Los Angeles: Where The Citizen Is Mightier Than The Turn Signal

What is it about the Los Angelino driver and his or her penchant for not signaling when they are about to turn? Are we--meaning you--so entirely over-worked that the mere thought of moving your hand from your cell phone to your indicator would send you into a narcoleptic coma? Or maybe it is beneath you to alert the guy behind you that you're about to maneuver 3000 lbs. of heavy metal and horsepower into a different lane. Maybe you're better than you're turn signal altogether and your day starts something like this:

"Listen to me turn signal indicator thing, I'm better than you and thus...I shan't be using you today!"

During my period of perplexity and pissed-offery I tried desperately to discover who this person is? Also, where do they hail from and how can we send them packin'?


Who Might You Be?

Perhaps you're a 19 year old co-ed named Tina from Manhattan Beach. Once you grow out your bangs and get your highlights done you'll be hotter than your BFF Brittany. When driving your mom's Mercedes S.U.V. you absolutely have to text Brittany to let her know that Brianna was talking trash about her OMG! And thus, no way do you have time to signal your turns, don't make you LOL!

Or maybe you're a dude named Jeremy that's put the days of being bullied behind you. In the process you've changed your name to Blade and become a cage fighter. Your record is 4 wins, 4 loses and one tie...not exactly a winning record but hey, you'll get there. You're a tough guy that plays by your own rules. And rule number one is: never signal. Signaling is for sissies. As a matter of fact once you put some dough together you're going drive that GMC pickup straight to the dealership and have them lift that truck...and then remove your signal apparatus.

But, you might be Robert Montague, visiting British professor of elocution and guest lecturer at UCLA. When you step into your rented mini cooper in the morning you proclaim that if the American commuter is too dim of wit to know of your vehicular intention then...well...tough biscuits. It shall not cause you worry and thus you will not bother yourself to signal.

Whoever you are I urge that you wake up and see the dimwitted logic of not letting us know what your friggin' plan is. Because if we hit you, sure we're at fault but its still a pain in the ass (literally for you) for all parties involved to deal with insurance companies and so on. But there's another factor at play here and that is entitlement and freedom. Or as I like to say, "freetitlement''. You feel that you are entitled to ride around in your bubble and talk on the phone; text via phone and NOT have to expend the energy it takes to give your fellow man a 'heads up.' And why is this? It's because your notion of this being a free country means that you are free to do what you want...or don't want to do.

Transgressors Beware

Offending drivers beware because when I'm the Mayor of everything and everywhere the fine for not signaling will be doubled; the same way fines are doubled when they occur in construction zones. And here's how the proceeds from your infraction will be dispersed. The first quarter of the ticket money will go to the city, for cops' salaries and pot holes etc. The second quarter of the money will go to improvements to the Los Angeles airport (LAX) which is the worst airport in the first world. The third quarter of the money will go to the running of my mayor's office-naturally. And the remaining proceeds will go to local small businesses such as breweries that do NOT brew lite or light beer. Furthermore as Mayor of everything and everywhere I will see to it that there is a chicken in every pot and a copy of Crescendo by Jonathan Brown--available on Amazon in every home.

Customer Service...Call Me!

As quality customer service slowly declines across this great nation and perhaps all of north america every now and then an experience comes along that puts a smile on one's face. I called AT&T with a question about my bill. After traversing the numerous yet joyous prompts I made it to level two. Not familiar with level two? Oh, allow me: level two is the fun experience where the customer enjoys a 12 second piece of muzak. This little ditty loops relentlessly until the representative comes on the line or the customer briefly slips into insanity before dying a very slow death. After 9 minutes of the 12 second loop of Lady Ga Ga's muzak-ed Poker Face, I got Tina.

We do the 'who are you?' dance which entails password, phone number and partial SS# and voila I'm at level three...or perhaps four. Either way I'm at the level where I'm granted the glorious privilege of asking my question. Tina was very helpful and even answered my 'small talk' question. (This would require her to abandon the company script. Oh, yeah I push boundaries like that).

After much ado about much ado, we were approaching the finish line. My question answered; I felt a pleasant time was had by all. It almost felt as though we'd gone on a first date where dinner was scrumptious after which I received a tender goodnight kiss at the door. As the 'good byes' were about to be exchanged she hit me with a curveball which naturally I was forced to run with. Below is how it played out with close to 95% accuracy. Enjoy:

"...at AT&T we strive to bring you quality (blah, blah, blah)--"

"Ok, thank you," I reply.

"Is there anything that might come up within the next 30 days that I can help you with now?"

I heard the question loud and clear and baby did I need to play with it. "Excuse me?" I reply coyly.

She repeats the question in the exact same way to which I respond, "Are you asking if I have a question in the future would I like the opportunity to ask it now?"

"Yes," she said.

"I know what's going on here you're tired of my shit, y'all don't want me calling for a month, is that what's going on?"

"No," she giggles. "I was just wondering if there was anything I could help you with now that may come up within the next thirty days?" Clearly she didn't think I was grasping the concept of her question. Clearly this called for more playtime.

"Is this call recorded for quality assurance?" I ask.

"Yes sir."

"So that means I'm on record saying the word 'shit'."

"Yes sir, you are."

"Shit, oops I did it again," I said which brought more giggling. "Let me get this straight baby doll, you're wondering if I can look into the future, have a problem and figure out my question now, is that it?"

"Well no I was just--"

"What if a guy like me has a question two weeks from now, are you telling me I have to wait another 14 days before I can call you people back?"

I really had her laughing now. "No sir not at all. What I mean is--"

"Suppose I have an extremely urgent issue 29 days from now can I call one minute after midnight or do I have to wait until the following morning--day 30?"

"No, no you can call anytime we at AT&T are happy to have you as a customer. I was just asking if there is--"

"I know, I know ask now or hold onto my shit for at least 30 days. I can dig it. By the way I said that word again."

She was totally cracking up by this time which meant I had her where I wanted her.

"I know what's really going on here. You dig me. You're totally into me and you just want to keep me on the phone. Is it my voice?" I ask. She kept laughing. "You're going to listen back to this tape aren't you? Ha ha. Tina this is serious customer service baby."

"Sir please no, I was...is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"No I'm good and I'll try not to call back before my 30 days are up."

"Sir, it's OK!" she practically shouted through her laughter. "Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"You didn't say the 30 day part," I teased.

"I'm, I'm not going to anymore. You have a pleasant day, please no texting and driving and please feel free to call us anytime if you have any questions."

"Are you going to listen back to my tape when we hang up or wait until your lunch break?" I asked.

"Good bye Mr. Brown," she said with a sigh.

And that's how it went down. Calling any big company these days can be a nightmare, we all know that. My advice is if ever you see an opening for what I call 'playtime'. Carpe Diem baby!

Hollywood, Enough with the comic book flicks already!

Hollywood can we please move on from the comic book movies? In April of 2012, I mistakenly bought into the hype that the Avengers was going to be awesome. It didn't take long before I asked myself, 'why and I here? This is pure crap.' Other than a few decent lines delivered by the great Robert Downey Jr. the only entertainment was hearing my wife sigh and roll her pretty little eyes. (And yes I could hear the eyes roll, we're connected like that).

Later I asked myself why I went to the movie. Was it the hype? Was it the star studded cast? And then it hit me like a left hook to the chin. I'm an action guy and guys like me love action. I've been an action guy since my old man used to take me to Clint Eastwood and Charles Bronson flicks. Looking back it may have been inappropriate for a 6 year old to watch Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry blowing bad guys away with his 44 magnum but I thought it was awesome...still do. But it is action that Cats like me seek. Sadly cop movies and good Westerns are in limited supply these days. Hence, there you have a cool Cat with his hot wife eating popcorn and watching 'men in tights' essentially. It's not fair. This is injustice. I don't want shiny costumes on near invisible dudes that can fly. I/we want tough cops kicking in doors, sliding over car hoods and NOT calling for back-up. Are you telling me that these movies are gone? That they have been done to death? Nay, I say, nay! Give guys like me a half decent story, fast cars and the whoever-actor and let's go. But no, Hollywood of no imagination is all about the bottom line $$$ and somehow you grown-up comic book geeks who would give your left...whatever...to go to Comicon have rallied and cried loud and long enough to bend Hollywood's ear. Studios have sent out armies of scouts to scour the libraries of DC and Marvel to bring them characters and (dare I say it) stories?

For a moment there was light at the end of my action movie tunnel for many of these comic book films were flops. For example The Green Lantern, Cowboys and Aliens and Captain America. And G.I. Joe starring Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson was shot, advertised and then shelved 3 weeks prior to it's 2012 summer release as the studio didn't think it could compete with other summer flicks. (It was later released and I admit--to some box office success). But then along came the box office juggernaut that was The Avengers and set the comic book movie party into a frenzy. Now we have Man Of Steel, up, up and a-friggin'-way, Oh joy! Plus Ironman 3 and...wait for it, another Avengers movie on the way releasing 2015.

This is an official call to arms to all action guys and action gals. We need to take back the cop and robber streets. Corral the horses and put cowboys on them. (I know, I know Disney is doing The Lone Ranger...for the love of Christmas that ain't what we're after either). We need to storm the Hollywood Bastille. We need to strategize in full stategistical strategery. We need to grab Hollywood by the ears and 'bad cop it' until our films return to the silver screen. To all of you so-called grown men that continue to pick up the comic book, attend Comicon and play video games either turn in your man cards or pull up your big boy pants and act like men! Demand that Hollywood bring back martial art, cop and Western movies. If you don't do this all that you know...will be at an end.

How Meter Maids killed Manhattan Beach parts 1 and 2

Below is a letter I sent to the City Of Manhattan Beach after receiving a parking ticket. The lot contained meters and in every way appeared to be a standard 2hr metered lot. However, the fine print revealed that it was an employee lot--7 days a week. It was Sunday when we parked. Sigh...

Violation #: 61040632 Lot 1

June 6/ 2013           

To Whom It May Concern:

I write to you concerning a parking violation I received Sunday June 2/2013. The ticket was issued because I parked in a lot that is reserved for merchants only. This was merely a mistake. Both my wife and I missed the sign. Manhattan Beach being a difficult city to find parking found us overjoyed when we found a lot with a meter. I assure you we were not attempting to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes, which is why we paid for two hours and returned before the meter expired.

A few months earlier I received a ticket for failing to curb my wheels. Even though the signage was diminutive at best, I simply paid the fine and moved on. It seems Manhattan Beach is the only beach city that hits me in my pocket book. On this recent occasion my wife and I ate a delicious meal at the newly opened Fishing With Dynamite restaurant. After lunch my wife purchased a tunic from one of your local shops. In early May I performed at a charity event for one of Manhattan Beach’s local schools.  So as you can see my wife and I contribute to the Manhattan Beach economy as well as the community and are happy to do so. However, it leaves a bitter taste in the mouth when one returns to a meter with time remaining to find a big bright ticket on the windshield.

I don’t deny parking in the wrong spot, and as I said it was an honest mistake; but I ask that you consider throwing the ticket out or at the very least reducing the $48 ticket to a more reasonable amount.

Thank you for your time,

As it turned out the great city of MB did not throw the ticket out nor did they reduce the amount. Below is my response...

Adjudication Processing Dept.                                            

Manhattan Beach Processing Ctr                                        

P.O. Box 1109                                                                    

Tustin CA                                                                               

92781

June 25^th/ 2013

Dears Madams/Sirs

Attached to this letter/payment is my previous letter with regard to my ticket (citation # 61040632). If one were to take the time to read letter #1 they’d find that the letter is polite and courteous. It is a document where I simply throw myself ‘on the mercy of the court’ so to speak. In the letter I do not deny the parking violation. I point out that my wife and I not only bring commerce to your city but I have also done charity work in Manhattan Beach.

As to your response: I cannot claim surprise when I see that not only is there no reduction in the ticket charge but your response arrived in typical bourgoeise bureaucratic unimaginative dimwitted city-speak. To wit “After careful review we have determined that the citation is valid”.

If you had taken the time to read the letter you would see that at no time was I questioning the validity of the over priced citation. I approached as a decent tax-paying individual and simply asked ‘have a heart.’ Show a sliver of compassion for a guy that made a simple mistake. Give a guy who helped raise money for a Manhattan Beach elementary school, a break. How about a reduction in fee for decent folk that have sunk thousands of dollars into your city’s businesses? But no such luck. No can do. You at Manhattan Beach Processing are by the book and the book says suck, squeeze and siphon as many pennies from all who visit no matter what. Revenue is revenue. The bottom line is the bottom line.

I caution you extortionists for you are putting an ugly face on your fair city. We the people have choices in Hermosa, Redondo and El Segundo and perhaps we’ll exercise our choice and move on. And when the masses vacate (which you will have driven away one vehicle at a time), it will be your local businesses that will suffer—and then close. Next, property values will plummet and finally the once great city of Manhattan Beach will crumble like a city in a Michael Bay movie. When the smoke clears and the forensic crew picks through the rubble all will be revealed: the meter maids (and meter maid-men) and pathetic pencil pushers destroyed the once great city of Manhattan Beach.

Does this seem farfetched? Perhaps. Be that as it may, we bid thee farewell Manhattan Beach, my wife and I are done with you. But before you utter ‘good riddance’ know this; both letters are going on my blog where I have countless followers. It’s also going to be shared on Facebook where my hundreds of friends will tell two friends…and so on. Let us not forget the abridged version, which I’ll be sharing on Twitter. Shh, do you hear that? That’s the sound of the exodus.

Formerly a patron (while still a Patriot),

Justin Bieber: fun lovin' at 19

The Kid

During Justin Bieber's acceptance speech at the Billboard Awards he defended his dumb-ass behavior of late by stating (and I paraphrase) 'hey I'm only 19... I'm doing pretty good...stop hating on me'. In a way he's got a sliver of a point but what he doesn't realize, because he's a fool, is that we the people, are supposed to be the ones who-should we choose to-declare that he gets a pass for being 19. Dude, we get it: your'e young, you're famous and you're a millionaire. And you want to be a bad boy. Well, it ain't working. You're scrawny and obnoxious which I suppose could be forgiven but you're being a bad boy in an uncool way. You're not bringing any cool to your bad boy party, yo. Sadly for you we as judge and jury, often don't know which celebrity upstart we're going to tolerate-which horse we're going to back. But that's just how she rolls baby. But if we're not digging you, feeling you or we just plain aren't hip to your bag, asking us to forgive you because you're 19 and loaded ain't gonna fly mon petit Biebereux.

The celebrity bad boy game is a fickle mistress Bieberoni. Think back, oh yeah you're only 19, ok Google back to Mickey Rourke in his early days. He was a rising star that some critics compared to Brando. But a few innocent barroom dust-ups later and he was kicked out of Hollywood for several years. Take Mel Gibson: he had a lengthy career, even won best picture for Braveheart but after a couple o' pops (hooch), spewed some anti Semitic crap and holy-moly is he struggling to get back...even with Jodi Foster's friendship lifeline. Conversely, take Robert Downey jr. He ran around high as a kite for a long time. He even woke up in some stranger's (non celebrity) bed in the middle of the day. But ya know he's just so damn 'aw shucks cute' not to mention super talented that we all rooted for him. And look at him now. So what to do, what to do Biebs? The obvious would be to lay low but nay, you're like a teenaged girl who receives an expensive sports car with far too many horses under the hood for her sweet sixteenth birthday. There ain't no holding you back is there little buddy?

Humility would be a good place to start but you've still got the same high octane energy problem. Not to mention you being a millionaire who's constantly surrounded by screaming chicks and massive cadillac sized bodyguards clearing paths for you every step and doing your bidding...I'm afraid humility's got a seriously slim chance of shaking hands with you any time soon. Why not try bringing a sense of humor to your party? Are you considered a cut-up among your chums at all? Do you tell side splitters to your bandmates backstage before showtime? Have you considered laughing at yourself, it couldn't hurt. Sh** we might even laugh along with you like a played-out laugh track from a bad 70's sitcom.

The Audacity

I must say your latest stunt is rich and quite entertaining, for me anyway. For you readers of the unbeknownst variety young J-doggie-Biebs here has constructed (well his lawyers have) a party waiver, if you will. Oh yeah, baby. If you want to get down with the Bieb-machine and party at his LA mansion you gotta sign on the dotted line. Again I'm paraphrasing, para-quotin' and dern well parachutin' into an area I've researched precious little (due to passive interest at best). Be that as it may, basically to attend one of the singie-boy's parties you must sign a document whereby you agree that once you attend you will not repeat, tweet, re-tweet, blog, whisper over a caramel latte, Facebook, Instagram or communicate in any way about what you saw, heard and or did while whoopin' it up at the Bieber palatial party palace. To violate the terms of this tender document results in a 5 million dollar fine. Ha! To quote my relatives from the great state of Georgia, 'that boy done lost his damn mind!'

Right off the bat this party counts me out because I simply can't afford that cover charge. Because that's what it would be to me. I'd pay on the way in and say 'ok let's see what this 5 million dollar gag order gets me.' Does this mean that he rolls with Cats that can afford to drop 5 mill' for opening up their trap? Come on now. This begs another question: what self respecting lawyer would draw up such a waiver? Oh yeah, one that is on the pip-squeak's payroll I suppose. I mean technically if they ever slapped the paper on a rich contract-breeching-partygoer it'd make a sweet little commission for the lawyer. And last question: don't you kinda sorta almost want to go to one of his parties? Yeah, me either.

The Solution

Needless to say Justin dude, if you want us to forgive you your tender young age and the asininity that comes along with it ya gotta stop pulling stunts like this. Personally, I'm not bothered by the little guy. I find all of this mildly entertaining (more so than his music, but that's because I'm o'l skool). In fact when I try and put myself in his shoes I wonder would I have been any different at 19 drenched in fame and fortune? Ah, but when I really think about it there would be a few differences. Number one, I'd hit the gym so that when my shirt was off there'd be a reason my shirt was off. Second, I could handle way more beer than the Biebs and third: I'd never puke on stage like the little guy did in Arizona. But if by happenstance I did up-chuck it would be followed by brief maniacal laughter before hurling (pun intended) back into the song.

Upon further thought, there may be a slight kinship between me and young Justin Biebizzle. You see we're both Canadian; we have the same initials (JB) and when I was comin' up back in the day my nickname was...Beeb. (Oh dear, I just felt a mild wave of nausea tinged with confused depression come over me). Seriously though here's what ya gotta do Biebersaurus: scrap the current party waiver. Have your lawyers write a new waiver that you will sign which will allow your bouncers to pretzel you into your captain's bed, nearest closet or limousine once you've had a few too many pops (cocktails). And voila, before you know it you'll be back on top...or wherever it is you reside within your demographic.

**And now this blogger must sprint to ancestry.com to make sure that this blogger and J-Bieberella ain't distant cousins...

Chris Brown vs. The Little Guy

boy can he dance...

Ah yes, the wonderful Chris Brown who we've all come to know and love-NOT-has done it again. This time he's turned his ire to the often wily and dangerous valet parker. Brown attended a charity event at a Studio City bowling alley. When he was said and done he was told that the valet fee was $10...all at once. Chris Brown being Chris Brown replied, "Fu** the $10, give me my keys." Fu** the $10? Now why would the high strung entertainer curse this nation's fine currency? But more importantly how dare the valet parker do his job. Who does he think he is, an employee of the establishment or something? Brown towered over the short valet attendant. (It is unclear as to whether Brown stood on a curb above the man or...on a little box the style often used by short movie actors). For reasons unknown the valet when faced by Brown and his four bodyguards with a combined weight of over one thousand pounds complied and gave up the keys. Although in addition to the size of Brown's posse and the size of the men in the posse Brown felt the need to issue a threat.

"We gonna turn this whole spot up!" Cheese and crackers what a threat! However, were I the valet that night I'd ask for clarification as to the meaning of the threat. Because to me it sounds like someone attempting to sing a James Brown song but screwing up the lyrics. I understand blowing up a spot or turning up the volume; hell, turn up the heat for all that matter but turning up a whole spot? It causes one to ponder, question, query and ask WTF.

Furthermore, I challenge the notion that Chris Brown was attending a charity event. I believe he was at the alley to settle a score with some bowling pins. I bet he turned to his biggest bodyguard and said, "Say Rocko, hand me that bowling ball, those pins are talking smack about me. First, I'm gonna knock 'em over then I'm gonna turn this whole spot up."Ah, but to live in a world where little chorus-boy-songsters like Brown would simply don their ballet slippers and keep their issues and vocal chirps on the stage.

Let's face it the entertainer has anger issues. Before this event he got into it with one of his bodyguards. When refueling in Bermuda he kicked the Cat off the plane and left him there. And of course we all remember Brown punching his then girlfriend Rhianna in the face...repeatedly...when she stepped out of line. Oops, I suppose I should say he 'allegedly punched...' to protect myself from a possible future lawsuit from the diminutive Brown. However, if that happens I'll just say, "Fu** the lawsuit I'm gonna turn the whole lawsuit-spot up--so there!"And now with a thousand pounds of beef behind him he threatens an innocent valet parker who probably makes less per hour than the $10 he asked Brown for. The poor sap probably had no idea what was coming that night as he donned the snazzy valet-vest and headed into work.

The Solution

Chris Brown needs years of therapy. He needs to be stripped of his fame and fortune. Then he needs the court to order him to attend five semesters of a women's studies course. After this let's tag on some volunteer work and community service. Some theological study should be added and then let's top it all off with two years of yoga and meditation. Then the little entitled narcissistic uppity upstart with Napoleonic tendencies might emerge as just half of an asshole. Oh come on I'm just teasing. I'm sure that with the above reparative work Chris Brown might not be all that...bad a guy. Until then keep an eye on the headlines and stay out of his way. But me being an armchair tough-guy-blogger in full bloviation let me say this: Chris Brown you are lucky that I wasn't your valet that night because there ain't no way your security detail would have been quick enough to get to me in time!

Look Mommy I Joined A Group...And Everything!

Americans love groups and titles. We love belonging to something-hopefully hip and current, because this makes us feel warm and fuzzy as if wrapped up in our favorite blankie.

 I remember back in 2008/9 when President Obama attempted to retool healthcare he met with all sorts of criticism; much of it coming from his own party. His party detractors were called blue dogs which meant they were conservative democrats. When they came out of the woodwork to side with the republicans who were against the affordable care act President Obama was blindsided. In the beginning these representatives towed the party line during their primaries and election battles but drew their line in the sand at Obama's healthcare plan. In short they turned coat. I don't want to talk about the merits of what they did but rather I'd like to illuminate the smug demeanor they exuded whenever they were in front of a camera. An ear to ear grin spread across their faces as they proudly announced, "I'm a blue dog!" At the time the blue dogs got heaps of media ink and face time. This caused some of the otherwise unknown representatives to become--known. They belonged to a group and the group had a title.

The next big movement was the Tea Party movement. We all remember how the movement began from a kernel of anger; grew to mass protests and rallies and expanded to where it is today; within government. The movement grew rapidly as successful movements do. From a spark to a flame and all that. It feels good to be swept up in a movement and what better way to feel fully soaked in the bath of vindication than when hordes of like-minded people join your effort? (Or your bubble bath).

I remember a tea party rally outside the grocery store where I shop. A caucasian gentlemen in his sixties shouted, "Obama should go back to Africa!" When our eyes locked he was staring at an expressionless two hundred pound black man twenty years his junior. He became uncomfortable, looked away and moved closer to the herd. I'm not a tea partier but I believe that they are committed to whatever it is they believe in. As I watched the rally and read the placards I couldn't help but feel that the stronger emotion may have been about belonging to a group--a group with a title. For how many tea partiers have truly put forth an articulate version of their doctrine beyond  'we're gonna take the county back!' Back from who? Back to where? Back to what era?

Today the group-flavor of the month is the undecided voter or 'the undecideds'. They are the current headline usurpers. In fact they were in the sought after seats at the recent town hall presidential debate. After the debate smoke cleared my wife and I watched the post debate focus group of 'geez-I-still-dunno-ers' . And boy oh boy, the facial smuggery of the undecideds was elephantine. Every face read: my vote is the most coveted vote in America and I know it is true because I'm on television. How many times did they mention, "I just don't feel that the governor spoke to me." Or "I'm just not hearing what the president will do for me."

The richter scale of nausea blew two gaskets and a piston. I can just see these folks on election night. Starved for more media attention as they wait in line at the polling station they'll scour the crowd for a reporter shouting, "Gosh darn it I'm still undecided because neither candidate is speaking to meeeeeeeeee!" I put it to those who claim undecided-ry that ninety percent of you have actually--decided. For the love of christmas, kwanza, hanukkah and all other yule tide-y holidays please move on ye of faux undecided-ry. Because though you feel the President may not be speaking to you, we hear you loud and clear and we're tired of listening.

Let's be honest this is just an extension of  the 'fifteen minutes of fame' syndrome. The undecided voter is dead center of the spotlight and also holds heavy sway over what direction this county moves in. Thus he/she feels powerful. To be fair one can relate to the intoxication but only to a point. For we are in an era of citizens united; the supreme court decision that grants carte blanche to corporations and unions as far as how much money they can throw at candidates. In other words the whole 'one man, one vote' scenario of yesteryear has lost its sex appeal since the judges handed down the ridiculous verdict. So we get it Mr. and Mrs. Undecided but come now, you know what you're going to do on November 6th, so until then pipe down.

 I'm not claiming that one cause is better than another but modern man's need to be part of a group has been given an Armstrong-ian steroid shot. There is too much mob mentality going on here. What is everyone afraid of? Are we that lonely? Why do so many people need a group security blanket? What ever happened to a man being a man and a woman being a woman? Doesn't anybody remember Chuck Norris as Lone Wolf McQuade? Have we truly forgotten Sigourney Weaver in the  Alien movies? Granted when we were kids we all wanted to be picked to play on a team (and hopefully not picked last) but we're all grown up now. Let's act like it. The danger of mob-think is that independent thought is lost and rational thought can be thinned to the point of "Ah, what were we fighting for again?" Work with others, be kind to others hell, join others but remember that's its o.k. to think outside the box and its just as o.k. to BE outside the box.

And if you want to have fun with all of this jazz walk up to a tea partier and tell him your'e an 'Espresso Expressionist' and that you're taking the universe back. Locate a 'blue dog' and call him what he really is; a conservative.  And then tell him that you are a Blue Pony and that you believe in healthcare for all americans with the exception of blue dogs. And last find an 'undecided' and tell them that you are a 'Decidedly Decided' who knows exactly who your'e going to vote for.