Mrs. Kitchens was pleasant enough, but she brought a fresh batch of crazy every day to the 4th grade classroom.  Like the time she issued a test to see how our constructive/analytical skills were growing by giving us a brief 10 question test.  I will paraphrase the first nine questions since I don’t remember them exactly.  But the 10th question I remember clear as a bell.  It went like this:

FACT or OPINION?

1. The United States flag is red, white, and blue.  F  O
2. A rat is a rodent.  F  O
3. Beans are yummy.  F  O
4. Some taco shells are crunchy.  F  O
5. That’s Incredible is a hilarious TV show.  F  O
6. Adult giraffes are tall.  F  O
7. Michigan is the ugliest state in the whole world.  F  O
8. Snakes are scary.  F  O
9. Todd’s shirt is wet.  F  O
10. Your feet stink.  F  O

How did you do?  1-9 are fairly obvious, and I remember thinking as much during the quiz.

But as I got to #10, I had my first Ferris Bueller moment, a moment when I knew that I knew that my answer wouldn’t be the right answer, but the best answer.

I checked “F” for “Fact” of course.

As Looney Tunes Kitchens read through the correct answers, there were fist pumps and “yeahs” throughout by the kids, even at #10.  But when she said the answer to the stinky feet question was “Opinion” I had to stand up.

“THAT’S NOT AN OPINION!” I shouted.

“Really?  What if I enjoy that person’s foot odor?” she replied.

Everyone caught the irony . . . all 20 nine year olds were looking at each other, thinking, “Well, he’s got her there.”

So.  When someone sitting next to you on an airplane rips off his shoes and socks, how does it go, generally?  Like this?

YES!  I’m afraid it goes exactly like that!

So, getting around to the original question, but phrasing it in a new way:  HOW IS THIS ANY DIFFERENT THAN SOMEONE BLARING HOOTIE & THE BLOWFISH THROUGH BAD EARPHONES, RADIO STATION, OR A PUBLIC MUSIC SYSTEM?

Really.  You get the same facial expression and olfactory assault and aural battery . . . all that.

So we’re back to this basic question: what makes music stink?

Well, what makes feet stink?

<long silence>

My Tennessee buddy Jon Human made a terrific point in the first comment section of this series, basically saying that it made him HAPPY that it takes all kinds of music to make everyone HAPPY.  Furthermore, that we as musicians have a jaded ear for all the goings on of the public music offering, and have to make extra strides to hit the mute button on our opinions.  He is one smart dude with a mature perspective.

But the debate is so tempting.  Sure, there are some famous quotes (“To each his own,” which I hate) and I suppose you can’t generalize taste when it comes to art.   Just like Kitchens liking the odor of fungus feet, some people just have to have their Aerosmith fix.  Some people eat raw oysters, which is to me the culinary equivalent of listening to Eric Clapton (a.k.a. barf induction).  Some people appreciate toasters stapled to the ceiling (and calling it ‘art’) while others do flips for perfect black circles.

Alas, while the conversation can provoke deep emotions, no justification should be needed for me or anyone else.  ”I just LIKE IT” must be enough because, well, it is for me.  Defending my affection for IDM (sparse, hazy, ambient, bleepy electronic music) can be difficult when discussing music with Mr. Mullet-Head, but it needs no real justification other than the deep satisfaction it gives me.

And should we even discuss the greatness / horror that is Daniel D. Johnston?  That’s a whole new debate on its own!  I happen to adore him and his work deeply, yet can completely understand how people would run screaming in the other direction.

So I suppose I lose.  I must accept the fact that stinky feet (e.g. G ‘n R) make people happy and that I should be happy that it makes them happy.  So grows my amazement at the mysteries of life.  Just remember that it’s still OK to have your opinion!  SAY IT SUCKS.  Just pre-empt it with “to me” or “in my opinion.”  Better yet, sprinkle in some sarcasm.

“In my humble opinion, Steven Tyler sure has bleated his way to new pastures.”

“Well!  Bon Jovi’s new music sure sounds wonderful and original.”

“Well!  From all appearances, Darius Rucker must not have redeemed those coupons I sent him.”

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh sorry!  It’s still fun to poke fun.  Welcome to the Jungle.  Let’s discuss at the pub.

Ever since I became Crusading Lupus Blogger Guy, I’ve run into some apathy and unawareness about the dreadful disease.

I guess this shouldn’t be surprising.  People have their attention rightly focused on the real troubles in the world:  cancer, obesity, the war in Afghanistan, Lebron James, and Lindsay Lohan texting while at court.  Others among you remember the kid Timmy Lupus from The Bad News Bears; the poor fielder who got ketchup dumped inside his hat.

Yet, here is the real lupus, wrecking lives – including my own – and just flat out mauling people.  But when you look at the word sound itself, “lupus” just doesn’t have the crispy oomph of a “bubonic plague” or “leprosy” where just the mention of the word elicits a shriek.

Instead, “lupus” sounds like something you’d put into a squirt bottle:

“Windex not getting the job done?  Upgrade to FDA approved LUPUS for a cleaner shine.”

. . . . or perhaps a fancy circular Roman sculpture design:

“The famous Lupus quarries are found just south of the Vatican.”

So people hear about lupus and they make some big assumptions.  First, that it’s not fatal.  Second, that it’s not that big of a deal.  Both are dangerously false, unfortunately!

The origin of ‘lupus’ goes back to the wolf face-shaped rash left upon the face during lupus flare-ups.  This is one of umpteen symptoms, and generally among the mildest (the skin-related).  There is a growing awareness of the severity of the disease, but there’s still not quite enough being done.

For my part, well, I’ve been commissioned – not by a panel, but by fate – to change the course of history.  Because I have suffered long and hard, I have been commissioned to rename lupus properly, in order to (a) ascribe the proper deadliness to its name, (b) heighten awareness, and (c) expedite the discovery of a cure.

NO SMALL CRUSADE, EH?  So let’s have some fun with this etymological experiment.

I’m going to make a list of potential new names for the disease.  It cannot be subtle.  It must be cutting.  Sarcastic.  Besmirching.  Bramantian. Bloggessian.  So dark and abysmal that the good dare not speak its name for fear of eternal punishment!

Here are my ideas, with a brief rationale for each.  I would appreciate your vote in the comments section.  Sorry, some profanity is necessary when venting about <disease soon to be renamed>.

1. The Royal SWi-FU - . . . “SWi-FU” is an acronym for “System-Wide Fuck Up”.  So the full name would be, “The Royal System-Wide Fuck Up.”  It’s simple and direct and accurate.  “Oh, you have the Royal Swi-Fu?  Do you have a living will?” Plus, acronyms are hot.  Look at all the A.I.D.S. funding!
2. Rabid Hades Pox – . . . nasty, infernal, and complicated.  But maybe this sounds too temporary and curable.
3. Immuno Fail Fail . . . . Catchy and hints at the problem!  Imagine if your nickname were “Oink-Oink” instead of just “Oink”, we’d really know you were a glutton.  “You’ve got Immuno Fail Fail?  You must really be sick!!”
4. D.E.A.D. (Dysfunctional Everything Asshole Disease) - the most convenient acronym of D.E.A.D. but might be overstating things a bit.  But you’d sure get someone’s attention if you were to mention how D.E.A.D. you were.
5. Chronic Hellitis – which equals the daily Hellish inflammation of everything all the time.  What life insurance agent hasn’t heard, “I had to miss four years of work because of Chronic Hellitis.”
6. D’CAYMO – another acronym that would have to catch on with repetition.  But hey, look at WYSIWYG and DILLIGAF and CPE1704TKS .  You know those!!  Ok, well, maybe not that third one, which was the secret computer code from War Games.  Anyway, D’CAYMO is useful because it (a) sounds like slang for “Decay More,” and (b) stands for “Don’t Care About Your Major Organs.”
7. ZX Dread Syndrome – Zs and Xs and the word ‘dread’ are attractive to the next generations.  “Dude, I’ve got the ZX” should be met with universal concern by teens, skateboarders, and 20 somethings, who’ll be running the country soon.  Oh God.  Well, at least we have OBAMACARE.  Oh God.

There are your seven candidates.  Feel free to write in your own in the comments section, especially if you yourself have firsthand experience with this dreadful (if poorly named) condition called lupus!

Who knows?  Maybe this will at least trigger more awareness.  One friend and “co-sufferer” sent me a rather graphic story about someone she had known who had just succumbed to the disease.  She was in her 30s.  The end was not pretty, but her story was told and our fight goes on.

As for me, I’m looking a kidney transplant square in the face – probably within 6 months, precisely due to this <condition to be renamed soon>.  But considering everything, I am happy to be here.  I’m at least feeling well enough to write, vent, breathe, be with family, and relate to all of you in a unique way.

Finally, it’s no small thing to have read this far!  Your support and encouragement through comments, email, the facebook page, Twitter, etc. are completely and totally life-giving.  Thank you!

In the meantime, keep yourself strong.  And don’t be surprised if your insurance company denies all your claims related to your Royal Swi-fu.

Remember the Miracle at Dunkirk, where over 338,000 Allied soldiers were rescued because of unusually calm seas in the English Channel?

Remember in the movie Racing Stripes, when “Stripes” the plunky zebra, through tons of adversity, endured the ridicule of the race horses, trained through fear and trepidation, and sprinted past the others going down the stretch to win the Kentucky Derby and I cried?

Well, those are NOTHING BISCUITS compared to my amazing good fortunes during the past week.  And I am not kidding!

Some of you might have been watching Ch. 39 News last Friday night when Leticia Juarez did a story about my search for a potential kidney donor.

As a result, several people have come forward – a few of them with GUSTO – who are willing to be screened.  <gulp!!>

It was all kind of surreal how it came about; but one thing is clear:  social media and networking have provided a gigantic lift.  Even though my mom credits God, prayer, and the “Blessed Mother” (whom I understand is either Sinead O’Connor or Madonna, right?) – I must also tip my cap to humble little social media.

The use of Facebook and Twitter hasn’t been a Hail Mary type strategy.  It wasn’t like, “Oh my God, I need a kidney, and now I’ve got to start building a social media strategy, gain tons of followers – fast – and hope for the best!” No, that would have come across like the guy who follows you from @POWERMatrixPLUSSupplements and then sends you creepy auto DMs (direct messages) about creatine-glazed pectoral muscles, the importance of testicle tone, and how he hopes you’ll visit his (eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!) website for a 20% discount).

Instead, I have invested time in social media, which means I have invested time in listening, conversing, encouraging, laughing, crying, even conspiring with others.  It’s not like these have been my best friends; yet they are crucial!  You never know when you might need to tap 500-600 people, who may then be able to tap 5000-10,000 or even 4 million!  I am not exaggerating.

See, I befriended and followed Jay “Guns & Tacos” Rascoe on Twitter.  Jay is a great blogger and – it turns out – a great human being, and it’s not just because he smuggled in some tacos to me at the hospital.  Through Jay I found another blogger/realtor/sarcastic type named Danelle Guilbeau.  She is fanatical about helping people.

Stay with me, here.  Danelle is connected on Twitter with Kristy Gillentine and Letty Juarez at 39 News Houston, TX.  Through that connection, Letty contacted me about my story, and NAILED THE HEART OF IT.  I couldn’t have scripted that any better.

As a result of the news story, my facebook page is blowing up; people have been pounding down my door like zombies attacking a summer cabin full of promiscuous teenagers.  They’re offering me support, encouragement, and major organs.  HUH??  WOW!!

So, what’s the point?

First, I’m grateful for loving, generous, people whom I never would have found without social media.  It could well have saved my life.

Yet, there are still intelligent people (I’m looking at you, Dave Ramsey) who call Twitter users “Twits” and offer “Pshaws” with a dismissive wave of the hand.  “I don’t CARE what everyone had on their sandwich at lunch!” But you know what?  Sometimes, I DO want to know what the people I follow have for lunch.  I DO care about what to order on my taco truck taco.  I DO care that Danelle drinks day old coffee (GROSS), so maybe if I send her a gift someday, it’ll be a programmable coffee maker.  Even though these aren’t essentials, it’s part of the whole picture.  Anything less than genuine reciprocity in a relationship comes off as mechanical or selfish.

My friend Shawn has it right.  You ought to treat the use of social media like a cocktail party.  If you talk to people, ask good questions.  Listen, think, respond thoughtfully.  Don’t push anything.  Pay compliments.  Have fun.  Imagine walking into a cocktail party (or, heaven forfend, a networking event) and you just start with, “Oh, you’ve GOT to hear about my new pectoral tonic.” Everyone groans.

So amid a long, bitter war with lupus, I’ve just had some amazing, giant, happy, balloons of good fortune bursting all over the place.  Thanks to all of you who are making it happen, even those of you I have yet to meet.

As you will see, none of them has much to do with soccer itself.  While I love the sport, I understand its detractors.  One friend just made the comment that he’d “rather watch a 0-0 hockey game, because at least there’s a chance a fight will break out.”

Sure, there’s little scoring, and the from a spectator’s perspective, it might be an acquired taste.  But the World Cup has an undeniable spirit – and therefore, an appeal – that’s got most of the world hooked.  So if you like soccer AND the mania around the World Cup, you’ve got it made right now.

First, there are the vuvuzelas.  If you’ve tuned in for even one second of any telecast, you’ve heard the constant whirring that sounds like a swarm of bees – but one where the bees are the size of pigs.  While some get annoyed, to me it is a sound both calming and invigorating all at once.  Keep those horns blaring, Africa.

Second, it’s an excuse to get shitfaced at 7 a.m..  It’s a global celebration!   And, well, your team is playing and you need to take the edge off, especially if THAT OTHER TEAM (which you hate xenophobically to the point of declaring war – at least for 90 minutes) should happen to score a goal and chucking the remote isn’t enough of a release.

Third, to behold the passion of the world’s most watched sport; certainly the rabid fans and support, but more specifically, the Spanish-speaking commentators at the moment a goooooooooooooooooooooooooal is scored.

These blissfully insane calls started with Andres Cantor back in the early 90s.  But the tradition has been carried forth by virtually all Spanish-speaking commentators.  If World Cup fever hasn’t hit you yet, just tune in to the Spanish broadcast to hear the pandemonium once the ball hits the net.

“But I don’t speak Spanish very well, and those commentators talk SO FAST!” you contest.

Ah, whatever.  The ESPN guys are so vanilla.  It’s worth sacrificing mere word comprehension for the longest one-syllable word ever:  ”goal.”

To help you transition, I’m going to give you this simple list of frequently used words and phrases that I’ve been able to glean from watching Univision over the years . . . and words that probably fall outside the scope of your 6th grade Spanish class.

1. esferico (es-FAIR-ee-co) – a cutesy word they use for “ball” (close to the word “sphere” – - get it?).  balon (bah-LONE) is another word for ‘ball’.
2. empate (em-PAH-tay) – a tie (for example, “Los Kiwis estan buscando el empate” = The Kiwis (the team from New Zealand) are looking for the tie.”
3. arquero (ar-CARE-oh) – goalie.  Also, “guardametas” (literally, “keeper of the goal”)
4. golazo (go-LAH-zoh) –  an exquisite goal, such as one blasted from 30 meters, or one headed into the top corner.
5. saque lateral (SAH-kay lat-ay-RAHL) – a throw-in
6. saque de meta (SAH-kay day MEH-tah) – goal kick
7. tiro de esquina (TEE-ro day es KEE-nah) – corner kick
8. fuera de lugar - (FWEAR-ah day loo GAR) – offsides (when the player gets past the last defender before the ball)
9. arbitro – (AHR-bee-troh) – the referee
10. “El arbitro dice que el balon no rueda mas!” - something the guy on Univision always says at the end of the 1st half or the end of the game.  It means, “The referee says that the ball rolls no more!”

Oh hell, there are thousands more, but this will get you started.  And if you happen to be interested in learning Spanish, then this is way more exciting than Rosetta Stone.

Truthfully, Spanish is a beautiful language; not just because it’s different or exotic.  There just seems to be an elan sprinkled into their game descriptions.  And the sheer joy that bursts forth with ANY goal is just awesome, even sometimes with the tear-jerking effects of a national anthem.  Even action-starved Americans wondering “when is something gonna happen, here?” can rejoice with fans once a golazo is scored.  It’s just awesome!

So, starting tomorrow morning, pour yourself a Dos Equis, make some huevos rancheros, and tune into the Spanish broadcast.  You may be wearing a sombrero before it’s all over.

NOW.  For those damn Slovenians.  I’ll love you when it’s over, but IT IS ON LIKE DONKEY KONG!  Friday morning!

USA!!!!  USA!!!!

From writer Greg Morago’s description, you’d think pickles were to America what rice is to China.  You’d think that we burn pickles in effigy on 4th of July.  You’d think the founding fathers signed the Declaration of Independence with pickle pens.

Morago offers, “As summertime entertaining swings into high gear, the pickle turns that audible crunch into a rumble heard throughout the country.”

I was no journalism major, but I equate this manufactured glee with someone on an elevator going all bonkers on you.

(you enter the elevator)

Bonko Guy: “HI.  I’M GREG.  IT’S HOT OUTSIDE!”

You: “Yep.” (you press ’14′ for the 14th floor)

Bonko Guy:  ”So we got out our wading pool.  It’s me, and Chris, and Abel, and Amy.  So REFRESHING.”

You: “Uh-huh.” (you press ’9′ for the 9th floor)

Bonko Guy: “I LOVE AMERICAN IDOL.”

You: (smashing the ’4′ button over and over)

All I did was glance at the newspaper, and here comes pickle-crazed Looney Land, and it’s right here in the USA.   “WHAT’S THE BIG DILL?” is the teaser at the top of the page.  Really, guy?  And your editor said OK?

Morago goes on to quote pickle packers as saying, “a good pickle has a crunch that’s audible at 10 paces,” which is about as believable as that miserable Kit Kat commercial with all the fake crunching going on.  To get a Kit Kat (or a pickle) to make that sound, you’d have to either put a microphone inside someone’s mouth, or crack the person’s skull while he’s chewing (a compulsion that may overtake you if you actually watch the commercial).

I mean no disrespect to the pickle.  In fact, back in the day in my REAL JOB in sales, I was the account executive for the Schwartz Pickle Company.  At pickle school I learned the cold hard facts about pickles – different cuts, curing, and the source of their crunch.

My buddy and pickle mentor Jeff Stevens set me straight one day, kind of like Morpheus sitting down with Neo to discuss the Matrix.  Except we didn’t have a swanky parlor, lush furniture, or a selection of pill colors.  We sat on a pickle love seat.  Kinda awkward, now that I recall it in technicolor:

Him:  ”Do you want to know why most pickles crunch?”

Me:  ”Yes.”

Him:  ”If you discover this truth, you must tell the world about it, and you can’t ‘un-know’ this.”

Me:  ”Ok.”

Him:  ”If you take this hit of Centrum . . . ”

Me:  ”JUST TELL ME THE GODDAMN SECRET!”

Jeff eventually got around to telling me why pickles – especially commercially produced ones – have a lasting crunch.

“It’s calcium chloride.  They’re adding it into the pickles.”

I kind of shrugged.  It had all the zing of telling me they were adding whitener to my toothpaste.

But then he added, “It’s the same stuff they de-ice the roads with.”

Then I was flushed off the pickle love seat and plugged into a bug-robot controlled universe where my body was like a battery but I was rescued by Armani clad hipsters and given tons of ammo that I used to kill androids that looked like businessmen but they were really tough and hard to beat, although I really didn’t win everything until I died and came back and stopped bullets with my hand without touching them and then I punched out the bad guys once and for all with my fists.  Oh, and I get the hot girl.

The beautiful truth for me (at the time) was that the calcium chloride angle was to be my sales pitch for Schwartz Pickles.  See, Schwartz was the ONLY PICKLE MANUFACTURER that hadn’t succumbed to the shameful addition of calcium chloride into its product.  Even the ones you find in the store with names you’d recognize had added it.

All that to say, any deli worth its salt will pay extra for the white bucket of Schwartz Pickles.  The main frustration I had as a Schwartz salesman was ignorant DSRs (District Sales Reps – the distributor reps who sell to restaurants).  These guys would try to sell on price rather than quality OR, worse yet, sell their own private label (e.g. Sysco Brand) instead of the higher-quality Schwartz product.  Yet, every time I did a pickle cutting (comparison), I would always win.

Schwartz didn’t pay me for this ad; it’s a simple matter of comparing one pickle with another – especially with the aftertaste -which is where you’ll discover the calcium chloride hits you . . . kind of like waiting for the oak or cherry burst about 5 seconds after sipping a good cabernet . . except calcium chloride tastes more like toilet bowl cleanser.

It’s a shame that Schwartz  pickles aren’t available in retail stores, but feel free to ask any deli owner what brand of pickle he prefers.  It may even be a point of contention or passion with him.  But if he doesn’t say “Schwartz” then it’s Calcium Chloride City (unless of course it’s a chef-made or home-made pickle).

So here I’ve ended up adding to the PICKLE GLEE all over this page.  I like pickles, but I’m no expert.  Morago actually disseminates some good info on pickles in the article, plus he interviews local chef and demi-goddess Monica Pope . . . so I should probably curtail the critique.  I just thought the presentation was a little heavy on the goofball, and the importance lent to the mighty pickle a bit overstated.

SO, as the article suggests, go get some fresh cucumbers, garlic, vinegar, and a few mason jars and get to work making pickles.

Pickles are also zombie repellent, so you’ll be all set for the impending invasion.