Her: They're eating each other y'know?
TD: Who is?
Her: The polar bears...
TD: Really? Seems a little drastic.
Her: I know, that's why we have to fight global warming... and you should sign up and join Greenpeace, the oldest environmental orgainization in the country.
TD: I already work for a non profit and feel like I do my part for the environment, besides, I don't think my 50 cents a day will make a difference to the polar bears...
Her: Suit yourself...
Truncated version of a conversation outside the Denver Public Library 7/2/08
Someone asked me recently what the top 10 things I want out of life are, thought this would be a good place to share it.
Financial Independence - I don't ever want to think about money ever again.
Success - not necessarily financial success, but success in a way that I feel like I'm making a difference, not just punching a clock and taking home a paycheck.
I'd like to step foot on every continent at least once, if not more than once and see 100 different countries, maybe before I retire.
Happiness, not just for myself, but for those that are close to me, I want my friends and family to be happy, that's what makes me happy.
Never stop learning, might even go back to school again some day, I like learning, I love academia, I could totally be a student again and just soak in the knowledge... something very appealing about teaching, not in a high school but at the college level, maybe even guest lecture.
so, 6? I'd like my 15 minutes of fame for doing something noble, or noteworthy, I'd like to be that guy who did that one thing that was really cool and made everybody stop and think for a few minutes about who they were and how they were living their lives.... not sure what it will be or when, but you know... it's a top 10er.
I'd like to write a book, I have all these great ideas, I just don't have the time or the patience to sit down and write all of it down. Maybe I need someone to write a book about me, that could turn into a movie... that'd be cool.
8... have my own business, in addition to making a difference, I'd like to be in charge of something that I started on my own, that I'm accountable for and at the end of the day could shut it down or take it public, this could be put more simply by saying have a really great idea that just takes off... something cool and dare i say ... unique?
9er - maybe have a kid? don't know on this one actually, something appealing about it sometimes, watching something evolve that your responsible for bringing into this world would be amazing - not now though, still a little too selfish I think, i'd settle for a dog for now.
Finally. World Peace... j/k, let's leave this one open maybe, or maybe just say I don't want to ever stop making new friends and sharing some amazing times together on a whim when nothing was expected. What good is having everything else you want when you don't have anyone to laugh about it with on the journey there?
Have a good holiday weekend kids...
TD
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
Your car.
Brought back from an inspiration from an old friend. No guarantee any other links in the post are still valid.
Last night I had a dream that I was the jewish spider man, flying through the streets of downtown denver with my web spinning powers and abilities to spot a good sale, when suddenly there she was, standing on the corner lookin' all hot, my Mary Jane, the only girl on earth spider man is afraid to confess his undying love and devotion too... As I descend down onto the street while she was finishing her menthol… WAHBAM!@! I get side kicked by my arch nemesis... Catholic Man! "FUCK FOO YOU CATHOLIC MAN...I'LL NEVER CONVERT!!!" and then we start to fight in mid-air and start throwing moderately priced champagne at each other... that’s when I think I just kinda woke up... without an alarm mind you... weird.
So I pull up to employee parking this morning and pahk the cah. I look over next to me and there is bright red Pontiac Fiero parked next to my ride. Then I start thinking about something I’ve been meaning to write about for a little while now. Who honestly drives these cars? If you drive a Firebird, or a Camaro, you suck (period). Nobody takes you seriously and the only reason you get a date is because women feel sorry for your stupid ass. Granted there are some exceptions, if I had an ’84 t-top Camaro that was primer grey and the interior vinyl was falling apart, I would be the shit, but everyone else just looks like a fargin’ idiot. Honestly you truly deserve a beatdown for driving this crap ride of society. It’s not so much the car as the attitude, so we might as well throw newer Mustangs into this category too, a 20k sports car does not make you cool, it makes you that idiot that drives a plastic piece o’ crap retard mobile because you can’t afford a real one. You probably still wear Oakley Frogskins from 1992 and throw on your Hypercolor T-shirt to really impress the ladies. Should I qualify them as ladies? More like wookies, all that hair sprayed up in some sort of nappy offering to the sun gods… Do me a favor, stick to the back roads please, keep your neon license plate covers from kmart in Aurora, and for christ sakes man, you don’t need mudflaps, just take them off along with your plastic gold plated gas cap covers and fake trim…
Here's a little ditty just to illustrate my point, this is what I’m talking about here. If you got a little time and want to know how to get out of speeding tickets, listen to the mp3, this thing is just fricken’ hilarious.
(Original Post Date: 7/21/2004 9:50 AM)
Last night I had a dream that I was the jewish spider man, flying through the streets of downtown denver with my web spinning powers and abilities to spot a good sale, when suddenly there she was, standing on the corner lookin' all hot, my Mary Jane, the only girl on earth spider man is afraid to confess his undying love and devotion too... As I descend down onto the street while she was finishing her menthol… WAHBAM!@! I get side kicked by my arch nemesis... Catholic Man! "FUCK FOO YOU CATHOLIC MAN...I'LL NEVER CONVERT!!!" and then we start to fight in mid-air and start throwing moderately priced champagne at each other... that’s when I think I just kinda woke up... without an alarm mind you... weird.
So I pull up to employee parking this morning and pahk the cah. I look over next to me and there is bright red Pontiac Fiero parked next to my ride. Then I start thinking about something I’ve been meaning to write about for a little while now. Who honestly drives these cars? If you drive a Firebird, or a Camaro, you suck (period). Nobody takes you seriously and the only reason you get a date is because women feel sorry for your stupid ass. Granted there are some exceptions, if I had an ’84 t-top Camaro that was primer grey and the interior vinyl was falling apart, I would be the shit, but everyone else just looks like a fargin’ idiot. Honestly you truly deserve a beatdown for driving this crap ride of society. It’s not so much the car as the attitude, so we might as well throw newer Mustangs into this category too, a 20k sports car does not make you cool, it makes you that idiot that drives a plastic piece o’ crap retard mobile because you can’t afford a real one. You probably still wear Oakley Frogskins from 1992 and throw on your Hypercolor T-shirt to really impress the ladies. Should I qualify them as ladies? More like wookies, all that hair sprayed up in some sort of nappy offering to the sun gods… Do me a favor, stick to the back roads please, keep your neon license plate covers from kmart in Aurora, and for christ sakes man, you don’t need mudflaps, just take them off along with your plastic gold plated gas cap covers and fake trim…
Here's a little ditty just to illustrate my point, this is what I’m talking about here. If you got a little time and want to know how to get out of speeding tickets, listen to the mp3, this thing is just fricken’ hilarious.
(Original Post Date: 7/21/2004 9:50 AM)
Friday, June 29, 2007
Badass for hire (Denver)
I am a badass. It's tough being a badass for hire as my badassness should speak for itself. People are always asking me "Dave, you're such a badass, you should be making tons of money and living the life" and I'm like "I know". Because that's how resident badasses respond... we keep it concise, we keep it real.
You may be asking yourself - "Self, where could a badass like this fit into my organization?" and you would be correct, because this badass should be running your organization from home four hours a week and making three times as much money than you... that's what badasses do, we telecommute.
Now you may be asking where has this badass been for the last decade? Being a badass requires me to keep mobile. That's why I’ve had 7 jobs in 10 years. I'm flexible, I'm knowledgeable and I'm probably overqualified. Badasses have too much education, i've got an MBA and a BS from a state school, yes STATE, why should I have to leave town to prove myself when everything that can be taught in skool i've learned good.
Now that you're interested in what I have to say next, I have to leave, because in the history of badassness that's what we 'the badasses' do, we leave you hangin', itchin' for more, you could try to contact me, I might even respond, but don't whine when I don't - I've got badass things to do today.
You may be asking yourself - "Self, where could a badass like this fit into my organization?" and you would be correct, because this badass should be running your organization from home four hours a week and making three times as much money than you... that's what badasses do, we telecommute.
Now you may be asking where has this badass been for the last decade? Being a badass requires me to keep mobile. That's why I’ve had 7 jobs in 10 years. I'm flexible, I'm knowledgeable and I'm probably overqualified. Badasses have too much education, i've got an MBA and a BS from a state school, yes STATE, why should I have to leave town to prove myself when everything that can be taught in skool i've learned good.
Now that you're interested in what I have to say next, I have to leave, because in the history of badassness that's what we 'the badasses' do, we leave you hangin', itchin' for more, you could try to contact me, I might even respond, but don't whine when I don't - I've got badass things to do today.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Girl, Smoove Will Not Be Able To Attend Your Wedding
Girl, while it has been almost two years since we broke apart, not a second goes by that you are not on my mind. As I have written many times in my column, the thought of you spending time naked next to this other man has caused me nothing but pain. You are my everything, girl. If we were to get back together now, we could win various awards for the ways we would sex each other up. You know this.
Why, then, would I receive a letter asking me to attend your upcoming wedding to this man? This man who is no good for you. This man who can only get into one tenth of the hottest clubs I can. This man who you admit focuses only on heart-healthy dishes, while I had seduced your body and mind by creating the most sumptuous dishes known to this world. Is this how you want to live?
Also, I have decided to write my response to you in this column, as there was not room on the reply card to say all that was in my heart, the heart that has been breaking ever since you left.
When I first opened the letter, I sank to my knees and cried out your name as loud as I could. Then, I began to break into gentle sobs while uttering your name in a softer and softer voice. Soon, I was on the floor, unable to move because of the great pain of knowing you were marrying this other man. It was a pain that was too much for even Smoove to bear.
Smoove wept.
I assumed you had written me a note telling me you could not stand another minute without me. In my mind, I saw the writing, clear as day:
"Dear Smoove,
Come to my apartment and take me now.
Doggy Style.
Signed,
Your One True Girl."
Reading that, or any variation on it, would have caused me to jump into my gleaming white Mercedes and drive right to your house where I would have made sweet love to you until the break of dawn. Afterward, we would have laughed over how silly it was when we were not together. We would have had many tender moments like that between the sexing, which would have occurred all night long. Also, I would have brought desserts from the finest mail-order catalogs. We could have eaten them after we freaked.
But baby, instead I received an invitation to a wedding with you and this man who buys you shoes that do not make your butt stick out in an appealing manner. Do you not remember when Smoove would buy you shoes, dresses, and occasionally belts, all meant to accentuate your many curves, of which you have many? Especially the booty part of the curves?
Damn, girl, I would give anything to have you here right now riding my pony. Let me give it to you. Just one last time. You know I would break you off nasty. Girl, I have been in a constant state of grief and despair. I have done little but sit in my plush, fur-lined chair in front of the fireplace and stare off into space. My pain is like that of Romeo watching another man marry Juliet right in front of him. There are many star-crossed lovers who have been in similar situations, but my pain is worse because it is real.
I have even broken the Jodeci disc that I played the first night you and I consummated this universe-smashing love. You can see how upset I was. At this point, I should let you know that before I go to sleep in my luxurious round bed every night, I cry out, "Why did you leave me, baby?!" If I were to attend your wedding, I can't say that I would not do the same thing during the reading of the vows.
All I ask is that you give me one more chance to make you love me again and remind you what kind of a man Smoove B is. I will wear my finest white silk suit and craft with the greatest care a light dinner, or, if you prefer, snacks. We would drink imported coffee from my finest mugs and laugh about the old days. At times, I would get serious and explain why I am the only man for you. If the moment seemed right, I would kiss you and take off your shirt.
I could also light our desserts on fire. You would be impressed by the elegant presentation.
You are my chocolate princess, and I don't think I can live in a world without your loving arms. Let me feel them around me again. Let me get close so I can do that thing to your neck that I know you like.
I have composed a song about our love. Please keep in mind that, since I can't play an instrument, I would have to sing it to you unaccompanied, but the feelings will be true. You will not be able to keep from crying, knowing that the pain inside me is real.
Please let me know your decision on this as soon as you can. The same goes for when you decide to call off your wedding.
Until then, know this: I love you, girl.
Smoove awaits.
Why, then, would I receive a letter asking me to attend your upcoming wedding to this man? This man who is no good for you. This man who can only get into one tenth of the hottest clubs I can. This man who you admit focuses only on heart-healthy dishes, while I had seduced your body and mind by creating the most sumptuous dishes known to this world. Is this how you want to live?
Also, I have decided to write my response to you in this column, as there was not room on the reply card to say all that was in my heart, the heart that has been breaking ever since you left.
When I first opened the letter, I sank to my knees and cried out your name as loud as I could. Then, I began to break into gentle sobs while uttering your name in a softer and softer voice. Soon, I was on the floor, unable to move because of the great pain of knowing you were marrying this other man. It was a pain that was too much for even Smoove to bear.
Smoove wept.
I assumed you had written me a note telling me you could not stand another minute without me. In my mind, I saw the writing, clear as day:
"Dear Smoove,
Come to my apartment and take me now.
Doggy Style.
Signed,
Your One True Girl."
Reading that, or any variation on it, would have caused me to jump into my gleaming white Mercedes and drive right to your house where I would have made sweet love to you until the break of dawn. Afterward, we would have laughed over how silly it was when we were not together. We would have had many tender moments like that between the sexing, which would have occurred all night long. Also, I would have brought desserts from the finest mail-order catalogs. We could have eaten them after we freaked.
But baby, instead I received an invitation to a wedding with you and this man who buys you shoes that do not make your butt stick out in an appealing manner. Do you not remember when Smoove would buy you shoes, dresses, and occasionally belts, all meant to accentuate your many curves, of which you have many? Especially the booty part of the curves?
Damn, girl, I would give anything to have you here right now riding my pony. Let me give it to you. Just one last time. You know I would break you off nasty. Girl, I have been in a constant state of grief and despair. I have done little but sit in my plush, fur-lined chair in front of the fireplace and stare off into space. My pain is like that of Romeo watching another man marry Juliet right in front of him. There are many star-crossed lovers who have been in similar situations, but my pain is worse because it is real.
I have even broken the Jodeci disc that I played the first night you and I consummated this universe-smashing love. You can see how upset I was. At this point, I should let you know that before I go to sleep in my luxurious round bed every night, I cry out, "Why did you leave me, baby?!" If I were to attend your wedding, I can't say that I would not do the same thing during the reading of the vows.
All I ask is that you give me one more chance to make you love me again and remind you what kind of a man Smoove B is. I will wear my finest white silk suit and craft with the greatest care a light dinner, or, if you prefer, snacks. We would drink imported coffee from my finest mugs and laugh about the old days. At times, I would get serious and explain why I am the only man for you. If the moment seemed right, I would kiss you and take off your shirt.
I could also light our desserts on fire. You would be impressed by the elegant presentation.
You are my chocolate princess, and I don't think I can live in a world without your loving arms. Let me feel them around me again. Let me get close so I can do that thing to your neck that I know you like.
I have composed a song about our love. Please keep in mind that, since I can't play an instrument, I would have to sing it to you unaccompanied, but the feelings will be true. You will not be able to keep from crying, knowing that the pain inside me is real.
Please let me know your decision on this as soon as you can. The same goes for when you decide to call off your wedding.
Until then, know this: I love you, girl.
Smoove awaits.
Tuesday, May 04, 2004
Eat a D
Fear not!
I've merely drafted all my previous posts, I wanted to save them and re-release them every so often like a friggin' Disney movie. Also the majority of them were from 2 years ago and I have a lot more interesting things to say now, maybe not interesting but at least more relevant, it's an effed up world right now man, so get on the bus... Also this now being 2006 and this being written in the past you may be the victim of a paradox. But whatever, you're you and you're reading this so have a nice day and fuck off.
Nuthin' butt love,
TD
I've merely drafted all my previous posts, I wanted to save them and re-release them every so often like a friggin' Disney movie. Also the majority of them were from 2 years ago and I have a lot more interesting things to say now, maybe not interesting but at least more relevant, it's an effed up world right now man, so get on the bus... Also this now being 2006 and this being written in the past you may be the victim of a paradox. But whatever, you're you and you're reading this so have a nice day and fuck off.
Nuthin' butt love,
TD
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