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Wednesday, July 16, 2008
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Currently Listening
Human Clay
By Creed
see relatedThe Dreaded "H" Word
So just what is this Dreaded "H" Word, anyway?
Hell? No.
And nope, it's not Heaven, either.
Is it the word, Hottie?
Or Hate?
History?
Heck no.
Could it be a Headliner H?
~ Hannah Montana
~ Handy Manny
~ Heathcliff Huxtable
~ The Incredible Hulk
No, I said "H" WORD -- not name.
This Dreaded "H" Word has lasted since the beginning of humanity and spanned the ages as a timeless classic. It’s a word that creeps up in us and escapes our very mouths in unexpected fashion as seen by the reactions of victims we come in contact with in conversation.
Yes folks, it's that Dreaded "H" Word that goes by the medical term...
Insert dramatic, somewhat scary movie scene music heavy on the drums --
"Dun-dun-dun-dun!!!”
HALITOSIS.
You try brushing, you try flossing, you try extensive mouthwashing of the medically antiseptic flavor variety, but you still get…
“Dude, you’re breath smells like….sh__!"
And there's not even any way to spin that damn word.
- Hey, I really like your halitosis today?
- Did you do something different to your halitosis?
- Love that new halitosis you got on.
- What's that halitosis you're wearing?
According to MSN.com, the Top 5 causes of the Dreaded "H" Word are the following:
1. Filthy mouth: no not a potty/cuss-like-a-sailor mouth, a literal dirty mouth. Bacteria is already in there, but when those germs clash with food particles that have entered from consumption, the collision gives off a stinky sulfur giving birth to that horrific "H" word.
2. A mouth out of whack: From a medical perspective, saliva flushes out the mouth and keeps things “balanced” – if you will, so when it gets dry through dry heat in the winter and allergies in the spring and summer, bacteria can easily thrive and cause this foul mouth odor. Bacteria also runs amok in blood, so if one has gum disease or a nose bleed where that red liquid flows from the nasal passages down into your throat, chances are halitosis isn’t too far behind.
3. Consuming things that stink to high heck: Garlic, onions, cheese, tobacco, blood, shit.
4. Carb deficiency: So that’s why people on the Atkins diet go dateless. High-protein, low-carbohydrate diets force the body to burn off the stored fats for fuel instead of carbs causing ketosis. As fat burns, ketones build up in the body, and released through… you guessed it, your breath. And as nature would have it, ketones reek of fecal matter.
5. Being sick as a dog: One more reason to stay away from those who are under the weather.
Now, never fear. For those five causes, there are five fabulous steps to combat them…
I. Basic brushing of your teeth with toothpaste
II. Flossing them
II. Gargling with mouthwash
IV. Scraping your tongue (you can purchase a tongue scraper at your local drug store)
V. Drinking water frequently…
This starting five acts as a full-court press against bacteria... thus, extremely minimizing halitosis when these Fab Five steps are done quite often.
END OF PRACTICAL/MEDICAL SEGMENT
Now, let’s get to the contemplative part of this post…
After reading the 5-on-5 section above, I reflected back to my childhood when we used to joke those possessing the chronic… halitosis, not weed.
Anyone remember the song –
I hate to be mean
But you need Listerene
Not a drop, not a swallow
But the whole damn bottle
When one of my friends in the neighborhood dropped that bomb on me - which seldom happened [denial alert] - it offended me, to say the least.
But as a cool, collected youngster, I just laughed it off like it meant nothing to me. Then, I’d turn around and go use it on another buddy when I became victimized.
Have you ever wondered what goes through the mind of people once it hits them that they're the one with the blatantly offensive halitosis?
Like when you’re in your car driving and waiting behind another driver at a stoplight and all of a sudden you smell some foul aroma.
So you look down at the floorboard by the accelerator of your vehicle. You lift each shoe. Then look down at your shirt, on the seats, at your pants.
Where the hell is that smell coming from?
Then, it dawns on you…
No. It can’t be. You cup your left hand up against your face and breathe into it.
"Nooooooooooooooooo. I've got bad breath!"
You panic and frantically search for gum, mints, binaca, tiny scope bottle, whatever… because you’ve got to be somewhere that people who mean something to you will be at. Maybe it's a date. Maybe it's meeting someone you're trying to impress. Maybe it's an important business meeting.
And you just don’t have time to stop by 7-eleven for something to make your breath smell pleasant.
Oh the horror (another good H word, by the way)!
So in this scenario, you or the person who possesses this predicament, has no choice but to show up with this dreaded disease... where it smells like germs have just taken a dump in that piehole AND like something crawled up under your tongue and died…
And if you’re the one who gets wind of this person’s breath, you become victimized the moment the first sounds come out from his mouth and you think, “Did he just eat some ass? 'Cause damn, his breath smells like sh__!”
Now having said all that, I'm curious to know what you readers think.
So here’s three questions I want answers for:
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How do you deal with someone with halitosis?
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How would you want others to approach you if you had that Dreaded "H" Word?
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If the person who you once put "on a pedestal" happens to be in a face-to-face encounter with you... and you smell their filthy animal breath, does your impression of him/her change in that they drop a few pegs down on your “list” of people you thought were wonderful?
Everyone who honestly answers and completely participates in this survey will receive a bakers dozen, oven-baked chocolate chip cookies from either Antisoccermom or StephanieMarie7891. Xanga message these Miss Xangamerica Finalists and tell ‘em Edlives sent you.
Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to read this public service announcement.
Now go brush your teeth, floss between ‘em, gargle with mouthwash, clean your tongue, and drink plenty of cold spring water.
Do it early and often...
"To fresh clean breath!"
::Holds King Size Bottle of Fresh Mint Listerene Up In The Air::
Disclamer: The Antisoccermom, StephanieMarie7891, Edlives paragraph was merely fabricated for entertainment purposes only. In other words, don’t really do what those two lines said to do – it’s simply not true. Thanks.
If you enjoyed this post -- and deem it worthy enough -- please recommend it, rate it with stars, and leave some comments. If not, thanks for going out of your way to drop by and read this blog entry.
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Thursday, July 10, 2008
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Currently Listening
The Way It Is
By Bruce Hornsby & The Range
Mandolin Rain
see relatedA Reason For Everything In Life
It's always interesting to reflect on the various phases of life.From kindergarten through elementary school, it was all about homework, playing sports, and going to the Filipino parties that my parents' friends would have -- especially on the weekends... even moreso during the summers.
Believe it or not, all of our respective families lived in different school districts.
At each of those gatherings, I would somehow find other boys that were close in age (many of them were sons of my parents' friends), and in no time, I'd find myself running outside playing football or basketball.
After a few games, come inside -- full of perspiration -- to grab some party food to eat.
And man, would we eat.
We're talkin' lumpia, pancit, rice, mechado, beef adobo, and barbeque on a stick (which consisted of four-to-five pork strips pre-marinated in soy sauce, vinegar, lemon, and sugar, and slid onto wooden skewers, cooked on a char-broiled grill outside). Of course, a minimum of two plates was a given, not to mention the multiple bottles of soda I would consume.
Then the youthful energy and competitive testosterone would kick in again and it was back outside to play.It never mattered whose house it was at... the events -- for me -- remained similar.
To me, those were the highlights of my childhood. And I enjoyed it -- not because I was comfortable in an environment where the majority of the people were Filipino, not because of the food and culture, and not because of getting to play, eat, and drink.
Although, that did help a little.
Do you wanna know why I really loved those times?
Because nobody at those get-togethers made me feel inferior... and I felt secure with my family and my fellow Filipinos. There was a certain comfort level felt at these assemblies, which set my mind at ease.
In settings like those, nobody put me down because of the color of my skin, nobody made fun of my parents' accents, nobody said that all of us Asians looked alike, and nobody mocked the Filipino apparel we sometimes wore. It just didn't matter.
But soon that all changed.
When I hit junior high (these days it's called middle school), something changed, and it extended all the way through high school graduation.
The parties happened less often, the gatherings dwindled, and many of the fathers who were my parents' friends -- all of them in the Navy -- would get stationed in places like California, Florida, DC, Illinois, New York, Hawaii, and the Philippines.
And the families who remained here all seemed to grow apart as life went on.
I would soon begin to hate life.
It wasn't long before I began experiencing seemingly long days filled with racist remarks on the slant in my eyes, the color of my skin, and the texture of my hair -- from Caucasians and African-Americans alike... except back then, people just called those races white and black, at least in this southern region.
On the school bus, in classes, and during physical education class, endless ridicule over the physical traits of my nationality made for lengthy days at the junior high level.
And the pains continued when these idiot fellow students disrespected my parents with the loud mocking of their native language and the accents that accompanied it.
We were considered Chinese or Japanese -- which is nice as compared to what they really called us. And whenever I tried to explain to someone who asked me my racial origin, the common ignorant reply would interrupt my response and taunts of, "yeah right, whatever, all of you look alike, you're all the same" came out... with hoards of excessive laughter following that statement. Then, you'd hear the icing on the cake of prejudice... you know, the fake Asian accent and more yuks and guffaws to complete the usual parody.
Who cares if I was Chinese or Japanese or Filipino? And who cares that they were Caucasian and African-American? And how stupid was it to denigrate someone based on their nationality?
Man, I wish I had the cajones to have thought that way and spoken that way... back in the day.
But here in the good old south -- part of me was scared, and part of me just wanted to fit in.
I wished I was white. I wished I was black. I hated my race. I was ashamed of my parents. I hated my life.
And the worse thing about what I experienced is that I never felt like I could communicate any of this to my mother and father, and they never specifically asked me much of how I felt either. Common everyday questions like how my school day went rarely were asked. Instead, the Qs ranged from whether I had any homework or what kind of grades I was getting.
Fast forward to high school graduation.
Once the grad cap hit the turf of the varsity football field, I felt emancipated.
When I went away to college, a sudden burst of motivation kicked in. I improved my study habits, my desire to get to know God, and my overall image... and eventually my confidence grew.Building up my mind, my body, my self-esteem during those five years shaped my views and established a boldness to speak out against the ills of society. And I haven't shut up since.
These days, I use a quote I stole from an NFL star who plays for my favorite football team... and it goes like this, "I love me some me."
That's what I want my two daughters to have. A healthy self-esteem with a willingness to use it to boldly speak out and take action against injustice, to use it help those in needy situations, to use it to treat others with kindness and respect, and to use it protect the ones they love.
Although I hated what I went through from junior high through high school -- when I look back at it now -- I understand that I absolutely needed to experience all of that for the very reasons I just mentioned in the previous paragraph. .
Why?
So that my children won't have to endure the worst of what I had to go through.
As a Filipino-American married to my wife Tracee, who is African-American, it's important to continually explain things about our individual races, the two different ethnic cultures, my house rules, and other issues with our daughters Morgan (age 8) and Mya (age 4).
For example, Morgan went through a situation at her school where she was consistently bullied by a classmate who was the same height, but a tad bit thicker. My house rule regarding this type of situation: (1) one chance to reason with the person. (2) if that solves nothing, one chance for the authority figure to do something about it. (3) if that solves nothing, one punch and/or one kick to the offender to defend yourself.
Morgan went through Rule 1 and Rule 2, so I spoke to the teacher with a final warning before it got to Rule 3.
Me: "Morgan tells me that _____ takes her pencils, her change, and other things, but nothing is being done about it?"Teacher: "Oh, we're aware of the situation... and we just talked about it the other day. Your daughter is not the only one who's dealing with it. I will look into it, Mr. ____."
Me: "Thank you, Mrs. _____. But out of respect, I want to explain something to you. Our rule in my family is this. If the classmate bullies you, reason with that person one time. If that doesn't work, tell the authority figure. In this case, that is you. If the authority figure does nothing, you have every right to defend yourself, Morgan. And from what I understand, Morgan has already informed you of this continuing problem."
Needless to say, less than one week later, the girl was suspended, and eventually kicked out of the school that Morgan attended.
I have established an open line of communication with both of my daughters, and it has evolved into a daily report of how their respective days went -- especially on week days when I pick them up after work. I love that there is a natural comfort level where Morgan and Mya enjoy talking to their old man.
Something I never had with my parents growing up.
And another thing, I don't ever want my children to be ashamed of the way God created them.
Reassurance that I never received from my parents growing up.
I love my parents, and for the most part, I'm grateful for the way they raised me. I'm also appreciative of the fact that they stuck together over the years to provide guidance.
But I would have appreciated some moments where they could've put themselves in my shoes, showed that they cared through their speech, and talked on my level at times-- instead of always talking down to me.
When I honestly think about it, I realize that perhaps I had to endure those mentally excruciating moments of my youth to prepare me for fatherhood.
- And although my girls drive me crazy several times a day...
- And although I've made a boatload of mistakes as a parent...
- And although at times it seems like an endless challenge...
Deep down inside, I absolutely embrace being a Dad. I wouldn't trade being there for my daughters for anything in this world... anything. It hasn't been easy -- and neither has part of my past -- but when tough times are overcome, learning kicks in.
And learning keeps you moving forward.
What challenging experiences have you overcome to help you improve your current life?
If you found this post interesting -- and you deem it worthy enough -- please recommend it and give it some stars. If not, that's cool, because I'm still wholeheartedly grateful to you for taking time out of your schedule to read my blog entry.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
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Currently Listening
Echoes: The Best of Pink Floyd
By Pink Floyd
see relatedEarly Moment
It started out as a typical work day for me this morning.
Cold water and face, toothbrush and mouthwash, mousse and hair spray, shaver and stubble, peanut butter and bread, vitamins and supplements, coffee and French vanilla creamer, pack and prepare, car key and cool a/c in van... all before the preparatory finale:
Puttin' on da work attire.
First, my torso enters into my white Hanes tee shirt. Then, I throw on the columbia blue Nautica polo over top of it - thin navy vertical stripe/thick navy vertical stripe/thin white vertical stripe - dang, I love that shirt... it's comfortable, yet stylish, and I've owned it for several years now.
Next, it's time to get into my black, 100% cotton & pleated slacks, which at one time was a DC fave.
Finally, it came time to find some feet decor before the capper of sliding into my black lace-up, square-toed Bass loafers.
But here's where I had a nearly horrifying vision of the future.
As I searched for the my royal blue, diamond-on-black dress socks, I had an out-of-mind experience. For a split-second, in a twinkling-of-an-eye, I said to myself, "self, what da heck does it matter, I can't find it, just get the solid brown ones."
Woh, wait a minute, hold it right there, time out -- insert sound effects of auto brakes screeching to an accident-saving halt.
All of a sudden I began to have flashbacks of my dad going out to the front lawn on a summer day with plaid bermuda shorts, a wife-beater tank top, dress socks, and a pair of flip-flops.
Then, I envision a physically twice-the-size man (the top of my dad's head ends where my rib cage begins) with a middle-of-the-back length 'do wearing those same exact clothes -- but in 3XL, of course.
Reality at light-speed, fast-forward to now.
"Hey, here's another pair of blue dress socks. That matches."
Whew, that was close!
Monday, July 07, 2008
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Currently Listening
Eagles - The Very Best Of
By Eagles
see relatedUs Men, Our Ways, and Our Sadistic Humor
What is it about us men that makes us men?
On TV, on radio, on the internet, and on the silver screen, the typical stereotypes for a good majority of the universal male population cover a good cross section of what we're mostly about.
Yes, you'll have some examples and illustrations that don't really apply to some of us... but whether we'd like to admit it or not, a considerable percentage of 'em are indeed "dead on."
Allow me to share several of them. You guy readers can probably relate -- and many of you ladies will know a lot of men who possess some things on the list below.
So check it...
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Sports and games are a staple. Many of us are sports buffs, diehard gamers or both.
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With all due respect to vegetarians and vegans, we gotta have our meat and potatoes.
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The Hottie makes causes us to stare and/or do the double take.
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We absolutely hate to be nagged.
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The fascination exists for more speed in such things as cars, boats, motorcycles, jet skis or computer systems.
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Speaking of which, the newest technology continually intrigues us.
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Give us a war or action flick... or some history or animal documentary.
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There is an everpresent jones for cars, actual repairs and/or maintentance and/or detailing.
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Our hands must reflect the residue normally acquired in the process of working on cars... no matter how much or how little we know.
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Yard work and home improvements make for great projects.
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Many of us just have to talk trash/smack to other guys.
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Days off include unshaven stubble, uncombed hair and an unshowered bod.
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A cold beer after a tough day at work is a welcome sight.
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I don't care how old I am, I'm always up for a pickup game of basketball, tackle football in the mud, or softball with guys of varying ages.
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The toilet seat has to be left up.
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If you're in an organized sports league, your uniform/jersey better be dirty after each game.
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When telling of our sexual escapades amongst an audience of other guys, exaggeration runs amok -- much more than we're willing to ever admit.
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What smell? I don't smell anything.
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Procrastination happens.
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Taking out the trash is a good excuse to get out of the house and light up a smoke... or just... get out of the house.
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Volunteering to pick up stuff for the mrs or live-in is the perfect detour oppotunity to lowes, home depot, taylor do-it-center, advance auto, pep boys and/or auto zone.
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When something extremely pisses us off, there has to be an outlet.
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I'll do stuff on my own damn time.
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If left up to us, old clothes would last longer in our lives than marriages -- no matter how many holes or stains exist or how much we've outgrown them.
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Bragging about our manhood, ridiculing other members, and joking about the jewel in general.
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There's road rage within us somewhere, and it escapes out of our system in certain moments.
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I don't need no stinkin' directions, I can figure it out.
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Burping, farting, adjusting, and nose-picking come early and often.
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And we love seeing other guys get hurt…
Now, let's take a slight diversion and concentrate on that last one.
When I taught second grade at a private academy for a year, the boys in the class had this thing where they would punch and kick each other in the groin area, and then laugh about it. I found it rather hilarious, too, but I had to make a concerted attempt to turn my back, so they wouldn't see me laughing. However, trying to get them to stop was nearly impossible, and I had to get the headmaster of this institution to have a lengthy discussion with them... and to my relief, it worked.
But what is it about that male phenomenon?
Hmmmm...
I don’t know what it is, but I – and my other real world buds – seem to always find humor in other guys either getting joked and/or ridiculed, but the laughter found its way to an extreme, ab-killin' level when we witnessed some of the following instances:
a fellow male taking one to the privates in a sporting event
or
a scene where a foreign object levels another man’s crotch
or
a clip of a woman defending herself and knees an attacker in the gonads
or
a tv show where a kid inadvertently swings a bat that nails a father in da nuts
or
a real life situation where one guy goes to throw something to another and the recipient doesn’t pay attention with the end result being that the item lands squarely on the victim’s testicles…
They all elicit the same laugh out loud/roll on the floor/laugh my ass off type of entertainment.
But the mystery as to why still remains.
Is it...
- the male victim's reflex action to that excruciating experience that elicits a gut-busting response?
- or possibly the facial expression of the recipient?
- or maybe it's the appearance of the guy in pain?
- or how about the demeanor of the person who delivers the blow?
Which of the reasons above provide the answer to such a mystery?
Or is there an unmentioned one that solves this intriguing phenomenon?
So many questions, so little theories.
It's almost as unsolvable as the mystery of morning wood. But that's a whole 'nother issue right there.
What's your theory?
I’m gonna open this survey up for suggestion, comment, and/or discussion – preferrably for the male friends/subscribers... but you females can take a stab at it if you'd like.
Ooh. Ouch. Yeowww.
Maybe I shouldn't have worded it that way.
Your theories, please…
[*If you dig this post, please don't hesitate to recommend it, give it stars, and also comment. If not, thanks for just taking time out of your day/night to read this...]
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Bad News: Can't shut off my "new" cell phone... screen's frozen. Good News: Paid off car loan today - EARLY - to boost credit score!
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wifey & da girls are going to her mom's this evening. what should i do 2nite? movie, batting cage, sports bar, rent DVD, sleep, other?
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it's the Macho Man Lunch Hour. edlives & i will probably consume some clogged artery specials today... on pay-day Friday. git-r-dun!
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