HONEA EXPRESS

Homeless

2008-07-06T16:57:00.001-07:00

It would be wrong and somewhat selfish for me to claim that these recent years haven't been good. We've officially lived in the greater L.A. market for five years now and we've made some excellent friends and done some really fun stuff. Granted, the actual town we live in isn't a place I ever would have picked to live, but it does have its charm. Kind of.

Still, there has been something wrong for the entirety of our stay here. Something has been off. Do you know that feeling of impending doom that crawls in and out of your mind during a day full of mundane routine? Maybe you're unsure if you left the oven on. Maybe you forgot something important at the office, or someone you love is driving through an ice covered pass- there are countless reasons for that feeling to occur, and it usually passes as nothing, a fleeting moment of worry gone quietly into the night.

I have that feeling all the time. For five years now I've felt like something was wrong. It keeps me awake at night. For some time I pretended it wasn't there. Sometimes it would go away, usually with doses of beer and medicinal laughter, but it always returned and it always outstayed its welcome.

I know what it is. It's unhappiness.

That's the selfish part that I was referring to. How could I be unhappy when I've two beautiful boys and the means to spend my entire day in their company. I couldn't ask for anything more.

And then I press my head against my pillow and I stare into the dark.

I don't belong here. I don't like it here. This is not my home, despite my hearts being here. I need to get out of this town and go where the weather suits my clothes. I have grown restless and it feels me with anxious ticks and heavy sighs.

We need to move. I want to go home- wherever that is.

Happy 4th of July

2008-07-04T15:02:00.000-07:00

Do other countries observe our holiday like we do theirs- with drinking binges and offensive stereotyping? I hope so.

Have a safe holiday. Stay classy, America!

Sunday in a Sandbox

2008-06-30T09:36:00.000-07:00

When the boys have been significantly quiet for awhile it is generally cause for concern. Every moment of peace unchecked could be quite disastrous, for everyone. How long does it take to cover a building in crayon? How many rocks can fit in the standard SUV tailpipe? Don't even tell them the one about the banana. I'll fall for it.

Hence my following the sounds of silence to the sandbox. I had been inside, working and drinking my body weight in cold cups of coffee, and I hadn't heard so much as a scream in some time. Perhaps this doesn't seem odd to you, but trust me, it is.

Normally my asking them to play outside is followed by their loitering at the door and window like vagabonds outside a diner. They will stand there and bombard me with their verbal pleas and puppy dog eyes. I've tried throwing them loose change in hopes they just wanted a bottle of Thunderbird, but that only makes them all the bolder.

I suppose a better man would make them his muse, but that would require a certain amount of acceptance, which in turn requires bits of wisdom and inner peace. I don't claim either of those attributes, at least not enough to drown out their never-ending cries for love and attention. No, I prefer to throw toys and snacks randomly in the yard like some sort of angry piñata that's taken one hit too many, and tell those pesky kids to stay on my lawn. It works in ten minute increments, 15 if there is shade.

I found them in the sandbox, one in his underwear, one in his diaper, the uniform of the outdoors. They had managed to remove the lid, something that I was led to believe required my assistance, and were sitting in the sand surrounded by too many beach toys. They were playing and laughing and enjoying themselves, each other, and the moment. It was amazing. They were an accent and a plate of finger sandwiches away from a Fitzgerald story.

I ran and grabbed the camera, proud that they were able to achieve such harmony, and wanting proof should such things every be doubted by friends, family or child protection workers. One can never be too prepared.

I hid from their view and snapped pictures of my two adorable boys, playing so well, so happily. I thought about sending the photos into Parade magazine or perhaps the Saturday Evening Post- Norman Rockwell had nothing on the moment. Obviously I would be hearing from the 'father of the year' people very shortly.

I snapped the pictures and I watched. There was summer in that box and I wanted to dive into it, deprived of waves though it was, and swim in its sunshine. I wanted to play, laugh and be happy. I wanted to never go inside again.

Then the boys stood up, one in his underwear, one in his diaper, and they turned into hourglasses. Their respective uniforms of the outdoors were filled with shovelful after shovelful of sand. This was the pinnacle. This was the goal towards which they had labored with focus and determination. They had reached it and now time was running down their legs.

I wanted no part of it. I turned and moved with stealthy steps and I went back inside where work was waiting, stoic and alone as I had left it. I figured I had a good ten minutes before they were at the door, loud, dirty and hungry for my affections.

Concert in the Blog

2008-06-29T16:32:00.000-07:00

A few nights ago we went to the Hollywood Bowl for a Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers concert. Steven Winwood opened and also came out to play a couple of songs with Petty. The concert was awesome.

I didn't even mind that it took us exactly 40 minutes to get from the top of the freeway exit ramp to the parking lot (right at the bottom of said ramp), which was the same amount of time it took for us to drive from our house to the exit. Then there was another half hour after the show while we stood in the stacked parking lot and watched the madness that it entails.

In case you aren't familiar, a stacked parking lot is exactly what it sounds like, all of the cars are parked back-to-back and side-to-side without any sort of aisle between them. The lot is about 50 cars wide by 30 cars long, and you can't get out until the person in front of you gets out, and they can't get out until the person in front of them gets out, and so forth and so on all the way up to the last people out of the stadium, the jackasses parked in the front row. Jerks.

It's kind of a funny situation, because everyone is pretty chill about the whole ordeal (most of them anyway). Everyone realizes they're in the same situation and they stand around and shoot the shit with random strangers until they get in their cars and start hating each other.

At some point during the night I came up with an idea of posting about all the concerts I've been to, which may or not be an impressive list and will probably bore the hell out of you. I almost let it go until I saw what old people are passing off as concerts these days and felt I better speak up or lose my youth forever.

Here they are (I'm sure I'm forgetting something) in no particular order:

Rick Springfield, Billy Joel (2), REO Speedwagon, Survivor, Glass Tiger, Loudness, Yes, Steppenwolf, The Guess Who, Crosby, Stills and Nash, INXS, R.E.M., U2, KISS (3), Van Halen (2), Billy Idol, The Cult, A Tribe Called Quest, Ben Lee, Rufus Wainwright, Ben Folds, Bon Jovi (2), RATT, Motley Crue (2), George Clinton and the P-Funk All-Stars, Foo Fighters (3), Sting (2), The Police, Cinderella, W.A.S.P., Chris Isaak (2), Los Lobos, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Eric Clapton, Paul Simon, Brian Wilson, Matchbox 20, Train, Alabama, Charlie Daniels, Mason Jennings, The Decemberists, Lyle Lovett, K.D. Lang, Cowboy Junkies, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Steve Winwood, Fiction Plane, Filter, Queensryche, AC/DC, Lenny Kravitz, Smashing Pumpkins, Against Me, Serj Tankian, Goo Goo Dolls, Cake, Sugar Ray, L7, Nick Cave and the Badseeds, Green Day, Dave Matthews, Joshua Redman, Wynton Marsalis, Harry Connick, Jr., Beastie Boys, Neil Diamond (2), Yani, Ted Nugent, Van Morrison, The Breeders, David Lee Roth, Poison, The Eagles, Coldplay, Gipsy Kings, Keb Mo, The Wiggles, Christian Aguileara and LeAnn Rimes (1 song each at Disneyland), The Village People, T.S.O.L, The Smithereens, Tom Cochrane, Cracker (2), Squirrel Nut Zippers, Depeche Mode, Beck, Steve Miller Band, Lemmy (from Motorhead, one song w/ Foo Fighters, Blink-182, Fuel, 7 Mary 3, Save Ferris (I know, Dan, I actually forgot I'd seen them in concert- it was a festival, I was drunk), Harvey Danger, Murder City Devils, Ozmalti, UB40, Gin Blossoms, Steel Pulse, The Urge, Fine Young Cannibals, Tom Tom Club, Journey, Violent Femmes, ZZ Top, Extreme, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Galactic... I'll add more as I remember.

We also have tickets to Jack Johnson in August.

Hey, did I just make a meme?

WALL-E: The A 2 Z Review

2008-06-28T08:54:00.000-07:00

WALL-E: A Review

2008-06-27T22:02:00.000-07:00

I spent the better part of the day reading various reviews of Disney-Pixar's WALL-E. It's not that I was looking for them, they found me. They were everywhere. Reviews written by CNN, Yahoo, MSNBC, New York Times, USA Today, and the leading papers across the nation wrote of WALL-E with such prose and poetry that I felt like I was reading a high school girl's diary. These were words of wonder and love and I feared that perhaps they would build my hopes too high. I was afraid they would make me expect too much, and subsequently fall too hard. I read the reviews with growing anticipation, and braced myself for the inevitable.

It never came.

The movie is everything they said it was. It is a wonder of animation. It is a tender story of love and loyalty. It is a commentary on human nature vs. Mother Nature. It showcases the apathy of mankind with interest and concern. It preaches, but it is not preachy.

There were lessons, but they weren't there for us to learn, because they were lessons we know too well.

When I saw Happy Feet I left the theater wanting to march up to a penguin and kick it. It went so far with its agenda as to anger those that agree with it. WALL-E went so far with its agenda that it inspired hope.

It's funny, the film was in production for years, yet the message it sends couldn't be more timely. It is a time for hope, a time for change, and a time for action.

I find it telling that there were only two major papers in the free world that disliked the movie and one of them is in Arizona, as is someone else that runs on an agenda opposed to the messages that WALL-E embodies.

I told you it was timely.

The theater, which showed the film digitally as opposed to film (incredible), was filled. There were infants, toddlers, teens, parents, grandparents. It is both a family film and a date flick. There were two things I found telling about the quality of the movie, a) a packed theater filled with kids was stone silent during the first 30 minutes of the film despite there being little or no dialogue, and b) they clapped. I love being in a theater where people clap as the credits roll. There is no one to hear them, no bows to be taken, but the people clap because they have been entertained and they have appreciation to show.

WALL-E deserves it.

BlogHer? I Hardly Knew Her

2008-06-26T01:06:00.000-07:00

Here it is a few weeks from BlogHer and I still haven't decided if I'm going to go. Who's going? Are you? Do you want to meet me? Is there an open bar?

Part of me is bitter about these blogging conferences. I've been blogging professionally for over a year now, and I only know a few people that are in that boat. My counterparts are always speaking here or there or getting trips and invites and stuff. I get emails for cheap Viagra. I'm like the Rodney Dangerfield of pro-bloggers, but better dressed.

I must say, the idea of seminars and lectures on blogging doesn't sound very interesting (unless I was the one giving said lecture- pantless), but the social aspect does. Is it acceptable to go strictly ~~ballroom~~ for that? The networking possibilities and the chance of putting faces to names, and then drinks to those faces, intrigues me. They do that kind of stuff there, right?

Then there is the part about me being a cheap bastard.

I guess what I really want to know is whether or not anyone from L.A. is driving to San Francisco and in need of a) someone to help pay for gas and mess with the radio dial, and b) a roommate?

Entice me.

Nocturnal State

2008-06-25T00:15:00.000-07:00

I find that the later I stay up the more likely I am to wake up early. Not by choice mind you, sort of a Murphy's law sort of thing- if Murphy wore a diaper and climbed in my bed every morning shortly after sunrise.

I don't understand the need to wake up early. Sure, I love the cooler temperatures and the birds ~~crapping~~ chirping. The thing is, I can eat breakfast anytime, and I drink coffee all day long, so what's so special about first light?

I like to have a full day. Is that supposed to be logic? I do have a full day, it just starts and ends hours after the early risers.

I like to start my day early. Why? Disappointment will still be there at noon.

Early bird gets the worm. What the hell am I supposed to do with a worm?

I'm a night person. I always have been. I have no designs on being one of those old guys that gets up at 4am for no damn reason. I'd rather go to bed at 4am for no damn reason.

What's my point? It's late and and I don't need one. How's that grab you?

No, I'm not drunk.

Another Honea Birthday

2008-06-21T10:47:00.000-07:00

If my marriage was Menudo, the band, not the "food," then I would have traded my wife in some time ago- they replaced their members when they turned 25ish. As it is, I actually picked Tricia up about the time she was 25. She was on the shelf right next to Ricky Martin, and frankly she looked better in a skirt (not that Ricky looked bad).

That was a decade ago. Yesterday she hit her stride. She turned 35. I know, you're not supposed to talk about a woman's age, but she looks good. Word is that a woman comes into her sexual prime about this point. Crap, I don't get enough sleep as it is.

How did we spend her birthday? With Mexican food (not menudo), Camp Rock and a couple spins of the latest Weezer album. She called the action and it was non-existent. A nice, lazy day. Perfect for birthdays and old people.

Happy Birthday, Tricia.

John McCunt

2008-06-19T09:16:00.000-07:00

Yes, this video is what you think it is (assuming you're thinking about the time John McCain called his wife that), and it's funny. It also uses the c-word. A lot. Don't worry, there are safeguards to prevent it from entering the mainstream. You'll probably never see it on a daddy blog or something like that.

Here's the story of McCain and his trollop of a wife:

Source: The good people at Scanner

Paul Pierce Has Got Nothing on Me

2008-06-17T15:20:00.000-07:00

Chances are that if you have a pair (a pair of anything will do) you've heard the story about Paul Pierce and the time that he was stabbed eleven(11) times in the neck and face and still managed to play every game of that NBA season. He knows that there are daggers in men's smiles. I used to think that was hardcore- until now.

I'd been working all morning, sitting in the cool air, dogs at my feet and jazz on the stereo. I found that I was getting a might bit thirsty, because that's just how hard I work. I build things and thirst is one of them.

I went into the kitchen and picked up the French Press. The damn coffee was cold. Seriously. Like I don't suffer for my art. That's when I got the idea.

I took the Mickey Mouse blender/smoothie maker out of the cupboard and filled it with ice. I poured in my cold coffee, some milk and about a cup of chocolate chips. If a bunch of kids with braces can make a Java Chip Frappuccino® why can't an unshaven college graduate in his boxers? It's not rocket surgery.

The blender/smoothie maker wouldn't start. I pushed all of the buttons, individually at first and then in an impromptu moment of frustration I pressed them all. It shook. It rattled. It didn't roll so much, but it did start leaking from numerous areas. I turned it off, and ignoring the smell of burnt plastic, I poured myself a glass. It really wasn't that good.

Leading by example as I'm known to claim to do, I decided to move forward and immediately wash the blender/smoothie maker. I filled it with water and turned it in my hands, trying to pinpoint where it was that my attempt at creating a Java Chip Frappuccino® went wrong. I couldn't find anything.

That's when the knife found me. I was reaching down to let the water out of the drain and was immediately attacked by a thrust of such rapid motion that to the naked eye it appeared to remain totally still. It slipped between the pinky and ring finger of my extra hand and it felt like I thought it would.

The sink brought a knife, and I thought it was a gunfight.

I jumped back, holding my hand, and then slowly I looked at where the blade had been. It damn near broke the skin, and I can't help but think that that would have hurt all the more.

Summertime Blues

2008-06-15T22:14:00.000-07:00

In honor of Atticus' birthday and Father's Day, I thought I would run a few favorite posts. This post was originally published on June 6, 2005.

Finally it approaches, summertime- the lazy yawn of the year stretching across ballfields and sunshine. It is different now then when I was a boy. Sometimes I barely recognize it. It used to carry promises of leisure or adventure- sometimes both in the same day. Now it teases me with warm evenings and bright stars, allowing me to become drunk on wine and conversation, only to throw me back to the wolves of reality come morning.

I suppose that is the difference, the morning, for it isn't the days of summer that I covet and miss as much as the nights; and nothing ruins an evenings promise sooner than the hint of alarm clocks and mortgage payments- the demon spawn of a mocking sunrise.

We used to spend our nights outside on the patio or porch, usually with friends and music and pitchers of margarita. There were jobs and bills then too, but they weren't real according to hindsight. They were expendable means to an end. A happy end. There was a freedom in the air that we didn't even recognize. We breathed it in and took it for granted. The nights were long and we were young, and glasses of whiskey or wine drifted with that night air, serenaded by Chet Baker or Jeff Buckley and the unrestrained laughter of men that were still boys and the girls we wished to woo.

Such scenes now have been reduced to special occasions and planned gatherings. What was once accepted and unspoken now requires phone calls and scheduling. It is a bitter reminder then, this onset of summer, that I have taken things for granted. The saving grace though is that it is not too late. Mother Nature has granted me with another opportunity and this summer I hope to not only recapture what was lost, but nurture it. A few less beers, turn the music down a notch, go to bed a little earlier- these are acceptable. I may have to get up and face the world with a new sense of determination, but when the sun goes down I'm still that same laughing boy that I was then, and I want my son to know me there, smiling and barefoot with his mother in my arms and friends at my side. I want his summers to be long lazy yawns of contentment.

It approaches, summertime, and I greet it with naked feet and a smile upon my face.

Atticus Day

2008-06-13T22:23:00.000-07:00

A year ago I felt it. It is here again, but more sweet and more bitter. There is a time warp about me, and perhaps a step to the right would prove appropriate.

Down the hall, inside a boy sleeping soundly, there is a metamorphosis taking place. Come morning that boy will wake and he will spread his wings, and I'll be damned if he doesn't fly.

Happy 5th Birthday, Atticus. Now soar.

I Heard a Fly Die When I Was Buzzed

2008-06-10T19:26:00.000-07:00

It was hot. Windows were open. Fans were on. I lay in my underwear across the bed. I was sweating.

The hum of the fan provided a constant against the sounds of the night. There was a siren, then a dog, all lost and found within the ebb and flow of an angry wind and a head grown heavy with work left undone and beers left empty.

There was a cry, a light, an exchange that would never be remembered and then I was standing over my son as he continued his slumber seemingly uninterrupted.

Enter the fly.

The buzz was loud and it followed me back to my bed. It played against the fan like a trumpet player that hated the beat. It was in stereo and the sound made the heat feel hotter, the night feel darker, and the pending morning all the earlier.

Then it stopped, and I fell asleep beneath the spin of sudden silence.

Shirts I Might Wear to BlogHer 2008

2008-06-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

Hi there, Honea fans! My name is Karl and I write at a crazy little place called SecondHand Tryptophan. Note that the 'H' in 'Hand' is capitalized. That totally matters.

I''m Whit's guest blogger today. I'm sorry. I'm too lazy to really WRITE anything today so I put together a video blog post. I think you're supposed to call those vlogs but that's such an ugly sounding word. vvvvlog. It's like it wants to be vulva but it can't reach that high.

Anyway, here's my guest video blog post. For Whit. Because he's the man.

Karl's Guest Post for Whit Honea: Top 10 Shirt Karl Might Wear to Blogher 2008 from Karl Erikson on Vimeo.

UPDATED: NOW WITH WINNERS! Contest: Win a Major Award

2008-06-05T15:41:00.000-07:00

I'm assuming by your mere presence here that you are somewhat literate. That being the case there is a fair chance that you enjoy a good book now and again. How would you like to OWN not one, not two, not three, not four, not five, not six, not seven, not eight, not nine, not ten, not eleven, not... oh wait, yes, 11- how would you like to win eleven books? That's the prize, my friends.

Eleven books will go to not one, not two, not three, not four, but five readers. Yes, 5 people will win eleven books each. Can you feel the excitement? The fact that I only have five readers makes your odds of winning a major award very good. Like Pete Rose good.

Here are the books you may win, as provided by our sponsor Hachette Book Group, USA:

The books have been selected especially for dads. This isn't because I don't like non-dads, but because Father's Day is coming up. BTW, if anyone is sounding this out, I don't need a tie. I work at home. I don't even need pants. Just put some beer in the icebox and let me take a nap.

Here is the contest. It is a simple multiple choice questionnaire followed by a short essay. You have 10 minutes to complete it. Winners will be drawn randomly from all completed submissions.

1. How many jelly beans are in this jar?
a) 1,673
b) 1,674
c) 6
d) all of the above
e) none of the above

2. Where is Jimmy Hoffa?
a) living in a trailer park with Elvis
b) growing grass in the Meadowlands
c) buried under 1,673 jelly beans
d) who the hell is Jimmy Hoffa?

3. Which thing does not belong:
a) Guinness
b) Bass
c) Stone
d) Budweiser

The essay: In 25 words, exactly, explain why you would like to win.
The extra credit: In 10 words, exactly, explain your feelings for Whit.

Winners will be notified in the comments and via email. Contest closes on Tuesday, June 10th at 11:59 p.m..<- do I need this extra period here?

We've got winners! They're in the comments.

Disclaimer for a contest*, but not this one:
1. NO PURCHASE NECESSARY TO ENTER OR WIN. A purchase will not improve your chance of winning.
2. ELIGIBILITY. Contest is open only to legal residents of the United States who are currently over the age of 18 and have children who attend elementary, private or parochial schools that serve grades PreK-6. No home schools will be accepted.
*This disclaimer is actually from a Subway contest. I thought I'd use it since I have a nice group of readers outside of the U.S., and also home schoolers, both of which probably don't get hazed enough. The rules listed DO NOT apply to my contest- anyone can win, even Jared.

Madam, I'm Adam

2008-06-04T13:48:00.000-07:00

I believe Brian Basset has been spying on me:

stolen with love from Adam@Home by Brian Basset

The Heart of a Man

2008-06-02T23:01:00.000-07:00

"I'm drawing a picture for you, Daddy."

"Great," I answered, occupied as I was with things far less important.

"I'm drawing you a heart. Do you know why?" he asked with an innocence only matched by the concentration with which he drew.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I love you," he said.

"That's a very good reason," I replied.

He continued drawing in silence, and then suddenly he was at my side with this finished piece:

"One heart is you and one is Mommy. It says Mommy and Daddy love Atticus."

"It's right. We love you very much. It's a lovely picture."

Yes, I really say things like 'lovely.'

We stood together appreciating his masterpiece, and then I flipped the paper over.

"What," I asked, "is this?"

"It was supposed to be a heart, but it looks like a hot dog piece of meat... with bunny ears. It was an accident."

I hung it on the refrigerator.

Whit in Real Life

2008-06-02T00:05:00.000-07:00

A few nights ago we watched Dan in Real Life. I didn't really know what it was about, other than it starred Steve Carell, who I like, and that the trailer had that funny part where he told the cop to "put it on my tab," which is great.

Turns out that it's a good movie. I want to say it was a nice movie, which sounds weird, because what the hell does that mean? Yet, it was nice.

There was a scene that reminded me of a time that I wasn't. Well, I've always been about the same to be honest. I'm something of a sarcastic ass, but with a heart of gold. I don't think before I speak and I wear my heart on my sleeve. I've had my share of trouble from it and more than my share of reward.

There was, however, a time when I was much more likely to be a jerk to someone based on things that aren't important now. Hell, they weren't important then. Of course I'm talking about high school. Yes, it was 20 years ago- I know, I look good. It was so easy to make fun of a kid for things beyond their control. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't perfect, and even then I would try to mend my ways, but not always. It took a few years in the real world to see that things I thought harmless and funny probably weren't. Well, they were funny, but they probably still hurt.

In the movie Carell's character is set up on a date by his parents with a girl from high school. He doesn't even remember her, but apparently her nickname was "pig-face." For the record, she turns out to be hot. That's always convenient.

I bought the soundtrack. For the most part it's a Sondre Lerche album, and I'm a fan (especially of his Chet Baker wannabe stuff). The whole album is great, if you're into that kind of stuff, which I've made pretty clear that I am. However, the song that sticks out the most to me isn't one by Sondre or his quartet, but by the cast from the film as they sing about the pig-faced girl.

It makes me feel good and I'm not sure why. It could be, a) it reminds me of a more innocent, albeit ignorant, time, b) I want my family to be like theirs, but none of us can play the piano, besides, they all live in the desert, c) it's clever, d) your answer here.

I don't know. The bottom line is I like it and I'm going to share it. Judge me if you must:

And just because here's some Sondre Lerche:

Dunkin' Donuts is Run by a Bunch of Idiots, and Frankly, Their Coffee Sucks

2008-05-31T19:29:00.000-07:00

By now you've heard the story. Basically, professional waste of space Michelle Malkin, who has done nothing but try to polarize America and give conservatives a bad name, went on a tirade about the scarf that Rachel Ray wears in a Dunkin' Donuts ad.

Malkin said that the scarf, a black and white paisley number with some fringe crap hanging off of it, was, in fact, a nod towards the keffiyeh, which is worn by some terrorists, but is not in itself a terrorists (just like leather isn't gay). She insisted that the ad was showing support for terrorists and demanded that Dunkin' Donuts address the (non) issue.

Granted, Rachael Ray was an idiot to advertise something as nutritionally offensive as a donut franchise. Not only does it hurt her credibility as someone that supposedly knows what good food is, but it pushes fat on a society that is choking on it. Still, if Bobby Flay can sell his soul to Applebee's, then I guess anything is possible. What's next, Emeril slinging Big Macs?

I don't necessarily hold that Dunkin' Donuts, or McDonald's for that matter, is a bad thing. Sure, they want to make a dollar- and they don't care if it kills their customers in doing so, but they're no big tobacco. They're only killing the actual consumer, not everyone in the vicinity.

If anyone is to blame for the effect that fast food has on society, most notably children, it should be the parents, not the clowns. Of course, that's basically the same argument as "guns don't kill people," and I'm against firearms, but whatever. I'm still making more sense than Malkin.

It's.A.Scarf.Bitch.

The point here is that Dunkin' Donuts pulled the ad. They let an idiot airbag bully them into a corner, which is proving to be a much bigger public relations nightmare than anything they possibly could have faced by ignoring said airbag.

They should have shoved a donut in her pie hole.

Michelle Malkin is a bigger drain on common sense and decency than Ann Coulter. Sure, Coulter is a woman that hates women, but Malkin is a woman of color that hates people of color. Stuff like that gives Dick Cheney pause, usually alone and possibly with lotion.

Dunkin' Donuts let Malkin's insane accusations alter their course, and while I don't care if they lose a few bucks, I do care that a loud-mouthed vessel of hate could have such a huge influence on supposedly intelligent people.

Michelle Malkin's agenda is letting the terrorists win.

_________________________________________________

Seriously, what is up with Dunkin' Donuts brand coffee? It's one notch above truck stop java. Just because someone puts the cream and sugar in your coffee for you doesn't mean it tastes better. If someone pours a Bud Light in a frosty mug and hands it to me, it's still Bud Light.

For the above formula please apply the following: Bud Light = crap.

Fresh Naps for All the Men

2008-05-30T13:44:00.000-07:00

I'm tired. I've been writing my fingers to the bone. All day long. Every damn day. On Tuesday I met my writing partner halfway between our two homes and we checked into a hotel. We survived on beer and room service coffee for 20 hours or so and when we checked out we had the first draft of our screenplay done.

It's a huge step. We have two legit producers waiting patiently for us to finish, and while we aren't ready to submit it just yet we can finally give them an idea of where things are.

What's cool is that I was using my partner's phone and when I opened his address book the name after mine was Iger, as in Iger is listed alphabetically next to Honea.

Of course, that's probably the closest I'll ever come to having a working relationship with the head of the Walt Disney Company, but it's a nice feeling, nonetheless. Is there a six-degrees of contact information? If so, I'm at Kevin Bacon in 4, easy.

My day today has been long and busy. Angelina Jolie may or may not have had the twins, and as such I've got to keep a constant vigil at her altar. What I really want to do is convince the boys that naps are fun and then take one with them. Anyone know how to pull that off?

BTW, special thanks to Phil for the pity win and sweet prize. Now if I could only win some sleep.

Congratulations are in order for the Big Dubyahs. A little bird* told me, it's a boy!

*why doesn't Twitter use that as its slogan?

So, how was your week?

Graduation Day

2008-05-26T01:22:00.000-07:00

I made this little video for family that wanted to see Atticus' promotion ceremony. It was on Friday. The video is crappy, and you can't see him (or hear him). He's wearing a blue on blue sweater and has really blond hair if that helps.

Something else I noticed is that I have more photos of Zane at Atticus' preschool then of Atticus. I guess every time that I was there I had Zane in tow and he stayed within photo range.

So here it is, family (and anyone else bored enough to watch):

A Slice of Sunday Night

2008-05-25T22:15:00.001-07:00

Tricia is at work. It's 10:15 on Sunday night. The boys are in bed, the dishes are done, the laundry is ignored. The dogs are sleeping at my feet and there may or may not be a cat somewhere.

Everyone is fed and off to bed. Me? I'm thinking about another beer and eating peanuts for dinner. It's like a diet. I'm also not considering sleep, tired as I am.

My day is long and filled with noise. The night has Dean Martin in the background and brings a gentleness that softens the rough edges left from hours of work, play and the constant spin of the wheel. This is supposed to be a weekend, but every day is the end of somebody's week and tomorrow is a holiday built on memories and BBQ's. This weekend will stretch.

I enjoy this time, despite the pile of work that I will never see the bottom of and the Netflix movies that have been sitting on the table since February. I enjoy this time and I find ways around the work and excuses for hitting repeat on Martin and letting the movies gather one more coat of dust.

There is a controlled quiet here and it fills me with peace, and peanuts. It is good.

The Week in Whit

2008-05-24T11:44:00.000-07:00

In the interest of self-promotion I am going to start a new thing here, it may or may not be 'The Week in Whit,' but something where I share some links to the stuff I'm writing when I'm not writing here. Basically, I've been dancing with some other dates and I want to show you their curves. Is that so wrong? I'm proud.

Speaking of curves. I am going to be adding a new ad company. I'm having some issues as the requirements for placement for Divine Caroline are the same as those for BlogHer, and while I don't want to lose BlogHer and the community there, I've got a pretty good deal inked with Divine Caroline. Hey, BlogHer, there is plenty of me to go around! I really hope to work out some common ground on that front. Watch the sidebars for the result(s).

Some of you may have noticed that I no longer reply via email to comments, but now respond in the comment section. Yes, I will still reply to (almost) every comment. I think that is important and if you took the time to comment I feel it is my responsibility to take the time to acknowledge that and thank you. The thing is, I get HUNDREDS of emails per day that require my attention and sadly I was starting to get really behind on my comment correspondence. That just didn't seem right. Plus, some of the back and forth in those emails was too good to keep private. I'm hoping that by answering in the comment section that those conversations will continue to take place but in a way that everyone can enjoy and add to them.

In the words of Flower, or maybe it was Thumper, I'm twitterpated (by the way, looking for that picture I've decided that the movie Bambi is the single greatest contributer to the world of stripper names, ever). Yes, I finally admitted that I couldn't ignore Twitter any longer and have jumped on the virtual bandwagon. If you want to follow me the link is on the left. Most of my updates deal with the status of my pants.

Something that I've alluded to lately is that I have a vision of completely overhauling Honea Express, complete with a new catch phrase, "Honea- sounds like pony, hung like horse." The thing is that I'm not a code guy. I'm really looking for some ideas and help. Yes, I'm willing to pay, but I'm broke, so deals will need be discussed. Big deals, big plans.

I'm thinking of getting a new tattoo.

We were supposed to go to a special parentblogger gathering at Sea World this morning for the opening of their Sesame Street area, but the weather is crap. Sure would be nice if I could use the tickets later this summer. I'll still write about it, Elmo!

There are some big changes happening in the Honea household as well. No, we aren't pregnant (I hope) but some stuff is going to be happening professionally that will have a very positive effect on us personally. Future posts will keep you posted.

Wow, that was a lot of stuff. None of that will normally be in the new feature I mentioned 4 pages ago. It will look more like this:

Denis Richards has something up her ass. Smells like bacon (that's a Kermit joke).

Zohan messed with someone

Matt McConaughey's pregnant girlfriend enjoys a cold one

Organic t-shirts

T-shirts that Bert would love

Perez Hilton is an idiot

You get the idea. I'll throw some links up from the various sites I write for and if you are so inclined to check them out then I hope you do so. If you don't want to I understand (asshole).

Continue with your weekend.

Poop is the New Smurf

2008-05-21T19:04:00.000-07:00

"Poop," I wrote, chuckling to myself, "is the new smurf."

I was leaving a comment at Jonathon's, and needless to say I was rather pleased with myself. I mean, come on, that's smurfing brilliant.

For those unfamiliar in the way of the Smurf there are a few things you should know to fully appreciate just how brilliant I am.

a) The Smurfs became extinct as a people due to the fact that there was only one female among their entire population and she was a tease.

b) Due to living in a mushroom the Smurfs were constantly hallucinating, paranoid and possibly impotent.

c) The Smurfs, and this is the only point that actually pertains to my comment, had a knack for replacing random words within their vernacular with the word "smurf." The word "smurf" could mean anything, a verb, adjective, adverb, and to a lesser extent a noun, unless said noun was an actual Smurf- for instance.

Enter poop.

Kids, it seems, are much like Smurfs, but instead of smurfing everything with "smurf" they prefer to work in a different medium. Poop.

Much like the above link to Jonathon's blog, my life is filled with poop where I don't want it. Literally and figuratively.

"What do you want for lunch?" I'll ask.

"A peanutpoop and jelly sandwich," they'll reply, laughing.

"Don't smurf around, I'll make you a damn peanutpoop sandwich and you'll eat it."

-or-

"Where do you want to go today?"

"To the poop."

"Seriously, the poop? What's that, a store?"

"No, the poop!"

"The park?"

"The poop! The poop!"

"Do you have to go to the bathroom?"

And so forth and so on. Poop, it seems, is the new Smurf. And smurfly, I think it's pretty poopy.

But it gets old.