 3M and they were pimping the duct tape. But you know what? Fuck it, I got to shake Red Green's hand and look him in the eye and say "Thank you for bringing some laughter into the world". I'm stoked.

Shopper Profiling.

I went to Target (pronounced tar-zhə' ) the other day to pick up a few things. One was Alice's birth control prescription. At Target you have to pay for your RX at the RX counter. And at Target you get those little coupons just like at the grocery store. I got a coupon for laundry detergent after buying birth control. I was amused at first but quickly became pretty mad. The coupons you're given are based on what you buy. So here's Target giving out laundry detergent coupons to women. Obviously women need laundry detergent, laundry is obviously womenfolk's work. I was quickly becoming enraged at the audacity.


Then something occurred to me. I was the one actually buying the birth control and I'm the one that does laundry at home.


Well played Target. Well played.

Staying Positive Around Negative People

Over the last year I've been working on keeping a Positive Mental Attitude (pma). Its been, at best, a great way to live and, at worst, a constant struggle that has at times made me want to start drinking again.
The hardest part is, obviously, other people. I find that most people are, on the whole, nice and respond in the same manner as I treat them. A few are fucking assholes. How do you deal with assholes and keep a pma? I mean it's hard to keep pma when fantasizing about beating their brains in with a 5lb can of beans.
I guess the best thing to do is avoid them altogether. Just cut them out of ones life. I've done this without even realizing it. There's a few people that I no longer talk to or hang out with and haven't done so for years. People that bring me down or are so bent on creating unnecessary drama and conflict that their friendship was simply not worth the effort. So a fair number of folks got cut from the friend list. But what to do about people that one can't just flip the bird to and hit the eject button? There are co-workers, family members and others too close in one way or another that can't just be left to stew in their own putrescence. This is where I am. Trying desperately to maintain my stoke and not get caught up in the bullshit.
I guess the answer is the same as its always been. Treat everyone how you wish to be treated and never expect to be treated the same. Expectation is the root of unhappiness. Buddha taught this and it stands true now. If I expect people to treat me the way I want them to and they don't, I get upset.
So I have to learn to let go of the desire to be treated the way I feel I deserve. Fair? No. But that right there is the problem. I feel its not fair. If I can learn to let go of the idea of being treated in a way I feel is "fair", I can let other people do what they will and stay stoked.
So basically, no body gives a flying fuck about the way they treat me and it doesn't matter how I feel, so I may as well choose to be happy. And there's the Zen in my stoke.

Propper Football

My name is Gavin and I'm a football fan. Well, Proper Football. The kind that's played with a ball and your feet. Not the American version that's played with a misshapen egg and your hands. From here on out that sport will be known as "Throwball".
Football is a sport of men. Throwball is a sport of boys. Strong words I know but let's look at them both.


The game of throwball is all about scoring. Just getting to the goal as fast and as often as possible. Just like boys in High School. No class, no play, no joy. Just grunting away at work. Down and dirty to the goal and then trying like hell to do it again. And again. And again. Each time as quick and hard as the first.
Football is about play. Its a dance. Its a build up. Chances taken and often times missed. Pure joy to watch and to play. The fun is in the play. Just like a seduction. The act of play is the joy. Getting to the goal is, of course, the whole point but what fun is getting something not earned? Why try for a win when the journey is so much less fun than the goal?
People tell me Football is boring. Well, Americans tell me it's boring. I think they fail to see the beauty in the play itself. We Americans seem to thrive on immediacy. It shows in a lot of ways (drive through fast food comes to mind). But if we could learn to enjoy the journey as much as the destination, I think we'd start to understand the world better. Besides, Football takes 90 minutes to play a 90 minute game. Throwball takes 3 God damned hours to play a 60 minute game. You want to talk about boring? Try watching a bunch of rednecks drive in fucking circles for 8 hours. People around here bitch to no end about traffic and there they are, every weekend, paying actual money to watch a bunch of middle school washouts drive around in traffic. (How the hell did this get popular? That right there is marketing genius.)

Footballers get called pussies a lot. I'll admit there's a lot of diving and theatrics that the game would be better without but I would like to see throwball players run flat out for 90 minutes every week. A throwball season is what? 16 games? One a week? Footballers in most leagues play 19 other teams. Twice. One home and one away. At least once a week. And most leagues play several competitions at once. So they're actually playing twice a week. And say what you will about Magic Spray (tm) but I've yet to see oxygen on the sideline of a football match. But every time some guy makes a 50 yard run in throwball, there he is sucking down O2 like a hippy on a bong at a Phish show.
Someone at work said they'd watch football if it was a rougher sport. Well, I'm not one bit sorry to say to you pal, the whole rest of the world likes it just fine the way it is. Football is doing just fine without your viewership and I suspect it will continue to do just fine without you. Its a shame, though, that you can't find the beauty inherent in the game. But I promise that when you grow up, and your balls finally drop, it will be here for you to enjoy.

*as a side note not directly related to this post, I got called gay the other day because I said watching Messi play was like watching poetry. I have two things to say about this. First, fuck you dude, it's true. And second, sorry buddy, even if I was gay, I'm way out of your league.

Flavor Assisted Suicide

Those of you that know me know already my love of fine cigars. There's something meditative about the entire process. From going to the store and into the walk-in humidor (man, I want one) and perusing the different brands, sizes and shapes. The choices are almost endless. Choosing one or two out of a box or even picking one from my own humidor. The unwrapping, the first smell, looking at it to judge the cut or punch. The lighting. Oh, the lighting. When done right its almost like foreplay. The first really nice puff. The way it tastes and smells. Then bliss. For around 45 minutes all my worries are gone. Just a little bit of decadence.

Smoking a pipe is much the same. Although a pipe has a learning curve the joy is the same. Just me and some fine tobacco. Going into the tobbacco store, looking through the jars, smelling each one and picking out two or three to bring home. Packing the bowl and adding fire. Siting back and relaxing. Or, on occasion, playing croquet. (I'd like to take a moment here and point out that I have NEVER lost a game in my yard. In fact I'm pretty much the World Champion in this yard. So if you're looking for a game, come get some but don't expect to leave happy.)









For my birthday I was given some money. I took about half and squandered it on bills and food for the screaming masses that make up my family. The other half I spent on me. I got myself a hookah. I've been looking forward to this for a long time. I did some research and careful consumer shopping. I knew I had a budget that could not be broken. I did more research. After looking all over the interwebs I found it. My new hobby. Hours and hours of searching, learning and economic calculations, I got myself the perfect hookah. For those in the know, I got a Mya QT. For those not in the know, I got myself a blue one. I also got 10 different flavors of tobacco. And believe it or not, a spare 2 hose hookah. This last week I've been laid up with a bad back (more about this in another post. See? I told you guys I had a lot to talk about) so at least I've had a chance to try it out, as well as watch a lot of World Cup.
Smoking a hookah is a bit of both cigar and pipe smoking. There is a lot to choose from, a bit of learning to set it up and use it right. Man, is it worth it though. The whole process is cool, setting it up with ice water, getting the coals ready, choosing the moassell, packing the bowl. All coming together when you take the first pull. Then just me relaxing with my thoughts (do I use my left or right hand for that?). Just a little bit of decadence. (I do kinda wish I could share it with someone. After all, hookah is a social thing).
I'm not sure what the word is for someone who enjoys tobacco in a hobby sense but I'm definitely one of them. If you are too, or if you'd like to be, come by. I've got backgammon too, it's OK though, I'm not as good at that as I am croquet.

Birthdays, a Birthday and One More Birthday.

June 3rd 1972. Austin, Texas.
Yes, that's the day I was brought forth. My parents have since referred to it as "Black Wednesday". This year I turned 38. Yes, really. Feeling old. Kids I skate with have never been in a world without the Simpsons. They have no idea of the horror of a Reagan Administration. The USSR is just something in old Atlases'. The US was never without a professional soccer league (not that anyone cares even now).
Still, its not that bad. I have a family I'd kill or die for. I'm sitting out in the backyard smoking a hookah (more on this in a later post) writing this on my Blackberry. I have a lot to be thankful for. And unlike many other people in my generation, I am. I'm healthier than I've ever been (shut up about cigars, pipes and hookahs. I said healthier, not healthy) and have almost a year and a half sober. I have a better outlook than ever before. I can just about always find the positive in any situation and am just about always smiling. Finding joy in everyday life is an awesome way to live and I highly recommend it.


June 3rd 1998. Takoma Park, Maryland.
Gareth Jae Graham was given to me. Yes, we share a birthday, how awesome is that? As his mom and I held him and each-other crying with joy at this perfect, tiny thing, I jokingly asked her what she was going to do for my birthday the following year. She left me. Win again.
Gareth gets his name from two sources. First, it starts with a "G" (both my dad's and my name start with "G") and second, it's Welsh. That's a nod to my mothers father and his family (as a side note, they had to leave Wales when my Great Grandfather killed an English-man in a bar when he was told he could no longer speak in his native language. So yeah, fuck the crown).
His middle name comes from my best friend I met in elementary school. I know he'd have hated for me to use his full name. We took the first letter and put a Welsh spin on the spelling. Jamil died shortly after I turned 21 and I still miss him terribly. That I couldn't save him is one of only two regrets I will always carry with me. Don't get me wrong, I don't beat myself up about it. I try to use it as a reminder that I need to cherish every moment I'm gifted to spend with loved ones. And that no sacrifice is too great for those we care about.

June 12th, 2002. Wahsington DC.
Blaise Graham Gambino was born to the most loving mother anyone has ever had or could hope to have. It is with great embarrassment and humiliation that I confess I was not present. There is no defense for the decisions I made at the time and I will not attempt to defend myself now. All I can say is that I am no longer the person I was then. The reasons for my not being present are not something I'm going to go into here but it is my firm hope that someday I will be able to be the father to Blaise I should have been from that day. This is, as you may have guessed, my second and biggest regret. Blaise is one of the most amazing people I have ever met and I'm glad to be apart of his life. I truly hope that after he realizes he has this to hold against me, he will forgive me. There is a lesson here too but one I hope no one else has to learn. Kids will bring out the best in you as well as show you the worst in you.

June 26 1994. Charlestown West (by God) Virginia.
My dog Bezboo was born. My Grandparents had a cabin just outside of Charlestown that we went to on weekends in the summer. It was my first summer living on my own. My mom hated (and still hates) dogs. I was always told "You can have a dog when you live on your own". So we went one weekend I and I got my dog. She was 4 weeks old when I called dibs on her and we went back the following weekend to get her. She has been my friend, companion and sometimes the only thing alive that would put up with my shit. I had names narrowed down to Shenna (from the Ramones song), Anarchy, Bes and Bamboo (used as a symbol in Eastern art for the start of a new path). As I was just starting out on my own I was leaning towards Bamboo but really liked the idea of Bes. The description in the symbol book was something like "A grotesque figure with tongue hanging out placed over doors to ward off evil and protect." What's that, if not a dog? So Bezboo it was (I liked the "Z". What? Z's are cool).

I have way more to tell about my affection for my kids and dog than you have patience to read about, so I'll leave it at this; I am fully aware that having lived my life the way I have, I in no way deserve these gifts. I am fully aware that I have taken for granted these miraculous people and animal. I know that I'm as out of chances as one can get. I can only say I see what I have and am lucky beyond words that I still have them in my life and I promise that I will continue to work just as hard as I have for the last year. I know I can never make up for the past and won't try to. But to each of these amazing people (and one dog) I can say "I love you with all of my heart and will do so for the rest of my life".

Just Checking In.

Hey gang (if you guys still read this), I know it's been a while, but don't fret, I have plenty of things to talk about. I'm just kinda swamped. I'll have two or three posts in the next few days. "What do we have to look forward to?" I hear you ask with bated breath. Birthdays, back problems, a new hobby and a lifestyle change (By "lifestyle change", I mean a new greener way of doing something, not an admission of some deeply buried... well, I'm not gay.) among other things. Also, dart season starts next week so you should expect some rants about that.
Check back in a while and read the goodness.
Oh and by the by, my mustache is looking good. With a little wax I could remind you of someone...

End of Week Check-In

It's a long weekend. It's been a long week. Here's some goofy shit I ran into recently. I hope you all have a good time this weekend and remember to take pics of weird stuff and send 'em in.

Mixed nuts;

This morning on the bus-

A guy digging out belly button lint. Thankfully, his own.








I found the pic of the lady and her Tonka-sized "yellow" flower.










Here's an old pic of some random ass t-shirt. The wearer was about 60. I'm not sure what the artist is trying to convey, but if I had to guess, I'd say it's a commentary on the general dissatisfaction of today's youth with the woman's right movement on the sea floor. Or that divers like boobies.



This guys not trying hard enough, the cars not even the right color.

Quotes of Note;

When asked by Alice what he would like to do for his birthday next week, my 11 year old said, and I quote exactly word for word, "Bacon." Now I have no idea how one goes about doing bacon, but I'm all about finding out.

It's a tattoo, not a competition.

This is something that's been eating at me for a long time. I guess you could say I've been thinking about writing this long before I had an outlet for it and now I have a nifty new blog to unburden myself, and pass it on to you.
I have tattoos. I have what some of my friends and family would describe as a lot of tattoos. I don't personally think of them as "a lot" because I know many people that have lots more.
I love my tattoos, I love having them and I love getting them. I really enjoy the whole experience. The buzzing sound the machine makes, the smell of the inks, disinfectants, various soaps and the shop itself. Meeting and talking to the artist. Meeting and talking to the other tattooies in the shop. The process of the design. The feel, yes even that. The pain is a very real and special part. You get a rush from it, your body releases endorphins in response to the pain. You have to go inward and experience the pain but not let it bother you. It's wild. I love talking about tattoos. Everywhere I go someone asks me about them and usually leaves with more than they wanted to know.
The thing I hate about my tattoos is the assumption of competition. Just about everywhere I go someone is compelled to tell me about a brother, friend, guy that walks a dog or ex-boyfriend that has way more than I do. I get "Yeah, but I know this guy that has waaaay more than you do..." I don't care. I mean I really don't care. I am fully aware that there are thousands upon thousands of people that have more tattoos than I do. And I don't care. You know what? They don't care either. It's like people think there's some International Tattoo Championship(tm) at stake and they have to tell me I'm falling behind.
I've always wanted to tell the women that say these things to me, "My brother's girlfriend? Yeah, shes way prettier than you." Just out of the blue and total deadpan. "Hey, hows it going? Nice weather. Man, this girl I know has way bigger tits than you. Do you like the Who?". Guys could get the same thing. "You watch the DC United match last night? Wow, your sideburns look like you did them in the dark, this guy that walks my dog cuts his way better."
I'm not sure why people feel the need to let me know my position on the International Tattoo Championship(tm)leader-board but I can tell you no one with tattoos has ever told me about it. Maybe it's something I'm not meant to know about. Maybe somewhere out there in non-tattoo society they're keeping tabs and will give out an award after they all compare notes. I don't really know but if that's the case, I wish they'd hurry up and give it out 'cause I'm tired of hearing about it.

Week in review!

So this week I worked. Did laundry. Did dishes...yadda yadda yadda.
Really this was a week about setting boundaries for an ADHD addled 7 year old. He is not a fan. His mom and I are not a fan of his not being a fan. The circle begins.
Adventures on the bus;
As a public transportation guy I see a lot of goofy shit. I see people act in ways that I never thought I'd see. I'll try to dig up some pics of some of the nut jobs I've seen. Like the guy with his pants around his knees. No, not a teenager with bad fashion sense, just some random guy that could either hold onto the bus railing or his pants but, for some inexplicable reason, not both. Or the lady with a yellow plastic rose in her hair. It was as big as a Tonka Dumptruck and the color of pee in the snow. There was the person of indeterminate sex that had an old shoelace as a headband too.
Today we were at a light and the bus driver (who was really friendly and chatty) was telling a young woman at a stop that she was too pretty to be smoking a cigarette. She said it was because of stress and the bus driver was just beginning to tell her stress is a choice (I generally agree) when the woman next to her cut in yelling "We don't want to talk to you! Get your ugly black ass out of here!". The younger woman and everyone on the bus started laughing. The young lady then started saying she didn't know the old crazy lady. The crazy lady was flipping out telling the bus driver to leave (the light was still red), screeching, and giving us all the finger and everyone on the bus was telling the young lady to give the old crazy lady a cigarette 'cause obviously she was the one who was stressed out. At any rate it was a trip. The bus driver was cool about the whole thing and didn't really seem bummed about it. I told him he needed some water balloons for this kind of shit. I think he's gonna get some. If it were me, I'd have hit the bitch with a rock.

People watching;
A guy playing air keyboard outside the Giant. No music. No headphones. Dude was jamming though.
Lady fishing in her lawn. No water. No bucket to cast into. Just sitting and reelin' it in, real slow. I wanted to ask if they were biting today but something about the scene reminded me of a Far Side strip and I went on about my businesses.
That's about it for my week. I'll probably remember some more details later and put them in next weeks and as I do this more, I'll take notes and fill you in on some more of the questionable members of my community.

Ahhh, parenting.

The lady had it right. "Kids suck." Raising kids is not what's its cracked up to be. You work all week to make money to buy the little fuckers food. You work all night to keep the house safe and clean. You work all day to educate them. You make the picky bastards one of the two things they actually eat every night for dinner. And do the dishes they leave on the table. Then, when you have the audacity to ask them on Sunday to clean their room, you get "you suck, jackass."


Remind me why I can't beat them?

This is a test.

This is a test to see if I can post from my mobile. It's prolly best to just ignore it.

Testing. Testing 1 2 3.

Fuck.

So that's that out of the way.
What this blog about? What in God's name do I have to write about? Do I really need to be so rude and use such foul language? What's up with the burrito obsession?
I imagine most people that will read this know me and know what to expect. I'm not necessarily rude, I'm just direct. This will be a sort of long running status update. I'm going to try to do a week in review and tell you all about my week. I'll probably do one a month. And get the details wrong. But hey, you want accuracy, go somewhere else.
I'll be learning how to do HTML stuff so expect a lot of dead links and broken pages. But again, it's not like your here to learn the secret of living well.
I encourage comments as they are the way to keep us in touch until a better social network destroys FB. I'm going to try leaving the comments un-modded so play nice(ish). There's not much you can say that will offend me, and I don't really care if you offend my other friends that read this, so have at it. But remember I do have the power to delete stuff that goes over the line. So yeah, tremble at that.
Check out the side bar for the blogs I read and some sites that I frequent. I will update them from time to time. I'll link to your blog's if you'd like, or not if you don't want me to. Whatever. Just lemme know.
Also, feel free to post interesting links to stories or videos or whatever-the-hell. I really would like this to be a fun place to check everyday, so participation is key. Share. Talk. Debate. Meet each other. Most of all, have some fun damnit.
Welcome, folks, to

Gavin's House of Fun.

Wow, I leave Facebook because of privacy and now I'm posting for all the world to see.

So I left Facebook (well, in a week I'll leave, a few days to tell people about this) and am goning to start blogging. About what I hear you ask? Well, I dunno. Whatever the hell I'm thinking about at the time I guess. If you were my friend on FB you'll be familiar with my snarky-smartass kind of humor. If not, well, you'll soon see.

So why did I leave FB? Because of the privacy bullshit. They are selling my info, and yours, to third party advertisers. Google it. Here's a few links to read about it and other ways FB shows what it thinks about you;

A NY Times piece

Wiki is a "good" source of info


Here's one about what FB is doing about the outcry;
I feel like it's too little too late.

Do your self a favor and do some simple things to protect your self. Heres some quick ones;

10 Things you should do

Here's a good one too. It tells you if your settings are good or not, also has a lot of info on what FB is up to.

And there's the first post. Now we can start to have fun.