Don't Sweat My Swag (aka The Middle Aged ManSuit)

You're doing it right now and you may have no idea. That's ok, it won't hurt. I was doing it almost every day and nobody said anything or seemed to mind. I was doing it right out in public. Didn't get arrested, even once.

Every generation has a uniform, even if they or we don't realize it. Very often we're wearing the uniform of our generation without thinking about it or choosing it. We're quick to recognize other generations uniforms but we never see our own. Unfortunately for me I had a couple experiences recently that pulled back the curtain and exposed me. Or rather, exposed my...uniform. 

I see examples of uniforms everywhere I go. Teenagers, who believe they are so independent and like to make a "statement" about their identity are almost the worst offenders. When I pull up to my kids school virtually every girl comes out in sweatpants and Ugg boots while every boy has jeans, a zippered hoodie, and Justin Biebers haircut. (I could have Justin Biebers haircut if I wanted, once the restraining order expires.) Recently my lack of understanding of part of one generations uniform exposed me for what I am...an adult. Ugh. That was painful to admit.

One of my sons asked for money for Christmas so he could buy his own clothes. Apparently at some point me dressing him as myself, a superhero, or in Garanimals is no longer cool. So armed with a pocketful of benjamins (this is a word referring to Benjamin Franklin, who is on the $100 bill) I sent him to the mall completely unsupervised. When he returned home he showed off his purchases, one of which was a wrist watch the size of a hubcap and appearing to weigh several pounds. So after I was hilarious with the Wonder Woman and Flava Flav jokes, one of my other sons saw what appeared to be a NASA satellite affixed to his brothers wrist and informed us that the watch most definitely was "swag." Now being as hip to the teen lingo as I am, I know that "swag" is a good thing. I don't like to be flashy, so I keep my swag in a safe in the basement and only tell my children stories about all the swag I had when I was their age. Later in the week I was with one of my sons at a lesson and his instructor who might be moderately younger and perhaps, if at all possible, a little cooler than I, was wearing a similar swag watch. Apparently a swag watch, or Swatch for short, is an important part of the teen/young adult uniform. 

Finally we get to my uniform.  I was at the supermarket the other day thinking I was full of swag in my white Nikes, jeans, button down oxford and leather jacket. Then I looked around the supermarket at what appeared to be an army of guys my age wearing some version of the exact same jeans/oxford/leather combo pushing a cart and picking up a gallon of milk and a 12 pack of Cottonelle.It was like a "Where's Waldo" picture where everyone is some slightly altered version of the original Waldo. This was when it hit me. I was wearing The Middle Aged Man Suit.

Let's see, I've referenced Wonder Woman, Ben Franklin and Where's Waldo.Is it possible I don't have as much swag as I thought? Nah!

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The Junk on Your Trunk

Yes, it's the holiday season and with all the festivities we're all probably adding a little junk to our trunk. But that's not the trunk I want to talk about. Not that your trunk isn't worth talking about. I'm sure it's delightful, but it's the junk on your trunk I want to talk about. Many of you have the trunk of your car or SUV festooned with some decorative statement about who you are. 

First off, festooning is never good. Just using the word festoon impugns my manliness. And you know I don't have enough manliness to go around impugning it all willy nilly. The fact that I just used "willy nilly" is evidence of the limits of my manliness. Sometimes based on the junk on your trunk I also wonder how much manliness, or sanity, you have.

OBX: You think that you're telling us you've been to the Outer Banks region of North Carolina for vacation. What we see is someone who misspelled Box, which is 13 points in Words with Friends. 

13.1 or 26.2: You see these numbers frequently and some of you may have them on your trunk.. Apparently they indicate that the driver has run either a half-marathon (13.1) or full marathon (26.2). You know what? If your such a damn good runner, why don't you just get out of your car and run wherever you're going. You can have the numbers tattooed on your real trunk. And what's with the decimals? This is the United States! Decimals are for Canadians and their new fangled metric system. Oooooh! What a big shot you are! Did you run a tenth or two tenths more than someone? Apparently you have to run the extra tenth or two to get the sticker because I've never seen  just a 13 or 26 sticker. I wonder if there are runners out there who feel like failures  because they could only make it 13 or 26 miles. I'm having a 20 sticker made. That's the distance in feet from my couch to my refrigerator.

The Stick Figure Family: What is this supposed to tell us? Are you all anorexic, including your dog and cat? I once saw a car with the stick figure family but it was just the Dad and two kids and there was a space between the Dad and kids as if there had been a Mom stick figure and it was removed. Apparently she got that in the divorce settlement. Somewhere there's a sad, lonely woman driving around with a stick figure of herself on her car. If you're a single guy follow that car to the liquor store. She's probably an easy mark right about now. And if you're a single guy, I seriously do not want to see what that stick figure sticker is going to look like. 

The Ribbon Magnet: There are so many support ribbon magnets that they've become de-valued. You can support our troops, schleroderma, autism, and your favorite football team with a ribbon magnet for your car. If you're a left handed, autistic, football player from West Point who has bad skin you can probably buy enough ribbon magnets to put a ring of them all the way around your car. In fact, I'm thinking of creating a ribbon magnet for people who feel left out because they have no reason to have a ribbon magnet. 

Yes, I know there isn't much of a holiday theme to this one, but if you want to give the gift of The Phil Factor for Christmas, Hannukah or Kwanzaa just click the Facebook "Like" button below. The Phil Factor can also be delivered wirelessly to your Kindle wherever you are for just 99 cents a month. You can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and find me on Words with Friends as Phil2365. 

The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo

To coincide with the release of the movie The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo I've authorized the Franklin Mint to re-release in limited run this classic from The Phil Factor archives. Enjoy!

No, this is not a male version of the popular novel The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. This is much better than that. It's my blog where I make fun of stuff. I'm pretty sure nobody had very many laughs reading that dragon tattoo book. The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo also is not a fictional character. The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo is a guy I see at my Starbuck's almost every morning. To be fair, it's not really my Starbucks. I am neither owner nor manager, but The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo still shows up there regularly regardless of my lack of affiliation with the place. 

The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo is bald. Not old man, male pattern baldness bald, but "I shaved my head so I can look like a bad ass" bald.  The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo also has a giant scorpion tattooed on his bald head. A scorpion tattoo that is much larger than any real scorpion. The tattoo stretches from the top of his head, wrapping around the back and down to the top of the neck. Each morning I wonder, what exactly is he trying to tell the world about himself? 

Evil. I think having a giant scorpion tattooed on a menacing bald head kind of screams evil. My shamrock tattoo says I'm Irish. His scorpion tattoo says 'I'm evil." In fact after observing The Man with the Scorpion Tattoo daily for awhile now, I'm pretty sure he is actually Satan. Yup, the real one. Apparently, just like you and me, Satan stops for his Starbucks fix on his way to work every day. Coffee black of course. None of those frou frou girly drinks with whipped cream.  He keeps to himself and goes about his business quietly while at Starbucks, but just the same, I'm pretty sure he's Satan. He makes small talk with the baristas so as not to arouse any suspicion. He tips, but never too much or too little. He always sits alone at the table by the window. 

I suppose it's possible right? I mean, Satan has a job to do every day doesn't he? If he didn't show up for work each day encouraging evil, imagine all the police officers, military, and jail staff that would be out of work. Without evil our economy suffers. So like the rest of us, Satans day begins when his alarm goes off. Because he's evil, he hits snooze. Twice. Then I imagine Satan walking his dog clad in pajama pants and a Motley Crue reunion tour t-shirt. Obviously, he doesn't pick up the poop in a little bag because of his inherent evil nature. Unlike me,  Satan never bothers to iron his shirt for work either. Before leaving for work he grabs his bagged lunch, grumbling over the low carb kick his wife is on, and gives Mrs. Satan a little kiss and let's her know if he'll be home late because there's a need for a little extra unrest in the middle east. Then he hops in the Satan mobile (you would think a red car, but he thinks that's too flashy and goes with black. Tinted windows of course. Maybe a Mustang.) Then he stops at Starbuck's to have his coffee and go over his schedule, all the while making a mental note that when he gets some extra time he'll have to perpetrate some evil on that guy in the suit who stares at him every morning.  

Remember the 1995 Joan Osborne song, "What if God Were One of Us?"  If God could be one of us, so could Satan. And if Satan had a name, I imagine it wouldn't be any of those fancy biblical names like Beezlebub or Lucifer. Seriously, how much of a give away would that be? He'd be constantantly hounded by fans and papparazzi. No, I'm pretty sure that if Satan has a name it's something like Ed. And yes Ms. Osborne, I would call him Ed to his face. I wonder if Ed has a blog...If he does, I'm pretty sure he gets more reads than the 27 I got last week because his friends click on the Facebook "Share" button below. C'mon people, we can't let evil win!  

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The Guy Code of Conduct Chapter 3: Present Buying

It's the most wonderful time of the year. Yeah, if you like mental and emotional torture. It's that time of year when we as men are put to the test. The relationship test. Well, it's not THE relationship test. There are countless relationship tests day in and day out that test our mettle as a husband, fiance or boyfriend. Buying presents for special occasions is one of those tests. Whether you celebrate Hannukah or Christmas, put on your thinking caps boys because it's time to sharpen your perceptive accumen. Make no mistake though, it's not me assuming that men have perceptive accumen, it's the women, and therein lies the problem. 

Did anyone see or read The Davinci Code or any of the sequels to it? Professor Robert Langdon kept finding himself in life threatening situations in which he has to solve a mystery using obscure clues found in ancient artifacts and works of art that were usually hidden all over some city. Sounds like Christmas shopping doesn't it? Langdon had it easy though. He was only up against a murderous cult or psychotic nutcase. And if he was successful in saving the day he usually got a little nookie at the end. Still sounds like Christmas shopping to me. 

Now back to that perceptive accumen. Let's hop in Peabody's Wayback Machine, destination 1989. Our hero Phil had a fiance. And a mullet.Typically those last two things are mutually exclusive. One day Phil, his fiance and his mullet were strolling merrily through a store in a mall when the fiance saw a shower massage and said, "Oh, I'd like one of those." Fast forward a month when said fiance opens her Christmas gift to find the aforementioned shower massage. And it was a damn nice shower massage too. If  it was a Davinci Code novel, however,  Langdon's family would be dead and he was getting no nookie. Not even in the shower. I kept the fiance, lost the mullet and stll hear that shower massage mentioned every year as an example of the worst gift buying ever. 

My point is, sometimes the subtle hints women drop regarding what they want are often lost on men. It's not that we're stupid, it's that our brains work differently. Men are hard wired for action and reaction. We are hunters while women are gatherers. I've seen the pet pyschic have better luck interpreting a single woof from a one eyed, three legged basset hound with the pulse of a ficus tree. "What's that Lucky? Your owner doesn't hug you enough? You miss your siblings who were left behind at the pound? Wait, I hear a voice coming through from beyond. I think it's your grandmother. She says 'woof, woof', does that mean something to you? Wait, I'm translating, she says she didn't want a shower massage for Christmas. She wanted a rawhide chew." That's right, it's a pet pychic who channels the spirits of dead animals. And he's still more accurate at that than most men are at deciphering the byzantine, labrynthine maze of clues women leave to test us.

Getting the wrong gift ruins Christmas for everyone. If a woman isn't happy with her gift, we can tell and we feel like a jerk. Nobody wins. Often a Christmas gone wrong might go like this:

Woman: (sigh) "oh, a sweater. Thanks."

Guy: "What? What's wrong? That time when we were in the store you said you liked that sweater.You didn't mention anything else." 

Woman: "Yes I did. Several times. Remember when we went out to dinner and I said I liked the dessert? Well they make the dessert with the Cuisinart 6000 Deluxe Mixmaster Turbo. And I wanted it in taupe to match my kitchen. And one of those Jane Seymour necklaces." 

Guy: "What the hell is taupe? And those stupid Jane Seymour necklaces don't look anything like hearts. They look like swans."

Guys, don't stress yourself over gathering clues. Our brains aren't made they way. We're hunters. Ladies, if you want something just say it and we will go hunt it down. Yeah, I know, not a great final punchline, but c'mon, I worked in shower massages, pet psychics and Jane Seymour here, that's gotta be enough. 

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2011: The Year In Review?

No, just kidding. I'm seriously not going to review the year either personally or in music, movies, or news. I love the holidays, but I hate watching t.v. this time of year. There isn't a single media outlet that can resist the obligatory "Year in Review" piece. Why? We all know what happened! We don't need the events ranked for us. And for cryin' out loud don't give us that videography set to music of the people that died this year! That's so depressing it makes me want to join that list immediately. 

I'm also not one to send one of those form letter Christmas cards: "Dear (insert name here), 2011 was a wonderful year for my family. I started a new job, little Johnny learned to poop indoors and that rash on Susie's face cleared up...blah, blah, blah...." If you're a friend, I've talked to you throughout the year, followed you on Facebook and you know what I've been doing and I know what you've been doing. So lets look ahead. Why not list what we'd like to see in the coming year? Here is my list of things I'd like to see happen in 2012.

1. More David Blaine. I hate him, but I miss him. Where the hell did that guy go? A couple years ago you couldn't walk down to your mailbox without finding him locked inside it. He was on t.v. constantly,  just locking himself inside stuff. For no reason! No one even asked him to! I think maybe he locked himself in something two years ago and couldn't get out and we all just forgot about him. 

2. I'd like an end to all reality shows. Each and every one of them. There is an entire generation of television writers who haven't had to come up with a new idea in 15 years. Even the "new" ideas for reality shows aren't original. Most of the original reality show ideas were stolen from foreign television. "Reality" television isn't remotely like any reality I've ever seen. Not once in my reality have I been stranded on a desert island or locked in a house with a bunch of strangers and forced to manipulate others or eat live bugs in order to win a pizza. 

3. I'd like to see a law passed eliminating Leap Year and Day. All months should be the same length. This goes along with my Daylight Savings Time grudge. If we didn't muck about with our clocks so much we could probably get our calendar straightened out too. 

4. I'd like to see 2012 pass without so much as a single "news" item using the words "Lohan" or "Kardashian." Oh my God. I just had a thought. What if Lindsay Lohan marries Rob Kardashian? 

5. 2012 is an election year and I'll say it again:  I think we ought to elect our next President American Idol style. Week by week eliminations until the winner is announced on live t.v. Why not? It would get more people involved in the political process if they could participate via television and cell phone. Instead of 80's hits night we'd have the New Hampshire primary. Then again, why not 80's hits night? I think the President should be able to inform and entertain during the State of the Union address. If they hold open auditions in a town near me I am so going to sleep out overnight to be in line.  Gingrich and Obama would have no shot at beating out my obvious charm. And I would look really tall standing next to Ryan Seacrest. 

If you enjoy my nonsense and wan to see it continue in 2012 you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle, follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor, and of course, please feel free to click the Facebook like button on this page to share my idiocy with your friends.

 

 

Dental Problems

Many people find dentist visits to be, at the least, anxiety provoking. I have an extensive history with dentists dating back to when I broke a tooth in the second grade. In fact, an oral surgeon once uttered the word, Oops!" while working in my mouth. That's reassuring huh? Despite that history, the most frightening part of dental visits is...receiving the appointment reminder card in the mail. 

What? Yes, that's right. The appointment reminder card freaks me out. Every time. Again, not because I fear the dentist. I like my dentist. We chit chat about our kids who play baseball. My hygienist is delightful and I've seen her for the past 15 years. It feels like I'm just visiting old friends when I go to the dentist. So why does the appointment reminder card freak me out? It's simple. It's because the reminder card is in my own handwriting. At the conclusion of each appointment I'm handed a postcard on which I dutifully fill out my own name, address, and next appointment. My hygienist then takes the card and five and a half months later mails it to me.

So why the freak out? The freak out happens when I return home on any idle Tuesday and get my mail. As I rifle through the assorted bills and junk mail suddenly I come across a handwritten postcard that stands out because it's handwritten, as so little mail we receive these days is. Usually when I receive mail with a handwritten name and address I don't recognize the writing. This time however the writing is oddly familiar. I know it, but at first I don't know to whom the script belongs. I think, "why do I know this writing?" It's just a brief moment, but for some reason I hate that moment of knowing that I recognize the writing but I'm not certain whose it is. It's kind of an eerie feeling as if someone is screwing with me. Like it might be a serial killer dressed in a clown costume taunting me by mail before he stalks me in earnest and eventually sneaks into my house to leave my bunny boiling in a pot on the stove for me to discover. Yes, for that one tenth of a second before I recognize my own handwriting, it's that kind of thing that flashes through my mind. Is it just me, or does everyone else hate getting mail from themselves? I wish they would just let me send myself an e-mail. 

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Unusual Things I'm Thankful For

In the United States it's traditional to get together with family on Thanksgiving and share the important things you're thankful for before gorging yourself on a meal centered upon the large, dead carcass of the ugliest bird in North America. Every year everyone shares the usual platitudes about being thankful for family, friends and good heath. Duh! Who can't come up with that? When I decided to write this I set out to write a positive, uplifting post so that my loyal readers don't think that my every thought and written or spoken word are tinged with biting sarcasm. So without further adieu, here are some of the everyday things I am thankful for:

Satellite radio. I have over 150 stations to choose from. I can pre-program 30 of them, making them available to me at the touch of a single button. I don't ever have to listen to a radio commercial ever again. I can put my satellite radio on one station and drive my car clear across the country without ever changing the channel. All because somewhere, several miles above the Earth, is a giant satellite beaming the radio signal directly to my car. I don't care if they discover that these satellite waves, possibly going straight through my skull on their way to my radio, cause tumors. The trade off is so worth it. 

Scallops wrapped in bacon. In my opinion there is nothing else edible that can cause me to go into a swoon like scallops wrapped in bacon with a little toothpick through them. I highly recommend removing the toothpick before ingesting these wonderful little delicacies. The taste isn't half as good when half of a toothpick is scraping it's way down the inside of your esophagus. If there is a Nobel Prize for cooking somebody should get one for this idea. Now these are a food to base a holiday around!

The Name Game. You know the name game right? That little rhyming thing where you take any name and impose nonsense syllables upon it. With my name it goes like this: Philly Philly bo billy, banana fana fo Philly, me my mo milly, Philly! I didn't learn how to do this until I was 21 years old and it never fails to cheer me up or make me smile. I want to see everyone do the name game with their own name when you post a comment below. (Just for fun at home, try it with the name Ducky)

The interwebs. Thank you Al Gore for inventing it for us. Without it how would we ever find our perfect match using 29 personality variables?  Also without the interwebs I could never get the daily positive reinforcement for my ridiculous thoughts and theories that I get when I check my blog and see how many page views I got. I was always that kid that caused your teachers and parents to say, "Don't laugh, you'll only encourage him." Thank you all for encouraging me. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

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The Curse of Bradley Cooper

People Magazine recently named their Sexiest Man Alive, and again, it wasn't me. Bradley Cooper?!!? Puh- leeze! I scrape stuff off my shoe that's sexier than Bradley Cooper. Have you noticed they always choose actors? Not once have they considered a blogger. First of all, I wasn't even interviewed. How fair is that? Go on, compare his picture, which you have to Google to even find, while I put mine right here for all to see, with mine in the top left of the page. His picture, my picture. His picture, my picture. His picture, my picture. I've been doing that all night and I still don't see it. Sexier than me? Who is doing the rating? Ray Charles? Stevie Wonder? (Why aren't there famous blind women?) I'm mean, c'mon, as far as I know he is completely unemployed right now. Meanwhile I have a full time job with health insurance and everything!

And how about Facebook, the social convention by which all human value is measured. Does Bradley let you be his Facebook friend? No, of course not. He is snooty. Snooty? Snotty! I of course will quote Ferris Bueller and let you be my Facebook friend. Check. Scoreboard, Phil again. And talk about snotty! He goes by his full name, Bradley. He's too good for Brad isn't he? Do see me going by Philip? Of course not. The Philip Factor would sound stupid and snotty. 

Raise your hand if you've read Bradley Cooper's blog? Of course you haven't! He doesn't have a blog. I do. I have a blog, a full-time job, health insurance and the ability to use what I've learned about personal hygiene. Cooper? No, no, no, and a big NO on the hygiene. Ask yourself this, who have you spent more time reading about this year, him or me? We all know the answer to that. You've been to my blog at least once or twice a week. How many times a week do you go out of your way to read what Bradley Cooper has to say? In fact, you see my picture everytime you visit this blog. Because of that you've definitely looked at my picture more than you've looked at Bradley Cooper's this year too. Do you know why? That's right, because I'm sexier. Case closed. In fact my argument here is so watertight that I doubt Bradley (read with sarcastic tone) will even attempt to refute it. In fact Bradley, if you disagree, feel free to post a comment here stating your case. 

Addendum: I had written all of the above last night with the intention of posting it this morning. Today I got up, took my dogs out, and as I re-entered my home I turned for a moment and as I turned back, the door I had just opened, much to my surprise, decided to meet me halfway, causing a 1 1/2 inch gash in my forehead that required four stitches. Bradley, you and your witchy ways may have delayed me from posting this, but I was not to be deterred. My hope is that the new scar on my forehead will only increase my ruggedly, handsome good looks to the point that People Magazine will see the error of their ways and I will supplant you. 

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The Fountain of Youth

I've discovered the Fountain of Youth. We'll, I didn't really discover it. Someone else did and told me about it, and now I'm telling you. Well, I'm not telling you NOW. If I told you in the first paragraph you wouldn't continue reading would you?  We all want to live forever though don't we? I know I do, as long as I get to keep all my mental and physical faculties intact. Since I can't imagine myself any other way, I'm pretty sure that's how it's going to work out.

I like my teeth. I use them almost every day. They keep my face from caving in, and damn it although it may sound vain,  that's important to me. So, I've always been good about brushing my teeth at least twice a day because I hope to keep my real teeth for as long as I keep all the other parts of my body alive and functioning. According to some real, medical research I've been reading, (yeah, when motivated by the desire to live forever I'll read anything) your teeth, and mine, are important to survival, and not just because they allow us to eat food, which I'm led to believe is also important to survival. Maybe I should re-phrase that, the teeth themselves aren't all that important to survival, except for the eating part. It's the care and maintenance of said chompers which leads to a longer lifespan. 

About 5 years ago I did one of those surveys on www.realage.com to see how long I would live, and much to my surprise, how often I flossed my teeth had a significant impact on how long I would live. So, I dedicated myself to flossing at least weekly. Then about two years ago at my annual cleaning the dental hygienist said I needed to floss more because I was getting, get this, "calculus" between my teeth. Oh the horror! Calculus! I was so not a math major in high school. I barely passed trig, so I sure as hell was not ready to deal with Calculus in my 40's. I will do anything to avoid math, and calculus between my teeth did not sound good. So I re-dedicated myself to my grueling weekly flossing regimen. 

Ok, as brilliantly funny as my blog posts are, this is getting long, so I'll get to the point. I recently read that flossing your teeth daily will add 3-5 years to your life. To recap, I want to live forever, which means that eventually you'll all fall off my Facebook friend list, and hopefully you'll stipulate in your will that your children continue to read my blog. What it also means is that I'm actually flossing my teeth daily. In fact, I thought to myself, if flossing your teeth daily helps you live up to 5 years longer, I'm going to floss twice a day so I can live 10 years longer. That's right, my plan is to push the upper limits of human longevity as far as possible. Once my gums stop bleeding and my flossing muscles are no longer sore, I'll up my flossing to three times daily and then maybe four, with the longevity benefit obvious. You do the math. 90 years from now when I'm President and I  open the time capsule at the Smithsonian in D.C. and a copy of this blog post is there I think my point will have been made. 

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We're All Gonna Die!

“We’re all gonna die!” It seemed very funny to shout that out during a fire drill my freshman year at Cicero High School. It was still funny to my friend John Martin and I after we realized our only consequence would be a stern talking to by the principal. Yes, when confronted I dragged my friend into it. “He dared me to,” I said. What had really happened was that in the midst of 2000 students being evacuated from our high school I had turned to my friend John and said, “Do you dare me to yell ‘We’re all gonna die’?”  Of course John took me up on my offer and unwittingly became my accomplice when I caught heat from the man.  At the time I was young and foolish with no concept of my own mortality. I thought death was something to be laughed at. I no longer think death is funny. 

I generally still do not believe in my own mortality, but I’m starting to hedge my bets in this regard. Just because it happens to other people doesn’t mean it will happen to me. As my mother always said, “If your friend jumped off a bridge does that mean you have to also?” Much to my mother’s eternal satisfaction I am answering NO. If you want to die, go ahead and do it, but I refuse to be a follower. 

My problem is that earlier this week scientists with a telescope larger than a third world country notified us that an asteroid would be buzzing our planet last night close enough to knock some branches off of the trees in my back yard. I may not believe that I am going to die, but I’m not completely unrealistic. I will admit than an asteroid, in most cases, is larger than me and if it hit me in the head I would have a hard time surviving that. Yes, I know I have a large head, but not large enough that it has it's own gravitational pull. Yet.

Who I’m really angry at is the scientists. Damn them and their ever inquisitive minds! Why did they have to tell me this? Did anyone here really want to know that getting hit by an asteroid the size of Rhode Island is a possibility? In this case ignorance was bliss. Why couldn’t the scientists just leave well enough alone? My entire life I’ve been at the top of the food chain and that has been a pretty secure feeling. Now this. Now I have to spend the rest of my life staring up at the night sky looking for black holes and asteroids. In general I figure that if a really big one hit the Earth I’d be fine as long as it didn’t hit me directly in the head. 

Maybe all this is why the scientists developed the male birth control pill. They just figured that if “we’re all gonna die” then we might as well start gettin’ jiggy with it. Yes, that’s right, I said jiggy. I'm bringin' jiggy back.  In fact, that’s probably the new science geek pick up line. “Hey baby, you know we might get hit by an asteroid any minute, so why don’t you just go ahead and get jiggy with me?” Obviously I'm cool enough to say jiggy, but the scientists aren't. When I'm elected President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, I'm going to pass a law stating that if the scientists see an asteroid headed our way unless they have some way to make the entire planet duck out of the way they should just shut the hell up.

 

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to make sure you don't miss an episode until the big one hits, you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.  And if you're a Cicero High School alum click the Facebook like button below so we can continue to reminisce together about our high school highjinks. And tell John I said Hi.

Daylight Stupid Time

Yeah, I posted this before. And I'm going to keep posting it until it changes. Yes, it's happening again. This weekend, in case you didn't know, Daylight Savings Time ends.First off, why isn't it called daylight spending time since we are using more daylight in the summer months?

I don't know if other countries do this, and I know that all of the states in the U.S. don't abide by it. Daylight Savings time is when we move our clocks forward an hour in the spring and move them back an hour in the fall. I think it was created about 100 years ago to give farmers more daylight in which to do their work in the fields. Call me crazy, but why the hell didn't someone just suggest that the lazy ass farmers drag themselves out of a bed a little earlier each day? Because those cud chewing, overall wearing, udder jerking lay abouts can't be bothered to set their alarm clocks we are all stuck changing time. I don't know if anyone else noticed, but about 7 or 8 years ago the U.S. Congress, in another colossal waste of their time and our tax dollars, extended daylight savings time by a few weeks on either end. At this point the farmers (except the creepy Amish ones) all have electricity and alarm clocks, which may not have been the case 100 years ago. Reportedly the reason Congress is doing this is to save energy. How will changing our clocks twice a year save energy? Don't we set our thermostats and use heat based on the outdoor temperature, not how light out it is? I'd like to save the energy I expend changing my damn clocks! I'd like Congress to tell me when I get that back. Congress is again proving to be the biggest collection of morons outside of...well...I guess I can't think of a bigger collection. Why doesn't Congress set their alarm clocks an hour earlier so they can get up early and get more of this important work done? I for one am not going to go for this stupid daylight savings time thing anymore. I don't work at a farm or for Congress, so I told my boss that for 6 months I'll be to work an hour early or late, however it works out. When I'm elected President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, this is going to change.

If you enjoy my nonsense and need something to do in that extra hour this weekend you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

I Am Pro-Choice! (It's not what you think)

As the political races are getting into high gear I thought I'd come out with one of my most important political statements. I AM PRO CHOICE. No, not in the political hot potato sense of the phrase. My personal, political and religious beliefs aren't fervent enough to hold up to public scrutiny. But I AM PRO CHOICE. Here is the choice that I want: 

When I walk into a public restroom, I would like the opportunity to choose if I want to dry my hands with a paper towel, or if I want to stand there like a dope rubbing my hands together under the pathetically underpowered air dryer. Whose hands do these things actually dry? Don't we all just end up wiping our hands on our pants as we walk out anyway? If you actually want your hands dried by these machines you'd have to stand there long enough that anyone you came with would probably think you had escaped out of the bathroom window. If you actually use a hand dryer to full effect everytime you use a public restroom you'll probably waste hours of your life each year and in the long run waste a significant portion of your finite time on Earth rubbing your hands together under what amounts to nothing more than the same breeze you'd get if you just walked around waving your hands in the air. The air dryers are fine for anyone who wants to save trees, but I resent the places that have made the choice for you and don't provide any type of paper towels at all, forcing you to use the hand dryer, or worse yet, trying to dry your wet hands with toilet paper that will only tear and stick all over your hands. In fact, I feel so strongly about this that if a restaurant actually posted a sign saying that they add 50 cents to every bill to cover the cost of planting trees to replace the trees cut down to make the paper towels in their restroom I would patronize that restaurant for every meal. 

When I become President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, I'm going to pass a law....

If you want to support my Presidential campaign and have more time in your life you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle, click the Facebook "Like" button below, and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

 

Occupy This!

Aaaah! Thank goodness thousands are sitting around on the sidewalks and in the parks in the biggest cities' financial districts all over the world. I'm feeling better about my 401k already. Yup, there's nothing better to save the world economy from doom than sitting around on your ass with cardboard signs. I'm pretty sure that must be how the Roman Empire was built.

Hmmmm...I wonder who the brain trust is behind this movement? How did that meeting go? "Let's see, we have no jobs, and we want jobs. What's the best way to fix that? I know, let's go sit around in the street! That will look great on my resume!"  Looking back on world history how many problems have been solved by doing nothing instead of something? American Revolution: sitting, or throwing tea in the harbor? (Or if you're in Boston it's the "haahbah")  Berlin Wall: Did they sit next to it, or did they knock it down? Capturing Bin Laden: Did our troops go to the Middle East and sit down until Bin Laden surrendered? Let's see...where have we seen the "I don't like what's going on so I'm going to sit down right here until someone gives me what I want" attitude? Oh that's right! That's how 4 year olds try to solve problems! Now if the Wall St. protesters would just hold their breath until they get what they want I'm pretty sure we could knock a few percent off the unemployment rate at the same time. 

Yeah, I'm thinking that if a Fortune 500 company offers a job to any one of those "protesters" they would be suiting up and toeing a company line in a high rise on Wall St. in about two minutes. I wonder how long these sitting outdoors protests are going to last in New York when the first snow falls in about two weeks. I have a message for all of the Wall St. protesters who are reading my blog on their iphones as they sit in the street: Get out of the way you morons. Everyone who can fix the economy is trying to get to work and you're slowing them down, and thus by extension, slowing the economic recovery with your stupid "protest." Sitting down is not a protest. I'm sitting down right now and I'm not protesting anything. Well, actually, I'm protesting the fact that not enough of you are subscribing to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to support my sit down protest you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor. And don't forget to click the Facebook share button. That will show those Wall St. types!

 

The United States of Oprah

Oprah has a new t.v. show starting next week. And it's on every freaking night. Is it just me, or did every else think to themselves, "Oh my God! I thought we just got rid of her. What the hell else can she possibly have to say?"

Oprah Winfrey is arguably the most famous person in America. Oprah Winfrey could probably buy Switzerland and have enough money left over to order a pizza. If George W. Bush likes a book, it's probably by Dr. Suess. If Oprah Winfrey likes a book it becomes a bestseller. (I sure hope she likes my blog) If you help Oprah lay off the carbs for a few weeks, you can get your own t.v. show and become a pop culture icon. If Hollywood ever decides to update the ancient fable of King Midas as a movie they could just substitute Oprah's life story. Why she doesn't just ride to her public appearances in a Popemobile is beyond me. Was this paragraph redundant? Absolutely. Was it superfluous? I think not.

You get the point. Oprah is big, and not in the way she used to be. Her popularity has reached heights that few celebrities ever have known. Barack Obama can only dream of a public consensus like that. My question is, what's stopping Oprah from running for the presidency? If the population is, as they say, 52% women, how could she be stopped? Scary thought huh? Then again, I might not be opposed to Oprah as President. Think about it...with her money she could bail out the U.S. economy without batting an eyelash. And can you imagine the State of the Union address when she says, "To help stimulate the economy...(dramatic pause)...everyone in the United States gets a new car!" In fact, I hope Oprah does become President because that would mean we would probably see her on t.v. a lot less. 

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to support my bid for the presidency you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

 

Willy Wonka for the iGeneration

"The post-Cold War kids laid claim to AIM, LOL, OMG, yo, BRB, Space, colon, dash, closed parentheses. We sat at our laptops and typed away, and found that we each had something to say. Web-logged our fears, our hopes, and dreams. Individuated by digital means."-from "iGeneration" by MC Lars

Steve Jobs and his products defined a generation. More than the old labels that said some age group or another was "Generation X" or "Generation Y", Steve Jobs and his partner Steve Wozniak, made us all, to borrow a phrase from sarcastic rapper McLars, the iGeneration. News coverage of his passing has been ubiquitous this week. I've heard a variety of reactions ranging from sadness to "why is everyone upset? He was just a guy that ran a company." 

Steve Jobs was more than "just a guy who ran a company." He was our real life Willy Wonka, creating wonders in his chocolate factory that we never imagined but suddenly couldn't live without. A quiet recluse who fiercely guarded his private life, but then when he had a new Wonka Bar or Everlasting Gobstopper to introduce he would emerge from his castle in his loafers, jeans and black turtle neck to show us how his new, wonderful creation worked, kind of how as a kid your Dad would take you down to his workshop to show you his new gadget or shiny power tool. The secrecy that surrounded the new inventions coming from  Apple offices and factories kept all the other tech companies' Mr. Gates Slugworth just one step behind. I wonder if the workers at Apple all look like Oompa Loompas....And damn it, wouldn't we all love to have been his Charlie Bucket? But alas, who but a man with the imagination of a child could create the wonders he did? 

Steve Jobs may not have created the internet, but he gave us the internet in a multitude of ways from the first Mac to iPods to the iPhone4S. His inventions gave us the world in ways we never thought possible. And his Pixar Animation Studios gave us Woody and Buzz Lightyear whose motto "To infinity and beyond!" seems to perfectly capture what Steve Jobs thought possible. In my whimsical imagination I like to fantasize that before his physical body succumbed to cancer Steve somehow created one last amazing gadget that allowed him to upload his consciousness, his electrical brain wave patterns, to "the cloud" and that somewhere Steve Jobs is flowing through the information superhighway and able to see all the joy his creations brought to the world. 

As a related aside you can download the song "iGeneration" by MC Lars from of course the iTunes store. And if you enjoy my nonsense you can use your Wonka Bar to subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle or follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

Rules For Choosing Your Facebook Pic

More than our driver's license photo, the Facebook picture is the face we show the world. That being the case, why do so many people screw it up? If you want friends and family to find you, is a picture of your left eye and forehead is going to help? Maybe a profile picture of your cat is the best way for prospective employers to say to themselves, "A cat? Well if this person has a cat they must be the kind of self-confident, go-getter we need on our staff immediately!"  

I know choosing just the right photo to is of crucial importance, so based on my extensive knowledge and experience at having an opinion, I've compiled these rules to help you put your best face forward.

1. If you're under 21, I think the 'standing in front of the bathroom mirror holding your phone out' picture is required, especially after every new haircut. If you're a girl under 21 you must never appear in a Facebook picture alone. Get a friend and lean back holding your phone out. Wearing sunglasses is recommended. Who am I kidding, no one under 21 is reading my blog. Hell, no one under 21 even knows what a blog is. To them a blog might as well be a vinyl record album.

2. When to choose the pet photo as your profile pic? A) when your pet is a near and dear part of your life, B) When you want to make sure no one searching for you will ever find you unless you have the world's most unique name, C) If an employer you're applying to is in a pet related industry, D) If you actually look like that, or E) Never, there's no good reason to portray yourself as an animal! Have some confidence! If someone is looking for you on Facebook they already know what you look like. Stop trying to hide like you're in a witness protection program run by dogs and cats.

3. The "I'm a fun person" photo. This is usually you in a Hawaiian print shirt holding a drink on a beach, boat, and/or surrounded by people. What a statement. This says that you're a fun, sociable person who has lots of friends and is always on the go doing something exciting. You know we don't believe that right? We can tell it was taken in 1998, the last time you were at a party like that. Yeah, we know this because we all put up the same picture at one time or another. We know that you, just like us, is home on Friday night scrolling through your week of Tivo'd shows, camping out on Facebook and nodding off from a glass of wine. 

4. The kids photo: Awwww....how cute! Now we know you have no life outside of schlepping your kids to soccer practice and school concerts. And have you ever noticed most parents only have pictures of their kids when they're under 10 years old? That's because none of us are all that thrilled to have them anymore once they've grown into teenagers.

5. The couple photo: When you're married, this is of course always acceptable, unless you have multiple spouses in which case you should probably stick with the solo photo for recruitment purposes. The couple photo when you're dating? Oh you're so in love and they're the one! Are you kidding me? How often will that stay on your page for very long? 

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to be in my Facebook picture you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhil Factor. 

Yield To This!

The sign above here is symbolic of everything that is wrong with the United States. Yes, that's right, everything. "State Law: Yield to Pedestrians in Crosswalk." Is this in anyone elses state? These signs started popping up in New York about two years ago. At first I thought they were just a small town thing. You know, those little towns without a stoplight and just one general store that is as much a social center as a place to shop for essentials. I can see these signs in towns where life moves slower and a motorist is just as apt to stop their vehicle to chat with a pedestrian about Edith's gout and the weather. 

I would be fine if these little traffic impediments limited themselves to towns where Amish buggies share the road with cars, but that's not the case. Like an ivy that seems harmless at first, these laws and signs have crept into my city and town and are choking traffic. I can hardly finish a text without a half dozen stops and starts for people who suddenly believe that their soft, fleshy 150 lbs. are suddenly impervious to the might of my 3000 lb. death mobile hurtling towards them at 40 mph.

Don't get me wrong, in general I'm not in favor of running down pedestrians with my car, but let's have some common sense. This is a dangerous law. "But Phil," you say, "how is it dangerous? It seems like it is meant to protect people." Yes, it is meant to protect people, but from what? From their own stupidity. Why should we train people that it's OK to step off the curb without looking? Without consequence? 

Now, children will grow up believing that it's just fine to run into a road. People don't need to get more comfortable with traffic, but less comfortable. With drivers busy eating, talking on cell phones, texting, and watching their GPS for the next turn pedestrians need to be on their toes constantly regardless of what the streeet sign says. This law goes against Darwin's evolutionary theory. It used to be that only the strong and smartest survived to procreate. Now with laws like this that protect the stupid people, everyone gets to survive and procreate! Do we really need more people who aren't smart enough to yield to a speeding car? I imagine years from now we will need to invent hover cars because our Earthbound roads will just be clogged with dolts crossing the street all day just because they can.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to make sure I don't run you down, you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

 

The Hamster Ball People

We all know what a hamster ball is right? Generally I have no problems with hamsters or balls. What I do have a problem with is Hamster Ball People. What or who are Hamster Ball People you ask? 

The Hamster Ball People are those people who move about the Earth as if they are in a giant plastic hamster ball, as if they are surrounded by a giant invisible bubble that is their space and theirs alone. Still not sure? Let me give you a few examples:

At the supermarket you push your cart along happily gathering what you need for the gourmet feast you're planning for that evening. As you turn the corner to find that one, last elusive item you need to complete your shopping, there sits a Hamster Ball Person. They are definitely in the middle of the aisle, cart parked sideways as they ponder what appears to be the most difficult decision of their lives. That entire aisle belongs to them don't you know? Or if perhaps they are actually pushing their cart, they are moving a such a glacial speed that you think their legs may fuse together, or already have. And of course they are in the middle of the aisle as if their invisible hamster ball won't let them move to either side to let other shoppers pass. Oh, that's right! They don't actually recognize that there are other shoppers because the entire store exists to serve their needs. 

On the roads the Hamster Ball People aren't as egregious in their behavior, but they exhibit the same traits. The Hamster Ball People are likely to be the car that will stop regardless of traffic, on any road, without pulling over to the side, to read a sign, look at someones Halloween decorations, just to point at a bird they saw, or to chat with a neighbor who is mowing their lawn.

At the bank the Hamster Ball People are the ones who on a Friday lunch hour with 40 people waiting in line will take up at least a half hour with the teller because they don't understand the ATM fee on their bank statement. 

Another place the Hamster Ball People foul things up for the rest of men is in the men's room. Classic men's room etiquette insists that unless your bladder is in danger of literally exploding and splashing everyone within a 10 foot blast radius with urine and torn skin, you are not to ever use a urinal directly next to another man. The Hamster Ball People do respect this rule, but to an annoying degree. If there are only three urinals in a men's room, as there often are, A Hamster Ball Person will go to the middle, leaving anyone who follows them the choice of either standing directly next to them, or waiting until the Hamster Ball Person leaves. You ladies may just think men are being silly about this, but really, do you want to go to the bathroom with no divider between you and you're close enough that you might rub shoulders?

The best part of this post is that I know that from now on whenever you go somewhere and see someone displaying any of these behaviors, in you're head you'll think "Hamster Ball People"

 

 

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to step into my hamster ball more often you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor.

Speedos, Cigs, and Vespas: Why the Europeans are Better Than You

Believe it or not, TSA allowed me on a flight to Europe last week. I think they were hoping I only had a one way ticket because I definitely had an easier time getting out of the U.S. than back into it. My job took me to Spain and I managed not to get into a fight with any one from any country. Apparently The Phil Factor is universally adored. 

The trip however, was an education. 

1. Europeans are not afraid of lung cancer. How cool is that? In the long run that isn't a bad thing either because it will result in fewer Europeans. Apparently word that cigarettes are bad for you hasn't reached Europe yet. The Europeans love their cigs just about anytime of day anyplace they are no matter what they're doing. The world class hotel I stayed in even had an entire floor of rooms set aside for smokers. Fortunately although I am not a smoker, I was graciously placed on the smoking floor so that I could enjoy the wonderful European ambience.

2. Europeans aren't afraid of skin cancer either. Based on my observations I think  Europeans are in better physical shape than Americans and they are damn proud of it, especially at the beach in front of my hotel where clothing was optional. Unfortunately much of their pride in their bodies was sadly overestimated by the owners of many of those bodies. There needs to be an upper age limit imposed for beach nudity. And the dudes over there seriously love their Speedos. I saw a guy jogging in a Speedo, and he was smoking at the same time. 

3. 9 o'clock is the new 4 o'clock: I think I figured out why the Europeans are in better shape than we are. They eat at weird times. They don't lunch until about 2 pm and dinner until 9 or 10 pm. If I had to wait until 10 pm for my dinner, most days I would either pass out from low blood sugar or just plain fall asleep and miss the meal altogether. 

4. The Euro rocks: The American dollar may buy less and less these days, but the Euro is awesome. One Euro is like $40 American! Do you know how many Speedos you can buy with a Euro? Me neither. I swear.  Apparently all the Europeans spend their Euro's on Speedos, cigs and Vespas. 

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to travel to far away exotic lands through the power of reading you can subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and follow me on Twitter @ThePhil Factor. 

 

 

Celebrate Good Times, C'mon!

Football season is back. I'm a sports fan. I enjoy playing sports and watching them. I wish I enjoyed my job as much as football players do. These guys seem to celebrate virtually any move they make as if they've just vanquished a lethal foe or won the lottery. It's even worse when you can tell they've choreographed their routine ahead of time. It's like watching a wedding reception with a bunch of middle aged guys who have had too much to drink.

Well if it's good enough for professional athletes it's good enough for me. I think we should all approach our jobs with the verve and zest for life that professional athletes do. Starting tomorrow I'm going to dance and hoot and pose every time I perform any basic function of my job. This should go over well. The first time I manage to run off a few copies that get collated and stapled I'm shouting out "Who's the Man?!!?" After my mailman spikes my bills into my mailbox I'd like to see him give me a chest bump and then do a backflip off of my front step. During a colonscopy why don't we hear more doctors shout "No polyps here! Not in MY house!!" When I go to the bank to deposit the enormous check I make from all the Kindle subscriptions to this blog I want to hit fists with the teller and then see her hop up on the counter and do the worm (that's not so much funny as it is a fantasy of mine). If I don't get a raise at my next performance evaluation at work I can't wait to do the throat slash gesture and back out of the room pointing ominously at my supervisor. That will let him know who's the man.

I suppose it's great that professional athletes take so much pride in their work. Some day I hope I have a job I enjoy as much as they do. Until then I think I'll employ these ideas in my sex life. "Hey baby, you want a piece of me? Who's the man? Bring it on!" I'll be keeping a 20 gallon container of Gatorade next to the bed for the final celebration.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to celebrate with me and give me a cyber high five you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle.  Just an FYI, I'll be out of the country for a bit, you know, until the heat dies down, so there won't be any new Phil Factor until about 10 days from now.

 

 

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

Like the title? I made it up myself. Few things in life inspire as many stories and "I know that feeling" shakes of the head as travel. I travel by plane a few times a year for my job, so in general I've got the hang of it. Unfortunately not everyone else does. I have to travel for work this weekend so as an educational public service I hope that some of the more novice travelers will read the rest of this post.

People Movers: Almost every airport has them now. These strips of moving floor that are intended to help the you traverse the airport a little more quickly without having to run. My impression is that you're supposed to walk on the people movers so that your speed is doubled without you having to run, preventing many collisions. I love the people movers. Even if I'm way early for my boarding I still like to get where I'm going faster. What I do not love is lazy people on the people movers. These idiots hop on the people mover as if it's an escalator and just stand there. By doing that they're not going forward any faster than if they had walked. They're just lazy! It's a good thing that security doesn't let us carry handguns on flights because I would probably shoot these non-moving people on the people movers and then step over their bodies as I happily sped on my way to my gate. I'm convinced that's why we can't bring guns in our carry on luggage, not so much to prevent hijackings as to prevent the normal, intelligent, sane passengers from killing the morons with whom we find ourselves trapped for several hours in a small enclosed space on our flights. There ought to be a test before you purchase your tickets and if you fail you're not allowed to fly.

One of the questions on the test will be "When on a plane is it ever appropriate to take off your shoes?" 

A) Always, it's important to be as comfortable as possible on a long flight.

B) Only in the event of some foot related emergency such as needing to plug a hole in the fuselage with my toe.

C) Absolutely never. And especially not if Phil is on your plane.

Yes, I got on a plane once and a guy sat next to me and immediately took off his sneakers. And there was a definite foot smell. Ugh. Fortunately the universe sensed my need and sent relief in the form of the flight attendant announcing to the plane, "We need four passengers to move to seats behind row 14. Any volunteers?" My hand went up so fast I almost popped my shoulder out of the socket. Aaaah, sweet relief! I moved to the back of the plane and had a row to myself to stretch out. "Life is good" I thought. Then I thought, I'm not real keen on the fact that our plane needs passengers to move to different parts to keep it balanced while it's in the air. What happens if someone upsets the delicate balance by getting up and going to the bathroom, which might be on the opposite side of the plane from their seat, and they leave an enormous...ahem... deposit? The planes' balance could be thrown off and I could die because somebody likes a little too much fiber in their diet.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to travel vicariously with me you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle.

 

 

My Momentary Friends

Despite how you perceive me here, I actually do have friends in the real world. Don’t laugh, I do. We all have many different kinds of friends though. We have friends from school, friends from work, and friends in our neighborhoods or apartment buildings. We also have what I like to think of as “momentary friends.” These are people who may enter our lives for only a moment every day or once a week, but in many ways are as important to us as are the friends for whom we profess love and longing. 

It could be the cashier at the supermarket you always go to because she has a nice smile and makes small talk about the weather. The security guard outside your office who holds open the door as you leave each day. Maybe it's even a Facebook friend who was never more than an acquaintance years ago, but who always clicks "Like" to your status updates. The girl at Supercuts who cuts your hair and asks about your plans for the weekend. The guy who says hello as he passes you on his nightly walk down your street. Or perhaps the blogger who updates almost daily with a heartwarming story or amusing anecdote. We all have about a hundred of these people in our lives and for me I enjoy their momentary friendship immensely. I think we all do. As much as family or friends whom we know by name, these people also provide us with a sense of security. Often, more than “real” family or friends our “momentary friends” are dependable. They’re always there for us with that smile and hello, or perhaps only a knowing nod.  Day in and day out, sometimes for years these nameless people are part of our lives and I miss them and worry about what happened to them when they don't show up in my daily routine.

The fun for me is providing them with names and stories. I like to imagine who they are outside of that moment in time when our paths cross. How and why did they come to be part of my life every day? The best part though is naming them. 

Some of the names we give these people are flattering and some are not. No matter where any of you live, I think you’ve all met my friend, “Man with bad toupee.” Then of course in every neighborhood we all know “Woman with enormous ass who’s always bending over doing yard work.”  “Girl walking dog” always seems so nice. You have no idea where she lives, but she appears around the corner every evening at the same time. One person I hate, but would somehow miss if he/she were gone is “Silver Pontiac Jerk.” (In all honesty I use a different word than 'jerk' in my head) This jerk parks his/her silver Pontiac in my street every day, completely blocking off traffic on that side of the street. As infuriating as this is to me, if they moved away I’d miss the little adrenalin rush I get as I curse them while I sit behind their parked car waiting for traffic to pass so I can get by. It’s only perhaps a 10 second inconvenience about 5 times a week, but that adds up to 50 seconds per week, 3 minutes and 20 seconds per month, or 40 minutes per year. That may not seem like much, but since I plan to live in my current house for the rest of my life, over the next 36 years Silver Pontiac Jerk will have wasted the equivalent of a full day of my life.  

I also secretly like to imagine that just perhaps, once or twice maybe my momentary friends and I have saved each others lives without even knowing it. Perhaps our 3 second interaction slowed one of us up just enough in our daily routine that we missed stepping off the curb in front of a speeding bus later in the day. So, for saving my life and brightening my days this post is dedicated to my favorite momentary friends: Supermarket cashier who likes basketball,  Indian Girl at Starbucks, Walking Man,  Girl with dog, and Security Guard. Without these people and their momentary friendship my day would be incomplete. I could probably do without Silver Pontiac Jerk though.

 

If you like my nonsense want to be my momentary friend you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle. Also clicking the Facebook like button will make you my momentary friend and quite possibly save your life later in the day. 

Rock You Like a Hurricane

Well it's hurricane season in the Northern hemisphere. Hurricane Irene ran up the East coast this past weekend and I hope with every fiber of my being that some forward think musician somewhere created a parody song titled "Come On Irene," based on the 80's hit by Dexy's Midnight Runners.

Fortunately I don't live in an area that ever gets any hurricanes although I felt some of the wind and rain from Irene. In the U.S., our weather people have a tradition of naming hurricanes with people names, such as Hurricane Phil, or Hurricane Betsy. Then the news people are astounded that people refuse to leave their homes when a hurricane is coming. Who is going to be afraid of Hurricane Betsy, or Tropical Storm Cecilia? Remember innocuously named Hurricane Katrina? Yeah, how'd that work out for everyone? Have you ever noticed that when people are interviewed as a big storm is bearing down on their area the homeowners always use the phrase "hunker down"? The interview always goes like this:

Reporter: I'm standing here with Joe and Jane Homeowner who plan on staying right where they are as the biggest storm of the century bears down on us. Joe and Jane, why are you staying put?

Homeowners: Well this little storm 'taint nuthin. We'll just hunker down until it passes. Now the storm of '68, that was a storm!

I'm not sure I've ever hunkered down for anything. I think hunkering down best describes the pose my dog takes when she's going number 2.  If you want people to flee to somewhere safe you have to give  a storm a name that sounds as scary as it is. Why not give it an intimidating name? How about something like Mega Hurricane Deathtron? That might get people out of their homes. Or maybe something simple like The Hurricane of Death? If the Hurricane of Death was headed for my house you can bet I'd get the hell out of the way. Then again, if they named hurricanes like that you wouldn't have people selling post hurricane t-shirts that said things like "I Was Blown By Irene 2011." When I'm elected President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, I will convene a special committee of writers to work on scary, new hurricane names every year. 

If you enjoy my nonsense and still have your internet connection after the hurricane you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and/or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle.

Facebook's Web of Evil

Across the centuries there have been men who have perpetrated unspeakable acts of evil upon their fellow man. Genghis Khan, Adolph Hitler, James Jones, and the creators of American Idol, to name a few. Since the turn of the century, however, one name has stood alone atop the modern pantheon of evil. That man? Mark Zuckerberg.

The Economy: Apparently a long time ago, like in the 1950's or something, someone wrote in the bible, "The meek shall inherit the earth."  The nerdy Zuckerberg started Facebook so he could talk to chicks and now he's got millions, maybe even billions of dollars to show for his efforts. Talk about the power of horny! Is it just me, or did anyone else notice that our nations entire economy went in the tank right about the time Facebook took off. Hmmm....let's see...about three years ago all the automakers and banks went out of business, the stockmarket went into a freefall and 50% of all homes were foreclosed upon. Coincidence? I think not! How many of you reading this, raise your hands,  even once checked your Facebook from a phone or computer in the last three years? Hmmm...one, two, three, four...stop it! Put your hands down you idiots. I can't see you through my computer. I'm not even here. I wrote this yesterday. But you get my point, since the onset of Facebook we've all wasted valuable, productive work time Facebooking and as a group all those minutes of lost productivity added up enough to destroy the economy. But wait...who got rich? That's right, Mark Zuckerberg. You know who doesn't waste work time on Facebook? The Amish, and they built me one hell of a shed. 

Our self-esteem: An endeavor that was born of low self-esteem has become the bane of everyone's insecurities. Do I have enough friends to look cool? Why does so and so have so many more friends than me? Why can't I get enough cows in Farmville? Why don't I know what Farmville is? (Guess who plays Farmville for real? The Amish!)  Why didn't my status get more likes or comments? I see the "People you may know" section and I think well if they didn't "friend" me I'm not going to "friend" them. Yeah, that's right, for every little face staring at you when you're thinking, "I barely talked to them in high school, I'm not going to "friend" them, that person is on the other side of the interweb looking at your little picture thinking the same thing. But guess who has lots of friends now that he has millions of dollars? That's right, it's evil incarnate, Mark Zuckerberg. 

That's right Mark Zuckerberg you smug little bastard, just sit up there in your ivory tower sipping mojitos with Bill Gates and counting your money. Blood money that you made off of the laziness and insecurities of every American. Well I won't stand for it. Ok, well I will stand for it until I get enough Amazon Kindle subscribers to The Phil Factor that I don't need your evil little web of insecurity and apathy and I'll start my own competing social network and when your little fantasy world comes crashing down around you, you'll know who's to blame! (insert maniacal laughter here) Remember the name Phil Mr. Zuckerberg. Remember it well.

 Hmmm...Philbook...I like the sound of that. And for just a small fee you can all join me  : )

If you enjoy my nonsense and don't want to wait for the launch of Philbook you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor and subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle, just like Mark Zuckerberg does.

 

 

 

Why The Amish Are Cooler Than You

Admit it, you saw the title and had to read further. I am totally diggin' me some Amish action lately. I see straw hats, bonnets, and horse drawn buggys and I think, "Damn, break me off a piece of that!" I cannot find me a butter churn fast enough.  We all love the Amish. We find their culture and lifestyle fascinating. Here's your evidence that the Amish are hot: Last week I bought a shed from the Amish. (Notice how we always refer to them as 'The Amish'? As if they're all one group or a large object of some sort.) So after my awesome, built like a fortress, Amish shed was delivered I posted a picture of it on Facebook.  That picture of my new Amish shed generated more comments than anything I've ever said or posted on Facebook in the last four years. Either I'm a boring Facebooker or you're diggin' some Amish action too. 

So why do we all love the Amish so much? Is it their stylish black outfits? They say black is very slimming. Have you ever seen a fat Amish person? Me neither. I wonder what their gyms are like? Instead of a stairmaster maybe they have a butter churn machine. The guys work out by bench pressing 4"x4" lumber with hay bales on the ends. Do they work out in those sack dresses and the pants with suspenders? Do those come in lycra? 

Another good thing about being Amish; their budget kicks ass. Guess how much money the Amish lost in their 401K's when the economy tanked? A lot less than me, that's for sure. You think the Amish worry about how they'll pay for retirement? Do you know how much they pay for electricity? $0.00. That's pretty damn good compared with my utility bill. And guess how much they pay for gas? Yup, $0.00. Unfortunately, the gas they're most familiar is in the form of methane coming from the horse in front of them pulling their buggy. 

Rumspringa. It's the Amish word for a period of adolescence when youth are allowed to leave home for a period of time to experience the modern world and decide if they want to return to the Amish faith. Talk about an awesome hall pass! It's a wonder they get any of them back. As a parent I love the idea. I'd love to get my kids out of the house for a year or two. In fact, I want to negotiate with the Amish for a reverse rumspringa program. When my kids are being difficult I want to send them to live with the Amish for a year. Building a few barns would straighten out their attitude. 

I fear however that Amish culture as we know it may soon cease to exist and I fear that it may be my fault. I accidentally exposed the Amish to the cartoon Family Guy. The Amish are allowed to use technology for work but not in their homes. The Amish shed maker had to call me to tell me when my shed was going to be delivered and my ringback tone is a clip from Family Guy. At the end of our brief conversation Amish shed maker said, "I like your ringtone." Since then I've gotten 27 hang up calls from an unlisted number. I just hear a little oddly accented giggling before the line goes dead. I'm pretty sure it's the Amish calling just to listen to Family Guy. This can't be good.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to have a literary rumspringa with me you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle. Unless of course you're Amish. 

 

Sport or Not a Sport? That is the question

As a "guy" there are few things more enjoyable than having an afternoon free to plant yourself in the Lazy-boy and click on ESPN for a few hours of sports viewing. The average guy is about as picky about what sports he will watch as he is about what women he will date. For a guy though there are few things more disappointing than clicking on ESPN and finding something on that's not a sport. We all know what I'm talking about. I would like to propose rules for what qualifies as a sport. Anything that does not qualify under my rules should be broadcast on a different network. Maybe the Game Show Channel or The Loser Network. 

Rule #1: It's not a sport if one of the  participants has no idea they are competing. Examples: horse racing, hunting, fishing, dog racing and dog shows. These animals are just jumping through hoops to get some sort of treat at the end. Who gets the prize money and trophies? Hunting is only a sport if the animals are shooting back.

Rule #2: It's not a sport unless there's a final score everyone agrees upon. Current "sports" that should be ruled out: Gymnastics, diving, and any kind of figure skating. Special mention goes to rhythmic gymnastics which is just gymnastics for people who are afraid of heights.

Rule #3: It's not a sport if you can do it while you sit down drinking beer and smoking. That rules out poker, Scrabble, bowling and spelling bees. Technically it also eliminates NASCAR.

I'm sure those of you from Australia, Europe and other countries could probably come up with several examples of things in your country that are played as sports, but really aren't. Of course in the U.S. it's not  a sport unless it's played in our country.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to practice the sport of Phil hunting you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle.

 

I Predict A Riot

It seems that jolly, old England isn't so jolly these days. Last week, apparently triggered by the shooting of a civilian by Scotland Yard, it seems that everyone in London put down their tea and crumpets to participate in widespread rioting and looting. The English it seems are a little skittish about gunfire (see American revolution circa 1776). 

Really? Scotland Yard shot someone? I had no idea they did that. Don't you just picture Scotland Yard being a bunch of Sherlock Holmes looking guys smoking pipes and saying things like "pip pip" and "cheerio"? Apparently the people of London had no idea that Scotland Yard was into shooting people either, so the Londoners expressed their displeasure by rioting and looting, which then had to be dealt with by the London police, or constables as they're called, who generally don't carry guns. There's your problem right there. You can't name your police 'constables'. No one is going to worry about getting roughed up by a "constable." The English need to name their police something scary like Robocops or Dementors. 

Rather than dealing with the rioters the American way, by shooting them with bullets, the English police shot them with cameras and put them on the news. They were surprised by what they found. Some of the rioters were not young thugs but some very normal, previously upstanding citizens who, apparently emboldened by the anonymity of the crowds, decided to join in the fun. An 11 year old ballerina, a 43 year old organic chef, an opera house steward, an Olympic Ambassador and many women were identified in the London police's camera sweep. So essentially the London "constables" were relegated to tourist like photo taking to try to stop the rioting. 

What could possibly possess some of these people to join in rioting and looting? No matter what is going on in my neighborhood  I've never thought to myself , "On the way home from work should I stop by the pub for some bangers and mash or should I heave a brick at the nearest store window?  Did the 11 year old ballerina skip down to the playground with her friends and come home with a new 42" flat screen telly she pulled from a broken store window?

I'm not a member of the NRA or anything, but I think the English 'constables', in addition to getting a new threatening name, need to start carrying guns. Without weapons, what do the English police do when confronted with an angry mob? I'm no law enforcement expert, but I'm pretty sure that yelling "Hey! Stop that!" is not all that intimidating, especially when yelled with an English accent. If you've got ballerina rioters I'm pretty sure that if you fire off a warning shot or two they'll pirouette home to their mum pretty damn fast. Since England has by and large gone so long without armed police, I think that at the first sign of trouble if the constables climb to the top of Big Ben and just let loose a round of semi-automatic gunfire in the air most of those rioters won't think it's such a jolly good show anymore and run their blimey arses home to Hogwarts to feed their owls. (Yes, all my knowledge of English culture comes from the Harry Potter movies) Outside of Hurricane Katrina conditions, have you ever seen riots last a week in the United States? Of course not! We'd get shot by police and that would be bad. 

If you enjoy my nonsense, instead of rioting you can peacefully protest by following me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or by subscribing to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle. Also, if you can name the musical reference I used in the title you win 20 Phil bucks which can be redeemed at The Phil Factor gift shop for a t-shirt. Cheerio!

 

The Guy Code of Conduct Chapter 6: The Female Pop Quiz

In millions of every day situations men are being tested and graded as if we are still in school. The Female Pop Quiz can consist of one question, several questions, or a situation. The results of these spontaneous daily exams can make or break a young relationship, or just make your life difficult for a day, a week, or even more in a long term relationship or marriage. The trick is, if you pass the quiz you never know it and if you fail it justice is usually swift and brutal. Sometimes men are smart enough to recognize when these pop quizzes have come up and at other times we are not. It is these time where potential disaster looms. Here for the are some of the most common Female Pop Quizzes and how to answer them correctly.

1. Does this make me look fat?  This is the most common and stereotypical of the pop quiz questions and almost all men recognize it, but some still answer incorrectly. An answer of  "No baby, that doesn't make you look fat. I love your curves," seems well intentioned and some men even accentuate the statement with a playful pat on the behind. This answer is a mistake. The inevitable answer from the woman will be, "What? I have curves?!!? So you're saying I'm fat?" A safe answer would be, "Honey, nothing could ever make you look fat. You are the sexiest woman I've ever met. If anything that outfit makes you look too thin."

2. The Dinner Reaction: After a woman has cooked a wonderful meal from scratch the male impulse is to just dig in and enjoy. As men we think that the act of eating every scrap and then licking the plate clean is enough of an indication of our love of the food. That gentlemen, is absolutely the wrong assumption. This situation is a Female Pop Quiz. If you are not yet married and a woman cooks you a meal, she is essentially testing you to see how you might possibly respond to your evening dinner every night for the rest of your lives. If you want anything long term with this woman you will not just dig and  then finish with an appreciative belch. After asking if there is anything you can do to help, such as set the table, the appropriate response is to first comment on how delicious everything looks and smells. Even if it looks like roadkill. Then after your first bite fake a complete mouthgasm as if you had just eaten food blessed by the gods. Even if she just gave you three day old dry toast this is the proper response. A corollary to this rule is that if a woman has cooked not only for you, but for company, you must absolutely be the first person to compliment her cooking in front of everyone.

3. The "Comment on Other Women" pop quiz. This is always a complicated situation that requires some expert verbal maneuvering to extricate yourself from without pain. If your female companion spots another woman on television or when you're out in public and makes a comment on that woman you are immediately on the hot seat. If your gal knows and dislikes the other woman due to a personal conflict no matter how far in the distant past it is in your best interest to listen attentively to her complaint, and then agree, even if you've just realized that your gal pal is completely wrong in the situation. If the situation is on the looks or behavior of a stranger then you have a bit more leeway. If your companion comments upon another woman's looks or attire be very careful. This is a very dangerous trap. Needless to say though if it's about large, fake boobs, remember, no matter what, we all hate them right? Practice saying it in front of the mirror with a straight face at least a few times a day until you've got it down pat. Now if your girlfriend, fiance', or wife makes a negative comment about a woman, it may be in your best interest to give a fairly ambiguous answer, or even an "oh, she doesn't seem that bad," response. If you come off as too catty yourself, or too prone to degrade another woman, even in a private conversation, this will reflect badly on her perception of your respect for women.

Obviously this chapter contains more material, but if I give away all of it the delicate balance of male-female communication may be forever altered, and it might cut into the book sales. Stay tuned for Chapter 7: What To Say about Mothers.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want a happy, long term relationship with me you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle.

 

Cult of Personality?

"Neon lights, a Nobel prize. The mirror speaks, the reflection lies. You don't have to follow me. Only you can set me free. I sell the things you need to be. I'm the smiling face on your t.v. I'm the cult of personality. I exploit, you still love me." ~Living Colour 1989

Cults get a bad rap. Just because of a few bad apples (I'm talking to you Mr. Jones and Mr. Koresh) the word cult has a negative connotation. Dictionary.com defines a cult as "an instance of great veneration of a person, ideal, or thing, especially as manifested by a body of admirers." Yeah, that's right,  I did some research. See? I'm not just making stuff up here. This blog is actually education. In fact if you read every post for the next 12 months I'm pretty sure you get college credit. Here's another little tidbit for you: do you know who came up with the phrase "cult of personality"? Russian dictator Nikita Krushchev in 1956. I didn't even know he was a member of Living Colour!

A lot of us have a knee jerk reaction to the word 'cult' but I maintain that regardless of the feelings that word causes, we are all members of cults. Whether it be a popular singer, t.v. show, product or Facebook, we all sign up for cults. Admittedly, my cult of choice is fantasy football. Yes, I'm one of those guys. But don't mock me, I would bet my first round draft pick that you belong to a cult too, and maybe one even dorkier than fantasy football. And that's the thing, we all see everyone else's cult for what it is, but we never see our own. And yes, there are things dorkier than fantasy football. American Idol?!!? Are you freaking kidding me?

Yes, American Idol is a cult. How many people spend more time watching and thinking about American Idol than they spend on traditional religion? I think we ought to elect our next President American Idol style. Week by week eliminations until the winner is announced on live t.v. Why not? It would get more people involved in the political process if they could participate via television and cell phone. Romney and Obama would have no shot at beating out my obvious charm. And I would look really tall standing next to Ryan Seacrest. 

How about Apple? Not the fruit, the technology company. The fruit needs a p.r. team, but the company may be the best cult going. Since the iPod was invented how many of us even consider an mp3 player made by anyone else? Seriously, what the hell is a Zune? Apple is such a good cult that I stopped in the middle of this to go download a song. (Fader by Temper Trap) Steven Jobs big calculator that he keeps on the table by his bed just went "cha-ching!" In fact, if not for iPods and iPads who would know who Steven Jobs was? (There you go Steve, I mentioned you and your products, now please send me an iTunes card)

And yes, I know fantasy football is a cult. But it's a really good one! I swear there's nothing bad about the time and money I spend on it. Sure, I'm adult and I spend more time studying for my fantasy draft every year than I did for the once in a lifetime S.A.T. or grad school entrance exams, but that's healthy right? And the results speak for themselves. League champ two of the last three years. I wonder why employers don't seem more impressed by that on my resume?

Facebook may be the biggest cult going. And have you noticed that cults whether religious or commercial seem to be started by, for lack of a better word, nerds? Whoever said, "The meek shall inherit the Earth" was obviously brilliant. He must have had a great cult.

If you enjoy my nonsense and want to join another cult you can subscribe to me on your Amazon Kindle (another cult I belong to) and follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor. See you at the intervention!

 

The Modern Worry Stone

Worry stones are smooth, polished gemstones usually in the shape of an oval with a thumb-sized indentation. They originated in Ancient Greece. Held between the index finger and thumb, rubbing them is believed to lessen one's worries. This action is a type of stimulation which can often create feelings of calmness and reduce stress levels.

Of course the ancient Greeks needed worry stones. They were constantly stressing about getting lost in the giant mazes and attacked by Minotaurs, or perhaps getting lured to their death on the rocks by the beautiful Sirens that sang to them on their commute to work. Then, if you were a guy, you had to constantly be on the lookout for one up the Gods coming down from Mount Olympus and trying to impregnate your girlfriend. It wasn't the Gods fault. I mean, seriously, there were only about 12 of them. That's like going to a high school with only 20 kids in your graduating class. Occasionally you're going to have to date a freshman. Or even worse, you hook up with a cougar (hot older woman) and she turns out to be your mom. Bottom line, ancient Greece was a stressful place and some crazy old crackpot with an impossibly long name that ends in "ates" decided that rubbing a stone with your thumb would relax everybody. It was the ancient version of the pet rock. I'm pretty sure it was advertised in the Parthenon by the Sham Wow guy.

I propose that we as a culture have unkowingly created our own high tech version of the worry stone. The cell phone. What decreases worries more than communication? Our cell phones are our links to the entire world by call, text, I.M., and the internet. If we have a question, somehow, some way there is an answer in that little ball of technology we hold in our hand. And don't we often just hold it, perhaps looking at it, feeling the weight of it and the smooth curves of it in our palm, reassured knowing that because of that little device we are never truly alone? Who amongst us hasn't felt lost, or naked when we discover we've left home without our little electronic security blanket?Unless of course the battery dies, you can't get a signal, or you've lost your charging cord. That's when Zeus comes down from Mount Olympus and offers to charge it for you with one of his lightning bolts in exchange for sex.

If you enjoy my nonsense feel free to subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle and you can also follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor. Just download the Kindle and Twitter apps to your cell phone so you'll never be without me!

 

The Guy Code of Conduct: Public Restroom Etiquette

As is well known, women have the “never go to a public restroom alone” rule. Women also have several other rules devoted to their bathroom habits, but to imply that I know them would say something bad about me. I’m not sure what, but I’m pretty sure it's not good. Despite what women believe, men are not complete barbarians. There are some rules we live by when it comes time to answer the call of nature. In fact, The Guy Code of Conduct has an entire chapter devoted entirely to how, when, and where men eliminate metabolic waste. Here are some of those rules:

1. If you are intoxicated and it is after dark, it is entirely acceptable to urinate anywhere outdoors, just look out for other men who also might be out there urinating in the dark.

2. In a public restroom never use the urinal immediately next to another man if it is possible to go elsewhere, like two urinals down the row, in a stall, or in the sink. Whenever possible you must attempt to keep a three foot buffer zone between you and other urinating men. 

3. In a public restroom never use the urinal next to another man unless there is at least one of those little dividers. If there is no divider and the stalls or sinks are full, just wait your turn. 

4. If you are using a urinal immediately next to another man just stare straight ahead and do not speak. 

5. Speaking while urinating is allowed under only two circumstances: a)if two men are peeing outside and there is an appropriate buffer zone between them, or b) if two men are using urinals and there is a divider and one empty urinal between them.

6. Things you should never pee on: the fire, electric fences, other men, women, your food.  (This rule was first written by two cavemen named Ed and Thog during the Jurassic period and originally only included the reference to the fire.  Over the years through trial and error the list was expanded to include the other items.)

There is also an index in the back of The Guy Code of Conduct which includes world records involving urination, such as distance, from the greatest height, volume, off of famous landmarks etc.

As always, if you enjoy my nonsense you can follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle. Whatever you do though, don't approach me for an autograph while I'm peeing.

 

Death: The Final Frontier

In the movie "When Harry Met Sally," Harry and Sally were talking on the phone when Sally burst into tears because she was going to turn 40. Harry replied, "But that's not for years." To which Sally tearfully replied, "Yeah, but it's out there."  

Death has me concerned. There is a whole sector of the population that keeps insisting that death is 'out there' for everyone. Some people keep insisting that it might even happen to me someday. I'm not a big fan of death. I hate when it happens to people I know and I'm even less enthusiastic about the idea that it might happen to me. There's a tiny, tiny part in the back of my brain, one particular brain cell perhaps, that keeps trying to speak up and tell me that some day I may even die. Fortunately all the other brain cells called a meeting and decided to shout down this one rebel cell whenever it decides to open it's big, fat piehole.

I've decided to try a different approach to death. Well, a different approach to my potential death. Death is fine for other people, but I'm just not going to do it. The way I look at it is this: Death has never happened to me before, so where is the proof that it's going to happen to me? I've successfully made it past age 27, so I'm not even eligible for that club anymore.  Just because mankind had never successfully flown before the Wright brothers, they didn't just give up and stay on the ground did they? I think too many people give in to the myth that is death. Think about it. When you were a kid and you stopped believing in Santa Claus, he stopped existing for you didn't he? Well, has anyone ever decided not to believe in death? That's my plan. Like I said, it's never happened to me, so I have no proof that it will. 

Lucky for you, my impending lack of fatality means that I'll keep blogging, so feel free to follow me on Twitter @ThePhilFactor or subscribe to The Phil Factor on your Amazon Kindle for all eternity. Just remember to put it in your will that your Phil Factor subscription must be maintained for generations after you pass.