(from the files) 261. quoting celebrities

sometimes when i get an idea, i tell people it's from a celebrity first.
that way if people don’t like it so much and tell me how stupid it is, i can always be a wisenheimer and say something like, don't complain to me? i'm just sayin', that's all. complain to that idiot tommy cruise! it was his idea.
and then they drop it like a hot potato because they never know how to get in touch with him.

(from the files) 49. fake agnostics

most folks who claim to be agnostic are really just atheists who still want to be invited to weddings and funerals.

bob's revolutionary, portable, billboard ad campaign (old school meets innovation)

well, you can't say i don't listen to my fellow pond chums.
no one has to tell bob something twice.
i've been wrestling with how to take this joint to the next level—sadly, it's all i have.
anyway, i guess i was kind of moaning and groaning when someone, who will remain nameless, recommended i stop whining and advertise already.
bob heard loud and clear.

sooooo...
after locking myself up in my big thinkin' tank, i came up with something very exciting.
a revolutionary, portable billboard that's costs nothin' more than dogfood quite honestly.

all i have to say to someone, who will remain nameless, is that you weren't counting on this brain!

(from the boss don files) 809. boss don - being miserable is motivational

i recently read one of those dumb yahoo articles.
this one was about identifying miserable jobs and taking steps to improve them.
it actually made some sense.
so the next day i marched into boss don's office to take my first steps.

me: hey boss, thanks for taking a moment to talk to me.
boss don: what is it crane? i don't have all day.
me: okay, look, i want to improve this really miserable job i have.
boss don: not sure why you'd want to. miserable is motivating, and i've worked hard to make you miserable.
me: yeah, well, whatever. anyway, my first step is to help you understand what i need as an employee.
boss don: you're miserable right?
me: yeah, that's why i'm—
boss don: then what else do you want? i'm miserable too and look where it's gotten me. "miserable is my shepherd, i shall not want anything else." that's my lord's prayer!
me: hmm. i guess i need to regroup. maybe i'm thinking all wrong about this.
boss don: yeah well regroup your ass and get me your status report by 1 today, i'm leaving early to play golf.
me: but i'll have to work through lunch to do that.
boss don: think miserable crane! think miserable!

then i had a miserable thought, i have to stop reading "job how to's" written by idiots who apparently never had to "how to".

21 Guns

my son was probably no more than 11 when, much like his old man, the cranelegs music gene took hold.
and the group that grabbed him by the g clef was green day.
i had never heard of them.
and when i finally gave them a look-see, i was less than impressed, pining for the good old days of led zeppelin and the likes.
well that was 14 years ago and after incessant prodding by my son, i've grown to become quite a fan of green day.
so for my son's quarter century b-day, he and i are going to see green day's "american idiot" on broadway.
and i can't wait.
here are 21 reasons why: 21 guns (have to endure a 10 second ad but worth the trouble)
(and the best part: my son will be playing his favorite led zeppelin tunes in the car on the ride over—a music mentoring job completed nicely.)

my value preposition

i was reading up on how to get more traffic to this blog, when i stumbled on a bigshot blogger who said it's all about moving forward your value proposition.and i thought, well that certainly does seem logical.

so i took a moment to ask myself, "self, what's my value proposition?"
i leafed through a bunch of my posts and played some thinking music and really gave this a good goin' over.
that's when it occurred to me, value proposition? heh! that's pretty funny. this joint depreciates. it doesn't value. if anything i need to push back my depreciation proposition.

but that's going backwards and according to msnbc i need to lean forward.
in other words, i still need to push something forward of value.
and that's when it struck me.
i can push forward a value preposition.
now that's something i can do.

so with that in mind, i value the preposition instead of.
don't ask me why?
not really sure why to be honest although a suspect it might have something to do with wanting to push forward a value preposition instead of a value proposition.

the half marathon aftermath

keaton ran in a half marathon yesterday through the wind swept rains that pummeled new york city's beloved central park.
she did this with her sister and friend, who were visiting from pensacola.
it was the final chapter in a full weekend of much needed sisterly bondage.

now, the last time keaton ran 13.1 miles it took her the better part of a month.
not so yesterday.
under the pressure of subliminal sibling rivalry, she accomplished this feat in two and half hours, cutting her personal best time by about 1438 hours.
of that i was extremely proud.
beyond proud really.
i was ... prowst ... proodst ... i was of praste of her.

but praste can only last so long in the face of the evil aftermath that was soon to befall my gallant queen.
ever since i peeled her out of the car last night, she's been wandering around the house as if casting for a zombie role in night of the living dead, which among many other thoughts got me to thinking, where's george romero when you really need him.

all joking aside, i do believe if i allowed her to get within outreached, cramp-crooked arms length of me, she'd claw a big old chunk of flesh right off without thinking twice about it.
you see this is exactly the sort of thing that occurs when a recently initiated vegan becomes completely protein deprived in such demanding short order, and all the major muscle groups decide to seize up like cured cement to boot.

the troubling truth is, i saw this coming.
not because i'm kreskin or nothin'.
but because i have active brain waves.
granted man brain waves, but active just the same.
the simple fact is the body isn't built to be jolted so, and when it is jolted so, it goes into flesh-eating, zombie shock.
especially when it is ... well ... let's just say when it is past the manufacturer's warrantee.

oh listen to me ramble on so.
what's a little trial and tribulation when there so much to be celebrat—

hey goat hold it!
what is that?

uh oh!

holy smokes!
someone left the backyard gate open and keaton's wandered into benny winthrop's hen house.
i think that's his prized rooster, mr. higgins, she's got in her clutches.
oh, this isn't good at all!

have to run!

(from the files) 815. pedicures and sports

alix and keaton have just returned from pedicures.
from what i have pieced together by the looks of their cotton separated toes is that this is some kind of pampering process about the feet.
subtle interrogation revealed that they are rubbed, washed, oiled up and then rubbed some more, all in preparation for toenail beautification and polishing.

okay i don't get it, but i'm not complaining, because immediately following these treatments, there is always a hint of relaxed fulfillment in their demeanor, as well as, an eerie softness in their step.
all of which leads me to believe it's another one of those secret female passions that they have found preferable to sex—hot stone massages and odd vibrating doodads being others that immediately come to mind.

however, there is zero reciprocated appreciation of my wild carrying on during a good college basketball game—like villanova vs. anybody for instance.
and i have to admit, a nova wildcat ten point run can be as satisfying as sex—without all the pre-game warm-up and post-game clean-up, if you know what i mean.

so maybe sports viewing in a way is a man's pedicure—stink-crusted, cracked toes notwithstanding.
i'll probe this intriguing proposition with my man-mind some more before i declare it a certainty.
but i think i'm on to something here.
something quite significant.
even something nobel prize worthy possibly.
wow!

(from the files) discovery of the year

this fall, tattoo parlors across the land will be needling removable ink into the arms of young and old men alike who find themselves temporarily intoxicated by love.
no more will be the days of tacky camouflage or painful treatments or lame flesh band-aids or lamer lies in attempts to conceal the name of a lover long lost.
soon it will be possible for those prone by cupid’s arrows to tattoo the name of their fickle fawning to do so with little fear of a sudden change in heart.
soon will be the day that arms can grace the girl of the week, if one is so inclined.
and for folks like larry king, i would suggest this promise of a new tattoo world just can't get any better.

however, i will not be one of them.
not because i am petrified of death by a thousand tattooist’s stings.
i laugh in the general direction of such thoughts.
but rather because i suspect i am allergic to the ink—a little matter that i'm sure has kept me from an invite to join the latin kings, something i've longed for many a year now.

well, maybe that but more likely because i'm what they fondly call in rural new jersey latin street gang circles, "carne de pollo blanca" (rough tranlation: meat of a white chicken), and i'm all that for sure.

(from the files) 116. smart water doesn't work

i was thinking recently that chris matthews is a pretty good news talk host.
then i watched him during the endless coverage of the virginia tech atrocity, as he tried to create news by playing psychologist with a suite mate of the shooter.
it was painful to watch.
i realized my thinking was bone-headed.
matthews is essentially a numbskull and i'm numbskullier for watching him.

so i have been drinking smart water hoping to alleviate some of my dumbness.
unfortunately i still watch his stupid show, which leads me to conclude smart water doesn’t work—at least not on this brain.

this result is something keaton predicted when i first told her of my plan.

bob's "everything in/better thing out" job

i'm beginning to think that this blob called the human species is like a school of fish headed into stark, oxygen-depleted waters.
oh, the gang might make a sharp turn here and another turn there.
oh, a few stragglers might break away from the pack or simply lag sheepishly behind.
oh, a couple brave soles might even sound the warning trumpets, that is if fish could do such a thing.
but at the end of the ocean day, i still have this sense that there is an inevitability to its fate.
that it will cease—the universe no worse or no better for the visit.

now i know this is not the stuff of glass half full or partly sunny thoughts.
i also know it's not particularly witty or grin-worthy.
but i've been thinkin' about this way too much lately.
thinkin' that if these are the cards to be played, then what do i do while they're being dealt?

(from the blook) runnin’ interference for keaton once again

(one week ago)
i said, there have been five phone messages from these landscaper guys about some job you want them to do.
keaton said, yeah i know, don’t know what they’re talking about.
i asked, well they seem to think you want them to do some stuff.
keaton said, they’ll stop calling eventually.

(yesterday)
a knock at the door.
two surly characters were standing there.
i opened the door.

(from the blook) a pocket full of resentments

i used to collect resentments like loose change in my front, right, pants pocket.
i’d never tell a soul either, especially the object of my discontent.
nope, i’d just accumulate them—little secret silent scars.
it’s what i did, very well!

yeah, in my front, right pocket.
and what a great place to store them.
i could wash my pants a thousand times, and they’d still be right there for me to pluck out and commiserate with whenever i was feeling taken for granted or put upon.

that is, until i met keaton.

i inadvertently did a wise thing.
i warned her about this little fetish.
and then she advertently did a wiser thing.
i don’t know when or how, but she cut tiny holes in all my front, right, pants pockets.
you know, small enough for resentments to fall through, but not change or chapsticks.
i can’t even find the holes, but i know they’re there somewhere, because now when i reach in to grab one or two, they’re gone, leaving me empty handed in the bad energy department.
and you know what?
it’s refreshing really.
almost minty.

my only regret is that i wish i had figured this out sooner rather than later.
hmm ... regrets.
now maybe that's something i could collect?
i'd have a basement full in no time flat, that's for sure.

(from the really old files) 101. unusual road kill

andy said, i think the most unusual road kill i've ever seen was the dead carcass of a lawn deer statue on the side of the road.
i said, that's pretty weird all right.
andy said, yeah it was really disturbing, especially with that fake pink flamingo pecking at its plaster eye sockets.

sometimes with andy it's best to leave well enough alone.
this was such a time.
so i changed the subject to favorite seinfeld episodes.

the dead battery monologue

i went to start the car and it was deader than elvis presley, maybe even larry king.
i don't like that.
not at all.
no lights.
no radio.
no wipers.
dead. dead. and dead.

now what?

(from the files) 314. precautions

as a precaution, i wore three pairs of the tightest underpants i owned to eighth grade dances in case a slow dance caused a situation, because to be honest i was pretty much an unannounced moment away from a situation waiting to be humiliated most of my uninformative years.

(from the very old files) 30. morning breath

a while ago ...
keaton said, go brush your teeth, you have morning breath.
i said, whew, i’m glad someone finally broke the ice.
she asked, what do you mean?
i said, well it’s just that you do too. probably for fourteen days now.

fast-forward.

it occurred to me recently that acknowledging morning breath is the first sign a relationship is emerging out of the goo-goo-eyes stage and into the now-what stage.
i think the final indicator is when backdoor gases commence indescriminately and with impunity.

(from the past) 545. fleeting thought

fleeting thought said, outta my way! comin' through!
i said, hey! what's the rush fleeting thought?
it said, i got places to be! that's what buddy boy!
i said, like where?
it said, look, you seem like a nice enough fellow but i don't have time for a stop and chat. i'm fleeting. ya wanna talk? find deep thought!
i said, but you come and go so quickly, and you always leave behind these little gems that i don't know what to do with half the time. so i talk to deep thought like you say but it just passes me along to man thought and that's when i start arguing with myself. the next thing ya know, i got a huge situation, usually with keaton.
fleeting thought said, hate to disappoint you but i'm just the thoughtenger. do as you may with what i deliver. now if you don't mind. outta my way! fleeting thought on the move!

and it was gone faster than it came.

then i wondered where was it headed next?
who else gets fleeting thoughts like me?
which tortured souls are my fleeting thought brothers or sisters?

on politicians

it doesn't really matter what stripe a politician wears, they all share a passion to create apparitions of truth, which explains why they're promises disappear like ghosts once elected.

precautions

when i was thirteen, as a precaution i wore three pairs of tight underpants to eighth grade dances in case a slow dance caused a situation, because i was pretty much a situation waiting to be humiliated most of my non-informative years.

subway moments

sometimes when i’m on the subway, i pretend to be an undercover homeland security agent, especially if i'm wearing this one pair of sunglasses.
but once in a while i think some of the passengers are pretending to be terrorists, and i get nervous because they are better pretenders than i am.
so i stop before a situation breaks out like the last one, when one particular seedy character must have silently farted and i start screaming poison gas attack like the big baby i can be every so often!

the allure of delusion

some people are attracted to folks who wear hats.
others drift towards causes of selflessness.
still others find windex fascinating.
i?
i follow the allure of delusion, like firing off snappy one liners to oprah's probing questions.
or telling larry david i have better things to do than keeping his tv show alive with another crisp, crackling scripts.

i don't know.
it just seems so much more promising than the alternative—those pesky realities that always get in the way.

what allures you?
and even though i didn't leave you with many additional choices, please try to be original.

andy explains insomnia

i said, hey andy have you ever suffered from insomnia?
andy thought for a moment and then said, only when i can't sleep, otherwise i'm fine.

i immediately thought, this is exactly the sort of answer from andy that leads me to believe the more i ask him the less i learn.

(from the files) 65. the bart springley interview

[occasionally, as part of my public service contract, i interview interesting local folks here in west new jersey. to be honest though, it all fits in nicely with my plan to attract loads of people to move out here so it'll get overcrowded and keaton will get the hint that it's time to move to vermont.]

this interview is a part of that master plan. it was with bart springley. he lives a few miles away.

i asked, so bart, why do you raise buffalo?
bart said, cause they attract indians.
i said, but we are in new jersey. they're long gone.
he said, that’s how come you gotta attract them.
(i hadn’t planned on this line of thought. i was already out of questions.)
in order to buy some time i said, wow, you don't say.
(that's an interviewing trick that i picked up from larry king.)
anyway, nothing was coming to mind to ask.
so i said, thanks bart for inviting us out to your farm and good luck.
bart said, found two pair of discarded lenni lenape moccasins just the other day, and some arrow heads..
i said, fantastic, thanks again and may you eat good jersey tomatoes.
(that's a closing interview expression i made up myself and is becoming my tagline.)

then i signaled to my technician, tj higgins, to shut down his mobile phone video recording system and we left.
overall, i'd say it was a pretty successful interview, and i'm sure once it airs on channel 513 some time next summer it's gonna attract tens of people to this area.

can you say vermont cheddar?

what do casinos and sports have in common with beets and sweet breads?

keaton hates casinos and sports.
i hate beets and sweet breads.

keaton loves beets and sweet breads.
i love casinos and sports.

i know.
we're a match made "in common" heaven.

emails from the future

i’ve been getting a boatload of emails from the future, specifically the year 2037.
as far as i can tell, the good news is that there will be plenty of easy money, pills, and free stuff to go around.
the bad news is that penis enlargement is a big seller, leading me to believe a "small penis" scourge will have swept the land, leaving short, dangling participles in its wake.

mud finnegan and the half sandwich

i was ten years old.
mom wouldn't let me see the alamo with the gang because it was too violent.
after ten minutes of kid thought, i concluded my only option was to run away.
i said, mom, i'm running away! i'm going to pennsylvania to be a farmer.
she packed me a baloney sandwich, asked if i had clean underwear on, and made me promise to write her when the potatoes came in.
then she pushed me out the door, pointing to the west.

keaton and bob wrestle with meat eating and related stuff

keaton said, ever since i read that book we heard about on booktv, "eating animals", i've gone completely vegatarian.
i said, even sushi?
keaton said, yeah, especially sushi. according to the book, westerners are ruining the oceans just so they can have sushi. it's got to stop.
so i said, then i suppose we might just as well stop watching the food channel. after all, they are promoting the destruction of the planet based on what you are saying.
then she said, why the food channel? why not all the sports you watch and their meat eating ways?
i said, oh yeah, well if you really want to straighten everything out, get rid of booktv and the books they promote because that's really what's starting all the trouble around here.
then she said, get rid of books? you're sick.
i said, and doctors too!

cereal killer

i've managed over the years to move myself down the cereal milk scale to organic 1% fat.
but that final leap to 100% fat free (you know, that blue milk)?
well, i just can't do!
it's the most notorious cereal killer of all time in my book!

beats all get out!

i said, well if that doesn't beat all get out!
my son asked, what does that mean?
i said, you know the expression, "get out", like "get out of town" or "get out of here"?
my son said, yeah.
i said, well, what you told me you did beats all of that. it beats all get out.
my son said, huh?
i said, oh forget it. what you did is boss as nails. okay?
my son looked at me like i was speaking in swedish or whatever it is they speak in socialism.
then he repeated real sarcastic-like, boss as nails?
i thought for a minute and finally said, what we have here is a generational divide.
and my son said, that's the dope.

i didn't even ask.

bad car days

every now and then when my car decides not to work, i'm reminded of just how fragile my otherwise take-for-granted life is.

something's going on

i think my shadow is up to no good.
specifically, snacking between meals cause lately it looks like it has put on a few pounds.
just like that fella in the mirror.
it's gets me to wondering if they are in some sort of cahoots when i'm fast asleep, sneaking out to parties and carrying on to all hours of the night.

well whatever it is, something's going on between the two, that's for sure.

the angina dialogue

"well mr. crane you impressed all the interviewers but it is our feeling that you are over qualified for the job."
"oh no, that's the wrong way to think about it."
"how so?"
"a better way to look at it is that i'm super qualified. better than qualified. qualified plus some free extras."
"mr. crane that sure is an interesting persepective but we don't see it that way."
"what do you mean? look, let's say you were hiring a security guard and superman applied for the job. would you say he's over qualified?"
"mr. crane this position is for sorting mail. it's not for a security guard."
"but would ya? would ya hire superman."
"i don't think so."
"why not? he'd be the best security guard you'd ever have, leaping around your tall building in single bounds and stopping bullets with his bare hands and all."
"we don't have a telephone booth for one."
"well, if you had one, would you?"
"look mr. crane you seem like a nice enough person but we just think thirty years of IT project management qualifies you for something other than sorting mail."
"i hear that a lot. i just don't get it that's all."
pause.
"he'd have xray vision. you still wouldn't hire him?"
"no. we'd probably recommend he try blackwater or something else more suitable. we just make raincoats. people don't break into raincoat warehouses. he'd get bored"
pause.
"it's been a pleasure meeting you. best of luck with your job search. i'm certain you will find something."
"i'd be your super mail man?"
"we don't allow our employees to wear red capes. i'm sorry. mr. kent here, our security guard, will escort you out. have a nice day."
"fine. be that way. have an unsuper day too."
moments later.
"hey mr. kent. ya mind if i ask you a question?"
"you can call me clark. sure. fire away?"
i whispered under my breath, "son of a bitch! superman!"
"hey! i heard that!"

and just like that, my angina flared up like there was no tomorrow.