You want to know what I think is a colossal waste of time? No, tough shit; here goes.
New Year's Eve/Day.
Yup, the old end of the year extravaganza with the champagne, noise makers, gunshots, making out with someone you just met; the whole nine yards. Waste of time, for the most part.

Doesn't make sense, no matter how you try to sell it. People spend the better part of the day getting really drunk (that's not the waste of time) so they can count down to one and puke all over some stranger in a $1000 ball gown. That's the waste of time.

I am consistently amazed at the fact that people will spend hundreds of dollars to sit in a ballroom at a second rate hotel, buy really expensive drinks, get their "complimentary champagne toast" at midnight and say they had fun. Now, I suppose if you were to get a fancy hotel room with a Jacuzzi tub in the package, then we're talking. But then, wouldn't it be better to just skip the party, grab some better booze, get buck nekkid, grab your date and count down to midnight in the tub? Thought you'd like that. Just wish I could get the wife to go for that one. Just maybe. . . but I digress.

I used to look forward to someone I knew hosting a New Year's bash so I could get pickled and find an equally drunk young woman to swap spit with at the stroke of 12. Never really worked out that way, but I kept trying. For years. Finally, one year it happened. I was lucky enough to be next to someone as drunk as me and, by golly, I got lucky. Next thing I knew, I was engaged and now have been married 14 wonderful years. Maybe the drinking is a waste of time.

So, nowadays, it's stay at home with the neighbors, drink, set off some illegal fireworks, freeze our asses off outside and go to bed really late. Not so bad, and it only happens once a year. Admittedly, there are a couple of neighbors I wish would get a little drunker, but I always have the wife to give a sloppy one to when the clock strikes 12.

So, maybe New Year's Eve isn't so bad, for me anyway. I'm not stupid enough to leave my house. Last time I did that was for "The millennium." What a fucking waste of time and money that was. Paid a bunch of money to go to someone else's block party, freeze my ass off, get soaking wet (it rained like crazy), have a bunch of punk teenagers drink my beer, and have no apocalyptic end of the world. Waste of fucking time. So, I now stay home. The drunks are going to have to hit someone else on their way home from their disappointing parties.

Now, New Year's Day there is no defense for outside of the selection of college football games. Rose Parade? Hate it. Hope it finally rains on the piece of shit this year. Please. I actually know one of the float designers (Raul Rodriguez). He's made a bunch of money designing the most gaudy flora adorned recreational vehicles known to mankind. He's an unusual, but nice enough guy. He just makes his living in a very strange way. Besides, the Rose Parade is singularly responsible for the population boom here in California. So, I say fuck it. Rain, baby, rain.

The other thing that bothers me about New Year's Day is the craze over resolutions. Why the hell do we wait until the end of December to make these life changes we so desperately need? No real reason. It just seems so neat, so easy to do. It's 1/1/06, time to lose weight, quit smoking, quit drinking, stop having reckless sex (wait, why give up a good habit?), quit cussing so much (fuck that). All empty promises we wait to see how long it takes to break. Nice. Here's a suggestion, quit snivelling, quit stuffing your piehole, get off the couch, quit blowing strangers, and change your life now. If you don't want to, fine; but don't make a big deal about the first day of January because you think everyone else does.

With that, here's my New Year's resolutions: Drink less beer; drink more gin. Have more sex, different sex, awesome sex; all with my wife; lift more weights; have more fun; eat more food; eat different food; live my life; fart more often (done); just do the things I'm already doing now, only more of it.

There, I feel better. Now I need to shop for gin. Bombay Sapphire. There is no other.

Cheap Trick drummer Bun E. Carlos; best drummer in rock. What's that you say, I'm nuts? What about (list your favorite, yet less competent drummer here)? They suck. No one is cooler; no one is better; no one defies logic like Bun E.

Why all the fawning over a guy who looks like your 7th grade algebra teacher? Just listen to "Auf Wiedersehen." I know it's not the mid-numbing assault on the senses ala Lars Ulrich. No triple kick drum beats, but he ain't no human metronome either. His drumming drives the song along and works seamlessly with the bass (a 12 stringer, no less) lines Tom Petersson was laying down. It's pretty fucking cool. Trust me.

You know the hits: Surrender, I Want You to Want me, Ain't That a Shame. Heaven Tonight? Awesome album and the one with Auf Wiedersehen. Great drumming throughout. The best examples though are on the Live at Budokan album. There you hear his drumming, warts and all. There's a major gaffe in the drum roll in the middle of Surrender. Does it stop the music? Hell no. Bun E. plows ahead, undeterred to the end. In Color, their major label breakthrough is also a showcase of Bun E.'s prowess. The man shows at each turn how he can sneak in the beats and add his signature to each of the power pop classics.

I know there are those out there who have written off Cheap Trick as some kind of a gimmick band. You know, two pop idols; two dorks. I say that just gets you in. The music makes you stay, and if you're like me, Bun E. keeps you coming back.

Bun E. Carlos, you are one cool brother.

With a little more work and time, this post would have totally kicked ass.

Well, I got the "Tookie" thing out of my system, no it's on to the mundane and self-absorbed crap that I want to write about.

Next up, Bun E. Carlos. Best drummer ever.

I'll be writing it soo enough. Just thought you, my loyal reader (that's not a typo) would want to know.

Soon. Soon.

I'll probably get the business from the powers that be for doing this now, but I had to get this out before I forget and the moment passes.

Tookie will die tonight. You know who he is; you know what he did; you know he's supposedly written children's books; you know he was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize. Did I tell you I was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize? Sort of diminishes the value of that argument, doesn't it? You bet it does. Did he win? Hell no.

Nobel committee: "Here, Stan, have the peace prize. We know you killed 4 people; founded one of the most violent street gangs that's responsible for thousands of murders, drug trafficking, extortion, and singlehandedly responsible for the downfall of South Central LA; and written some children's books that say "Gangs are Bad. So, here's the peace prize. You've certainly proven yourself worthy."

At that very moment, Lech Walesa jumps out of the audience, throws his medal at the King Gustav, and shoots himself in the head thinking of just how cheap his own peace prize and sacrifices had become.

In other words; give me a fucking break people.

Tookie ain't no saint (which he'll soon find out). Sure, he's changed. Death row has a funny way of changing a man. Look and see how many find Jesus in their darkest hour. Where was Jesus when they were killing, raping, and spreading havoc? In the getaway car? No. But, congrats scumfuck, you "found him" whilst awaiting a date with a needle. Too late for your victims, huh?

Back to Tookie. You know he hasn't apologized; hasn't taken responsibility; claims he was framed, and thinks his life is better spared. Hmmmmmm. Written any good books lately? No. Well, looks like today is your last. What about the celebs protesting his death? Usually misinformed. If we had to depend on celebreties to run things for us we'd. . . wait. Scratch that.
Trust it to say most celebs are shit-for-brained idiots who didn't know Tookie from Pookie 2 months ago, and won't remember him next week.

Homeless activist, Ted Hayes, said it best when he was asked whether Tookie should be granted clemency. Ted said, in so many words, Tookie can live as long as nobody is ever killed in gang violence again. Amen.

With those brilliant words, I must go before Big Brother gets wind of what I'm doing.

I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, but nothing has really been bothering me lately. I mean beside the obvious bullshit that we deal with in life. You know, overbearing Christians, stupid drivers, illegeal aliens, legal aliens, aliens period, and the futility of the NFL. What gives? Luckily, I still have 2 months on our free Cinemax offer from the Dish Network.

That means I have totally bad softcore porn after 8 pm every night. Not that I watch it. . .much. Just when I want to see boobies, I can go there; see them; go to bed. Just have to make sure the kids are asleep, or out of the house.

I guess I could get all fired up about Christmas and how much fucking money it's costing me, but really money doesn't bother me that much. I can always make money.

I could fire off another missive about young Americans getting killed in Iraq, but that seems to be slowing and we seem to be getting the upper hand. Who knew. Things keep going like this and we might be out, at least mostly, by 2008. But, we'll always have a presence in Iraq to stay close to our oil.

I could be bugged about getting old and how my body seems to be getting hurt whenever I try even the simplest lift. Shoulder, upper back, lower back, achilies tendons (yeah, both); all seem to grumble when I workout. It's a lot of fucking fun being 43. Can't wait until I'm 44. That's life. I know I'm in better shape than most men my age; at least my friends who are my age are all overweight and have bad knees. So, that doesn't bug me. . .much.

I don't think it's total apathy. Just over-contentment right now. Give it time. Someone, something, somewhere is going to piss me off.

Then it's on, motherfucker.

or not.