Be good to yourselves.

That's right, for the folks out there that have known me for a while, this blog is brought to you by a Journey song...well not really but that's where I got the title.
Even though I have been getting a little more personal and theological lately than I normally would for this period of Blog entry's in a row I feel that I must share more personal information about me again tonight, because it is on my heart to share. Don't worry soon enough I will rant about something trivial again, please bear with me.
I am going to talk about Forgiveness. Alot of you seem to have written about this today so I figured I better jump on the train and throw in my own quarters. Now before all of you run away and put your fingers in your ears and go la-la-la, I want to let you know that this isn't going to be a Sunday Afternoon sermon type of talk. I am going to share with you about me, not lecture you on what you should or should not do really. This is not directed at anyone in general, though people that have been dealing with this issue may find it a bit personal. For you I beg to still bear with me.
Now anyone that goes to church can probably find a few (hundred) pastors that will tell you that forgiveness is important because God forgave you and you should forgive everybody because of that. That's a valid point and important, but I am not your pastor even when I use my real name probably. I am going to tell you a very selfish reason why you should forgive. So that is why it is important not to tune me out if possible. This may actually apply to you.
I am not speaking of forgiveness from a person that doesn't understand it. I am not some guy on television that talks about forgiving people because it's my job. I am not God that is beyond your understanding even if you are not beyond his. I am a person that has had the need to be forgiven and the need to forgive others and myself.
To go into my secret and not always photogenic past, some people that were very close to me had abused my mother and later my sister. Yes, that kind of abuse, all abuse is bad but some are incrediably hard to let go of. One of these people even may have murdered someone to hide what he did. As you can imagine these are not things that I would want to brag about, but I will tell you them so you can understand a little more.
I found out most of these horrible details all at one time back when I was about 14 years old. Very quickly I turned from a friendly though slightly shy and lonely teenager into an angry vindictive little monster. I didn't stop believing in God, but I didn't understand how he could allow such a horrible thing to happen. How come he didn't smite them. Clearly he didn't smite people enough back then, and I wanted to take revenge into my own hands.
Thank God I didn't.
Many a chance I had to return an eye for an eye back then, but something always kept me from crossing that line. I thought that if the people that had hurt my Mom and my sister were to suffer and die that it would satisfy me, that it would give me peace. Well that man lived for 10 more years and not only did he do that, but he flaunted the fact that he did it and no one could prove it. He got off on a technicality from a corrupt judge, and since he couldn't be retried was able to taunt my mother to her face that he would never face justice.
When he died he suffered alot from a brutal heart attack and overnight I got what I thought I wanted. Yet I did not feel satisified. Even in his death, I did not feel vindicated or avenged.
How much revenge is enough? Always a little more than you can give. How much more payment does it take to pay a debt of the heart? Always more than you can pay.
If this was the end of the story, this would be a crappy ending indeed. It doesn't here though. The pain got worse and worse, not better over time. Time does not heal all wounds on it's own. Finally when I couldn't take it anymore I collapsed and had to ask my faith to sustain me. I had no more strength to carry this on my own.
It was taken from me, finally after 15 years. 15 long horrible years of self inflicted hell.
Self Inflicted? Yes. I really said that. Now it is time for you to hear the point of this entire long rambling speech. Not forgiving and wanting revenge is not therapy, it is not healthy, it is not satifying for you. It is poison it is a scar that you continue to keep open with your own will.
You think, I am not going to let this go and let them get away with what they did to me. I was wronged, why should I have to forgive they should be begging me for it. You chew on it, and you let it chew on you. That is why you have a very selfish reason to forgive as well as a divine one. It will destroy you and harden you the longer you carry it. It's a progressive slow killer.
Nothing hurts me more than watching people in pain because of the past and seeing how it hurts them. I see the old angry me in so many people that I come across both online and offline, and what I used to feel a mutual anger with now I see pain and suffering.
I want to save someone else from 15 years of hell. I want to let someone know, and hopefully someone will get something from this. Don't do it yourself, it doesn't get easier on your own. You have to let go, and trust that in the end justice will be served where it is needed and mercy will be served where it is asked for. Don't resent anyone that changes their way around and needs your forgiveness. Be glad that they came around, it very well could of been me or even you that wronged someone.
When you withhold forgiveness from people either they don't realize you feel wronged by them and are oblivious or they don't care that you can't forgive them. Don't give anyone else power over you by holding onto your hate. I did for too long, and if it hurt the people I didn't forgive all that time I didn't see it. I did feel my own pain because of it though.
I have a friend that was wronged too including by me, and he was able to let it go and to not only forgive me in word but to not hold it against me. He can help you too, and don't just do it for him (though he does deserve your efforts). Do it for you too. You have been through enough, and this is the only way out.
Since I have let it go, I have felt better than I have done in a long time. Half of my life was wasted holding on to my hurt and anger. If you were to meet me today, you probably couldn't tell that I was the same person as the boy from 15 years ago. I am speaking not from a plastic bubble, but from my own missteps. Thanks Mom for praying for me, and showing that you can forgive if you just let go. If she can do it, anyone can.
Thank you for listening to my long ramble, and talk to you again soon.

The whole worlds a stage and I get stage fright.

I'll just say it, I'm pretty shy in public at times.
Some people that have a blog that I read have a very good public manner as well. I think I started writing because I gave up on being an orator and a mingling party guest a long time ago. I wish I could talk as easily as I could type.
The last time I talked in front of people was at a memorial service where I was a guest speaker. I have no idea what I said to be honest, because I was too busy having a death grip on the podium to keep from falling over and trying to look in the general direction of people in the seats. (I think I was looking at the lights though to be truthful.)
I can do alright one on one at times if I know the person or they approach me first and strike up a conversation. If I don't know the person and I want to meet them I usually just kind of walk up to them, forget what I was going to say, and they kind of give me that "Nice to meet you...I could swear you were going to actually say hello at least" look. I don't know if they realize I am just a little shy (ok a lot of shy) or if I scare them.
It's nice though when some people you see but don't really know you but remember your name and say hello and call you by your name. It makes me smile with a few hundred people roaming around that someone actually remembers me that doesn't really talk to me every day.
It makes you feel less like a wall fixture and more like a person.
Being shy also has it's advantages. It is easy to have a little humility when you are shy, if you start feeling invincible you just have to think about standing in front of a crowd. Suddenly I am just Janus again, one of the faces in the crowd. You also don't get burdened with too many people chasing you down to talk to you when you are trying to work, being a people person can be a tiring job especially when you have your mind on other things.
If I was feeling reckless I would try out for a play or group class or something, but I always chicken out about a week before auditions. Always another day, always another day.

Questions I want to ask the big guy.

I have recently taken a look and read the book of Job, and in the end of Job (sorry should I warn you about Spoilers?) God actually comes and talks to Job, who had been demanding a chance to ask God some tough questions. Job never actually asks the questions because God basically tells him "what it's all about." In the end Job realizes that God is right, and God leaves and Job doesn't get a chance to ask questions.
I figure someday me and God might have a chance to sit down and share a beer and some chicken fingers. I thought, man I have some questions I want to ask him. I didn't want to get distracted by all the glorious stuff and bright lights so I thought I better write them down.
Trying to think now how I am going to sneak this piece of paper with me after I am dead but here goes.

1. How does an Eternal God that can do everything, know everything, and see everything keep from getting bored? Imagine this for just a minute. He can't read a book without knowing the ending. He can't watch Monk because he already knows who the killer is and how they did it and how they will get caught before Law and Order is even over. You tell him a joke and he already heard it, so he gives you one of those awkward courtesy chuckles. I actually kind of feel bad for God, he always has to pretend to be surprised at birthday parties, and has to pretend that the tie Jesus gives him for Father's day is something he has never seen before.
So he had to make a universe and design the platypus just for a quick laugh.
2. How many times has God wanted to erase it all and start over? I get mad playing Sim City and something doesn't work out the way I like it, imagine having to deal with everything going on. He promised not to flood the world again after the flood, but how many times has he looked at the "Rain cloud" Icon on his Godputer and consider hitting it.
3. Who was Jack the Ripper? Not really cosmic in scale I realize but I have read a book or two, and I really want to know. This is one of those questions I might forget if I don't write this down.
4. Do we have Kentucky Fried Chicken in heaven? Hey, no heart attacks, I am going to live this up.
5. How do you forgive so completely? How do you keep from losing your temper? Two questions I know, but they are related. If I was God I am afraid I would not be very good at it. I would be slapping the piss out of many people. "Will you stop lying Joesph Kenner at 188 Schuller Avenue, you are really begging for it." Slap slap slap. I am so glad not to have his job.
6. Why does Law and Order and CSI have to be playing at some channel at any time, all the time? Enough is enough.
7. How did Noah deal with the smell on the Ark? That's alot of Glade air freshners.
8. Why oh why did you make bees that sting? Bee stings hurt.
9. What does Manna taste like? I hope it's like Oreos.
10. Why did you make allergys? I really miss lemons, I hope someday I can drink lemonade again.
11. If you made everything, how were you made. If you were just there, what happened? I dunno, I get a headache trying to understand eternity. I might skip this one.
I am glad he's patient, but then again we do have a lot of time for me to try to figure this out.

I love my dad

I am sure you can figure out by the title what this will be about, it may be a little longer than normal but you can't just talk about somethings in brief.
A few years ago my dad was not doing well, and I found out he was going to go into surgery for the cancer that was found on his esophagus and his condition was serious. The surgery went by slowly and I am not a praying man like I wish I could be, but I prayed like I never did before for my father to pull through. (I had lost my Grandmother in the operating room just a few years prior and did not have faith in surgeons.)
My dad pulled through and was taken to Intensive Care for recovery. After he was set up my mother, my brother Ed, my sister Caroline, and I couldn't spend enough time watching over my dad. The nurses had to get us more chairs because we didn't want to leave.
When I was a little boy my father was always the tall and fit, I spent many years literally in his shadow. He used to carry me on his back and we both had to duck to avoid doorways and ceiling fans. I remember him lifting me like a sack of sugar from the ground and giving me a growling "I gooooooot you janus!" (Well he called me my real name, but you get the point.) My dad was a tough old man, he never cried and he only got sick once or twice in my life that I remember.
This was not the man I was seeing laying on this bed. The cancer and chemo had whittled him down to his skin and bones. He was weak from the treatment and the pain. It was the first time I had seen my dad shed a tear since his father died over 18 years ago. He was really crying, not just wet eyes, but crying. It broke my heart, I realized my dad for the human he was for the first time.
"I love you dad," I said for the first time since I was a little boy.
"I love you too Janus," he said back with a faint smile and a squeeze of my hand.
I was not a good son for a long time, I was kind of the black sheep...the family embarrassment...the cause for my father's white hair. I started out being a good son, and the pride and joy of my parents when I was little. What happened?
Teenage years, that's what happened. I don't remember when it was that I thought my good and loving parents became morons that hated me. They still loved me and wanted to be a part of my life and I treated them both like crap.
Now that I am hitting thirty and my father is getting older and our time is shorter by the moment I feel the regret. I finally learn to appreciate and love my father after all these years. All this time I wasted. Why did it take a near brush with cancer to make me see it. Such a waste, how could I have been so blind and stupid.
This man that held on to the bike and let it go when I learned to ride a bike.
This man that used to carry me on his shoulders.
This man that let me ride with him everywhere on errands.
What I would do to turn back the clock and live all those moments again. What I would do to erase those years of embarrassment and just love my dad like I do now.
I have turned my life around a great deal. I have found faith, I have gone from a bitter and angry scoundrel, to a redeemed and happy somewhat less of a scoundrel. I call my dad and I talk to him and I don't do it because I need something. I have found my dad when I found myself.
We still love each other, though when I say I love you he kind of gives me a confused look and doesn't quite know what to do when I reach out to hug him. He wonders who I am at times and wonders what the hell I did to his son. I hope and pray all the time that my dad will realize that I have really changed and that I really do love him. I hope he knows.
I could tell you loads of stories, but they will have to wait for a later date. This blog is already becoming a book and it is getting harder to type. Why, God, why do I have to realize how important he is when he is getting older and the time is so short. I robbed myself of years with one of the best friends I could ever know.
My dad beat the cancer two years ago, but he doesn't want to get tested again for his next follow up. He doesn't want to know. I don't want him to give up, I don't want to lose him now. I don't know how to tell him that I want him to keep his appointments. I don't think I could ever be ready to say goodbye.
I love my Dad. I hope he realizes how much he means to me.

My drug dealing days are over

I have allergies.
Bad ones, in fact. I have a dog, a cat, a hamster, lots of carpet, I don’t dust worth a crap at home (hey I get paid to do that at work, but how many of you like to clean on your time off), I am allergic to all forms of pollen, and God knows what else. If I got used to it they would probably open up a chemical plant and a lumber mill across the street.
I would be dead in the middle ages from Asthma more than likely, if not from the swelling of the throat, than probably the repeated bleeding from the local barber who would get rid of the demons and elves that cause me to have sinus trouble.
I am sure a lot of other people have that to.
So I go to my local Walgreen’s, open 24 hours a day so I can get my "over the counter" allergy medicine and where I used to be able to pick up a box I find a little card that says "See Pharmacist for assistance."
So I grab three cards (you can do the math, 30 days in a month/10 pills a box.) I walk up to the counter, and suddenly I realized that I was a drug dealer and destroying the community. Apparently you can only buy so many at a time, and you cannot buy more than 20 or so a month. Which means . . . Bleeding patients might be making a come back.
I wondered if it was just a local thing, but I find out that allergy medicines are being restricted all over the land, because the makers of illegal drugs in their industrious pursuits to make money so that they can spend all night eating at Denny’s, have started using my brand of allergy medicine to make drugs.
So that means if I want allergy medicine that works, (because the non restricted crap doesn’t work), which is why they still sell it without having to sign a book, give your driver’s license, and swear on a stack of bibles and on the old photo of Nancy Reagan that you are not a drug dealer, I either have to get a prescription from my doctor so I am not as restricted or I have to go to my drug dealer that doesn’t restrict me every month.
Over the counter . . . shah right

trying to unwind.

Been working today, and didn't really have time to get anything written here tonight.

Tomorrow I am going to try to pace myself a little better. Trying to wind down for the night, I don't know what people do to unwind. I can't write to unwind, my writing is what wound me up.
Maybe I should try chopping lumber. The neighbors might be pissed if I chop down a tree in the yard though.

President of the association might not be too happy either.

Wasting away in Maryland

This one came from one of my news searching friends that knew I could not resist an article like this. I was kind of worried, because I was going to write something serious at first today. The stuff that frightens my readers, who come to this blog to get away from the frightening things in the news, like Paris Hilton's Music Video (see about the second article down at the preceding link for more on that shocker.)
Today's blog comes from Fox News and actually gave me something to laugh about, which I really needed yesterday.
Apparently some guy with a few bolts loose has confessed to being Usama Bin Laden, who must be the little cousin of Osama Bin Laden, you know the one that everyone doesn't talk about at the Bin Laden annual reunion picnic who sniffs modeling glue and screams that the people of Pluto are really pissed that they are no longer considered to be living on a planet.
Mr. Usama Bin Laden was apparently arrested and taken in for a psychiatric evaluation but after determining that he wasn't "The" Bin Laden that they hoped he was released onto the poor traffic of Maryland.
Not too long after that Usama was determined to prove that he would not be overlooked by Homeland Security anymore and decided to lead the police on a lovely refreshing high speed chase throughout the city. After managing not to hit anything for a while, Usama decided to stop his car by plowing into 3 other cars at an intersection.
The police thought that it was almost over...but they were wrong. The wicked criminal mastermind brandished his weapon "a blender" and the police probably considered calling Jimmy Buffet in to negotiate a hostage release. Then they decided just to arrest him, and try to put him back into the hospital for hopefully a much longer evaluation this time. When he is released Mr. Bin Laden may get an endorsement from Hamilton Beach. No Margaritas were harmed in this brief showdown.
Now who says the news is boring.

Interview Questions

Kind of a misleading title (I try my best) These are just some random questions I have about job searches and interviews that the last few days have really made me wonder. Some are actual questions that I have been asked, and some are things I am just curious about in general.

Wearing professional attire. This translates to wearing pants, well that is pants and not biker shorts (yikes) or jeans. Sometimes that means wearing a tie, as long as you are not wearing a short sleeve shirt. Apparently ties and short sleeves are a no-no according to my Simpsons DVD, and if anyone knows fashion, it's Homer J. Simpson.
The question is why they want you to wear professional attire for a job where you normally dress casual. For Example a life guard wearing a suit and tie to the interview, or a guy that works at a sewage treatment plant and makes a living raking through crap. Is it just some pretentious corporate B.S. or do they want to make sure you know at least one woman that can tell you how to wear a necktie. (Seriously, I would be lost if I had to tie my neckties, they were all tied for me, and now I just slip them on and off...not proper I know, but no one ever accused me of being proper.)
Salary Desired. This is one of the stupidest fill in the blanks that they put on an application. What would you like your salary to be? Well I would like $750,000 dollars a year, I would like to work about 2 hours a month, have a company provided BMW, and maybe a free trip to Europe every few months.
The question is what are you going to pay me? Chances are if I am applying at Walmart as a stock boy I am not going to be demanding too hell of a lot. So why don't they just tell us what they are willing to pay and let us go from there.
What made you pick our store to apply? Well let's see, the fact that it said Help Wanted on the sign on the window. The fact that I happened to be walking by and reading the sign and needed a job at the moment. Maybe even the fact that I considered working here better than squeegeeing passing cars at the red light or maybe a career in pharmaceutical testing.
Honestly how prestigious do some of these places think they are? Why did I pick this store? Because ever since I was about four years old I said I want to get a job selling Bath and Body Works in a part time retail store at the age of thirty. I have to really plan for this question to be honest, otherwise I would forget myself and resort to sarcasm by default.
Opportunities in advancement. I usually hear about how the company is growing when I apply about anywhere. That means if I stay around until I am about 65 years old or so that I will be offered a position of assistant manager and get a raise of a dollar an hour. That is what makes a job a job and a career a career. A job is something you do while you hope you figure out what the hell you want to do for a career, and then as soon as you can you run for it.
A career is what you want to do for the rest of your life.
Some places think that everyone that is looking for a job is in fact looking for a career. Where do you see yourself five years from now, either in another place or dead from self inflicted wounds if I have to ask if you want hot sauce just one more time.
Now some people may want a career in one of those fine places, God bless you, I may not have any idea why anyone would like working there for a prolonged period of time. I am not one of those people, that doesn't mean I think that the job is beneath me, but I could not continue to do something I hate for too long, though I can do about anything for a short period of time.
We'll call you this means "Screw you" basically in Human Resourcesese. It is the same as "Let's do lunch" and "Thanks for the garage sale Precious Moments salt and pepper shaker set, Grandma." It basically means I am not nice enough to hire you, but I am too nice to tell you to go away, so I will make you feel like you have a chance. Apply at 30 places and if you are lucky 2 with usually call you back unless your application says that you are willing to work 70 hours a week for 20 dollars and a good parking spot and maybe you have Jesus of Nazareth as one of your professional references. (Or Satan if you are applying at a law firm.)
We are looking for motivated people. We are looking for Sales people that like to work on a strictly commission basis. If you are not a parasite that would sell your grandmother to organized crime for a dollar, you probably won't survive here.
You are over qualified. You should of dropped out of school earlier, because we are worried that you must be mentally unbalanced to want to work here or we are well aware that this is a job and you would run the first chance you get.

Tune in tomorrow.

Mindless Filler Section..boy what a bummer indeed

Had a long day today, have another one tomorrow. So This entry is not really good enough to make up for a severe lack of content tonight. I didn't have time to read anyone else's stuff either. Boy what a bummer.

It's not very often I can say "Boy what a bummer" anymore.

a little work here and there, a few calls, two interviews, and working on website number 2's content has been a bit trying today.

Sorry to whine.

How are you guys doing? Be sure you check out Gone and Harry's Blogs, they wrote something earlier.

I will see you all tomorrow

Beer and a sandwich, and a new link for you all

Today was a good day, did I get millions of things done? Well not really in a work productive sort of way. However I got that mental and spiritual renewal in my midweek. My friend Rob and I get together once in a while, we aim for once in the middle of the week.
We went to a restaurant/Bar and he likes to try something new every time. Today we had the chicken fingers, truly the alpha male amongst tavern food and washed it down with a glass of Killians. Both were really good.
It is nice to have a friend that lives close by and to be able to have good conversation and a little food in the middle of the week. Most of my friends live over an hour and a half away, and some on the other side of the country. Even though I am surrounded by some nice people on a regular basis, it is nice to have someone that you can regard as a friend in the classic definition.
I don't feel like I have to be guarded, and can talk to someone that is close but not so close they feel offended if you do want to ignore topics that you don't like to think about even to yourself. He is also at a level of maturity that I share where we can joke and have fun but don't feel inclined to act stupid. We also share the same faith and many interests. Someone to share laughs and share prayers and sorrows with.
It is good for anyone man or woman to have a friend that they can share a drink and a sandwich and be able to unwind around. After having a few hours of talk and sharing a meal I always find my spirits renewed and my creativity and writing to return.


P.S. Some Blog changes that I put on that aren't long enough to get it's own entry tonight.
I have added Harry and his "Tales From the Edge of the Swamp" Blog to my links list tonight. I encourage folks that drop by to visit Harry's Blog. Some good reading and pretty frequent updating.

Also I put a Blog Counter on here, just to satisify my own morbid curiousity.

Drain Bamaged about "some things."

Ever have some ideas but never know how to write them out?

I sure do, in fact I have about 400 trillion notebooks of scattered notes of ideas I have but I haven't gotten the brain or the motivation to be able to hammer something out. 400 Trillion sounds a bit like hyperbole I must admit, but really I keep the notebook sales going at the local grocery store when school isn't in session.
Some things I write down seem funny at the time, but when I think it over I realize that the sheer hilarity of my own really bad humor just isn't as catchy to the rest of the world in large.
Some things I write down require more research, research requires time and money, research takes work. I am bad at all three of those elements. In fact I will go online because it is the fastest and cost effective way to research and I end up reading Garfield comics instead.
Some things are fleeting thoughts and I write them down so I don't forget them, but forget where I wrote them down and therefore they stay in a dusty tome in the far corner of my closet forever lost to me.
Some things I finish but have to type out and edit and therefore it stays on my desk for about ten years.
Some things need illustrators and I haven't found one yet, nor do I know where to look for one.
I could finish 1/10th of the things I start I could maybe be a Dickens or Doyle someday. I have got to work on that 99% perspiration thing.

Thanks for letting me whine, now I have to go research some Garfield.

This is running a little late but....

Yes I am way behind getting something posted today. The truth is I had a bit of writer's block. I have been coming down with a little something and I am trying to shake it before tomorrow.

I am going to be writing between two of the websites now, again so that might keep me a tad busy. James has been nagging me to get back to my professional ways and keep working for something that we have had in mind for years. Not that I am a professional, at all.
Plus I am still working on that day job thing. Keeping the fingers crossed there.
Today I am pondering getting a counter for the website, though that means I might have to HTML something (Shudder) and have to bust out the old copy of "HTML For Dummies." I have also eliminated the need to type in word verfication. This will remain in effect until I get spammed to death. I have also got RSS Owl so that I can keep track of other peoples posts, but will have to ask Robert how to use it since I am a complete moron.

All in all I have had a busy day of not getting anything significant done. I hope to see you again tomorrow

Janus.

De-caf Janus

Since Tuesday I have been doing something I vowed I would never do.
I am drinking Caffeine free Coke.
I feel like a horrible sell out, not since I decided to take up blogging almost a year ago have I felt such a guilt. I was willing to try it, a sign of losing my Cola Ethics. I thought, what would the harm be, I will try it and I will go back to regular Coke.
A voice in my head said "Janus you sell out!"
Hey, at least it's not Diet Coke, I thought to myself to ease my betrayal.
Coke Classic and I have been walking together since I was old enough to stop formula. My loving parents would put the Coke in a sippy cup and I would down it like it was the water of life. My dentist was torn between giving me a lecture and planning to make enough from my fillings and cleanings that he could get his Cabin in Wisconsin.
Over the years things got even worse as I started drinking a 24 pack of Coke Classic a day. People wonder how I can function on 4 hours of sleep, and can never sleep at night. I have no idea, but I might be able to take a guess. Even after my dad showing me how I could take rust off of railroad ties by putting them in Coke did not deter me.
I got an ulcer at 14, that did deter me.
For a long period I had to drink Iced tea because the acid in the Coke was still too strong. Luckily for me they made something called Prilosec. Now I can drink lots of acidic soda, now I can eat pizza after 10:00, and now I can quit drinking really bad tea.
So now I drink Caffeine Free Coke, and I found out I like it. My headache is getting less and less severe. I still can have coffee if I need to wake up, but now I can actually sleep. Which is good because I might get a new morning job and I would prefer to not feel like a wacked out addict. Now I have to drink coffee in the morning to wake up because I tend to fall asle.........Z Z Z.

Back to school blues

For the many of you out there that have children going back to school this time of year, I congratulate you on surviving another summer vacation. The television will have a chance to cool off, the door will not open and slam repeatedly, and someone else will have to watch your kids for a few hours a day. All these things are great, but you also survived back to school shopping, then I am really impressed.
The parents all flock to Wal-mart for the most part, and if you follow the noise and the smell of the crowd, you will find the back to school section. A jumble of carts marks off the section, like a police barricade. This is caused by school shoppers that have left their carts behind because the aisles are so packed with people looking for supplies, that they couldn’t fit the cart down the aisle without resorting to physical violence.
With the list in your hand you look at the supply list and dutifully get everything your child (or children) will need this year. I remember back in the day that my list used to be much shorter. A few notebooks (no spirals), pencils, pens, an eraser, and a ruler...and that’s about it. Third grade has gotten a lot more challenging since those days, at least the shopping part has. Graph paper, color coded folders, a specified number of markers..etc.
The teacher that made the list I was using apparently wanted to make school shopping more fun for all the kids in his/her class. Let’s see, 32 crayons. They make them in 24 and 48 packs at Wal-mart, I guess I will have to get 48 crayons, and hope this kid can do math. It was also specifically asked to get a white folder. (More on that in just a minute.)
So in this steamy, shrieking mother and burnt out father swamp of shopping you have people trying to all find the same thing. No one can find the graph paper, have you seen the graph paper? No I haven’t seen the graph paper, I am looking for it too. Pretty soon about ten of us are looking for graph paper.
That’s when some poor girl named Becky walks near the back to school section, and gets swarmed by teeth gnashing shoppers. Take us to the graph paper! Take us now or suffer! The angry school of sharks chants as they swarm poor Becky.
With fear that if she doesn’t find us graph paper that we will kill her and hide her remains somewhere in housewares, she leads us to a spot where the graph paper is hidden behind 2 boxes of Superman folders. The crowd falls to their knees and thanks God for having Becky lead them to the graph paper and begins to squeal and howl in unison. Becky quickly runs for her life before someone else asks for help.
On an end note, everything was found at the end of the shopping run. Everything that is except... the dreaded white folder.
Apparently this teacher not only likes to color code his folders, but also gets some evil satisfaction having people look for something that probably doesn’t exist. The required white folder is the Bigfoot of the school supply kingdom. No one has seen one, but many believe they exist. Going to Wal-mart, Target, Office Max, and Walgreens I have learned that they don’t exist at least without buying a set of 10.
So the kid got a folder with a picture of a dog on it that was sort of white and a note that said, "Sorry, I couldn’t find a white folder, I hope your teacher doesn’t mind this one." Well if he complains they won’t find him at least until someone actually goes back to housewares.

What IS in a name?

Today is a shorty, since I went to bed instead of staying up to write a big article. So today I am going to answer from my mail bag and from a few people I know in person one of the more frequent questions I get from my blog.


1. Q: Why do you call yourself Janice? What is the story behind your name?

A: I have used this name in a few chatrooms, on this blog, and a few other select places. I have had a few people call me Janice. As in "Auntie Janice makes really good sugar cookies." It is actually said (Jay Ness) and I am named after a Roman God that has two faces and represents doorways or transition. I see myself in my name a bit, though I am hardly a Roman God (or anyone's idea of a god), I have a public and private face and I am currently working at going into a transition and maybe even getting rid of my extra face.
No my name is not really Jay, and I do not have any relatives in the Department of the Treasury. I just wanted to teach people how to pronounce my alias because nothing irritates me more after a while than being called "Ms. Janice" by people that think I am a sweet little lady in a chatroom. I can't blame anyone really because Janus is not as common as say "Zeus" or "Ares." So you heard it from me first. (I have recieved 5 in-person, 2 messenger requests, and an email about this, so I guess it really is a Frequently asked question.)

Part 2, What is the story behind your last name Torrell?

No actually it's not, my last name is actually taken from a friend that I used to hangout with in the college days. I was staying late and having a few drinks after hours with a few of my friend's that worked in the same bar, and the district manager dropped by unexpectedly. He asked who I was and what I was doing there. At that point one of the servers came out and I had to think fast.
I pointed at her and said "I am waiting for my sister to get off work, since she is giving me a ride home because I have had too much to drink." That apparently worked, and from then on they called me "Allen Torrell." I have been using it for a bogus name since, if I need one in a hurry.

So for those of you wondering how to say the whole name it is (Jay-ness Tore-El.)

Thanks for the responses. Now stop it for the love of God, I answered it already.

Bozo awaits your comments

(Inflatable Bozo the Clown Punching Bag sits at desk next to a can of coke and wearing a Janus messed up hair wig)

I have early morning duties today, so I can't stay up til the 11th hour to write a good post and don't have much time to even send you this quick note. So tonight I have to try to sleep so I can try to get up early. (At least for me.)

I have thought of a few more things I can post about later, but you will have to wait 24 hours like everyone else. In the mean time; Punch the clown, Read some of the blogs on my links (I hear that Emma posted something earlier), and work on that book that you said you were writing 10 years ago and still haven't finished.

See you the day after tomorrow (or tomorrow by the time most of you read this.)

Janus becomes a citizen.

Today while I was downtown I decided to visit the "new" library which was pretty much built right next to the "old library" about 2 feet away. I had been to old one a few times since I rolled into town a few years ago, but today I decided to embrace my new exciting lifestyle.
I got my library card.
Ok...new lifestyle, "exciting" in the previous paragraphs can be stricken and removed from the record.
The town I grew up in didn't have a library in it since it was too small and they probably couldn't afford a librarian unless he moonlighted as a postmaster. When I was a kid I had to either borrow books from my school library, which never had anything that was written after 1941, or I would have to go to the nearest city that had a library and would usually have to pay a fee to get a card and leave a shoe when I borrow a book to make sure that I come back.
So I kept waiting for the librarian to give me the bill. Finally she explained that since I was now a "Citizen" that I got a free library card. Wow, the taxes have allowed me to be able to check out books for free. I was just going to ask if the Township paid my late fees when I forget to bring a book back for about 3 months, when she started having me sign forms.
Then she gave me a whole bunch of forms and something that said "Welcome to your local library." I was trying to figure out if I was applying for a passport and vacation packages with the big stack that they gave me.
"Please stand in front of the blue background." she said pointing over to the wall. I tried to look suave and casual for the photograph but I was too busy wondering if I was standing inside the blue background at the right angle. "Smile at the count of three," she said. I am glad she warned me because I was waiting for her to actually stand next to the camera and didn't realize it all worked from her desk.
Three...two...one.. and I am blinded by the flash.
"That's a nice picture," she said and then pulls my library card out of the machine.
I guess all those years of reading books under those cheap government ceiling lights must of hurt her eyesight pretty bad. I looked at my photo and realized that I look like a serial killer who is trying to look suave and casual and wondering if he is standing at the right angle. I also noticed that I am getting fatter in the face and I can't blame it on defective mirrors anymore.
So Citizen Janus then proudly got his library card, and realized that he had no idea what he was going to read. So I tried to pick out something Horror, something adventure, and something entertaining. Walked up to the desk and handed some other woman my wanted poster card.
They will be due September 8th.
You mean I don't have to bring them back in a week like the school library? Wow, it's great being a citizen.

Mild Mannered.

I suppose part of my upbringing is the reason why some of my friend's consider me entertaining or a little weird. My parents both worked a lot when I was little, so I spent many of my very young days at my Grandma and Grandpa's house. I didn't meet a lot of other children then until I went to school, so I spent a lot of time reading and talking to my Grandparents.
Since they were both from very reserved and old fashioned homes, even by their standards, I learned alot about proper behavior from my Dad's parents. I remember being told how to hold the fork like a human and not a primate, my please's and thank you's, how not to slurp the soup, and how to drink tea without chugging it. I learned more about manners in those quiet and innocent days than I ever thought I could.
You would think that manners were a great thing to learn, but I found out that when I went to school a lot of the other kids found it odd. It never really rubbed on to my brother and sister as much as me, I guess I was more prone to brainwashing from my elders. Now I am trying to unlearn some of the things I was taught for my own sanity.
1. You don't always need a fork and knife. My grandparents really wanted me to learn how to use silverware. In fact they gave me silverware for Christmas, it was the exciting thing to give to your grandchildren back in the day. Though personally a few action figures would of been nice once in a while.
I never learned to eat with my hands, and used silverware or plastic utensils (if I didn't have any) My friends used to love watching me eat corn on a cob, pizza, turkey drumsticks, and jello with a fork and a knife. I think people served turkey Legs and sweet corn just for the entertainment value. The Medieval Times restaurant sounds scary since I hear they don't use silverware there because it wasn't used in the old days...but apparently they had Pepsi. Sporks are evil.
I am pleased to say that now I eat corn and frozen pizza with my hands, though I still will grab a fork, knife, and spoon when I bring my plate to the table even if I am having Frosted Mini Wheats. I am still working on touching drumsticks though without trying to cut them with a fork and knife and drive the people around me insane.
2. You don't have to always hold the door open for people. I always used to get in front of people and hold the door open.
I found out in high school that when I open the car door or entering door for certain ladies that they wonder what is wrong with me. Or they usually get to the door and have it open before I can beat them to it. Though now some of the ladies that have known me for a long time will wait for me to open the door for them so as to humor me.
Also opening the doors for people is sometimes as bad as trying to make a left turn during rush hour. People walk slower or faster, and you could hold the door until the restaurant closes if you insist on being too polite. Now after I let one or two people out I make sure someone has their hand ready to catch the door. I finally stopped feeling horrible about letting people operate the door without my assistance.
And finally 3. You don't have to send a card or sign a note to a guestbook. At least not everytime. My Grandmother could be downright psychotic when it came to sending thank you cards, writing letters, and sending thank you cards when people sent her thank you cards.
I am glad I am not famous, because if I sat at a table and wrote autographs I would die of exhaustion at the event. I would try to write something unique and special for each person, and that can be just impossible.
My friend gave me his yearbook and I wrote a dedication and signed my name and the poor guy thought that I was not going to ever give it back. When I go on vacation and I see a guest book at a national park I usually write something way too long. I like to send cards or sign comment sections to let people know I was there and enjoyed it.
I was told I didn't have to do this unless I really really had something to say, and that people don't find it rude if you don't sign every single year book and registry. I will make an active effort to try not to sign everything unless I really have something to say other than "I really enjoyed it", though everyone always has something really interesting that I want to add to as soon as I try to be less obsessive compulsive of a correspondent.
That's the breaks.
Apparently my manners have rubbed off on some people around me, like on my good friend Karl. He no longer just grunts and points to the fridge, he occasionally will inquire if I would like a beer, and if I say yes he will ask if I want it out of the bottle or with some damn ice in a cup.
...Well I am still working on that with him.

When the world stands still

The silence is only disturbed by the low hums of the microwave and the fans. I press the button and open the microwave before the timer rings out. No sense waking anyone else after all, in the dead silence of the house the microwave sounds about as loud as smoke alarm.
I slide the mug of hot water onto the counter top and drop the bag of "Sleepytime" tea into the mug to let it steep. I hear the soft steps on the carpet and turn to look at a sleepy Jack Russell Terrier looking up at me. Sammy's green eyes are fixed on my mug.
"It's not food...it's tea"
She greets me with a sarcastic sounding snort, then slowly walks to me with her head down so I will scratch her ears.
"That's my good pig."
She snorts again, this time a content snort.
"It looks like I left the balcony door open again," I go over to close it but instead I open it for a moment and walk out on the balcony and look down the quiet deserted streets of my town.
In a few hours the streets will be filled with cars, people walking their dogs, and people driving like mad to get work.
Not now though, the night is still and silent. The occasional light down the street is the only thing that would suggest other people even live around here. It is that quiet time between night and sunrise when the whole world falls silent. The night animals have gone to sleep, and the animals of the day haven't woken up yet.
Sammy makes a whimpering panting sound from inside the house.
"Come on out Sam," I whisper to her as the clicking of her claws answer back to me when she walks onto the wooden balcony. She stands next to me and then sits by my hand and gives it a soft lick to let me know she is there.
In another town years ago I would walk outside my house and watch the stars. I can rarely see the stars from inside town anymore, all the lights ruins the view. Instead of the trees I see rows of town houses.
A cricket chirps, and I can't help but smile. What some would regard as annoying , I listen to the cricket and the music it sings to his mate. At least you can count on the crickets, whether you are at in the yard at your family's house in the country, in the backyard in a shack at the bad side of town, or in the balcony of a town house looking onto the deserted streets. Some things just don't change.
Sammy and I just sit out there and listen some nights, when all the decent folk are asleep. The world is ours and seems to be lost in time. People always talk about watching sunrises and sunsets, but you should just look out and admire the night sky sometime.
Sammy begins to whine and looks at me, and I realize that the sky is getting lighter.
"You're right Sammy," I tell her as I open the door as we lock ourselves in and head to bed, "We better go before the sun comes out, after all those decent folk are sure noisy and obnoxious in the morning."

Getting back on the horse, when running no longer is possible

For a little disclaimer, I am trying not to make this really long and depress my readers, but sometimes you just need to write out longer messages.
When I was about 13 years old, I tried riding a horse for the first time, and was just trying to feel comfortable riding on something living and taller than me. I picked the most gentle, old, and slow horse I could for my first ride. I first was led by the bridle around the fenced yard, and then outside in the open field.Things were going smooth, I was almost getting comfortable even though I had the reins in a death grip and I was nervous and the horse could tell. At this point I was riding the horse on a slow trot without him being led by Mary. Horses like to run or gallop, to make one trot is irritating to a horse.
That's when it happened. In a nearby wooded area someone fired a gun or a car backfired. It didn't really matter, because whatever it was panicked the horse, and he reared up to his full height. With a panicked whiney that sounded more like a scream, he kicked his front legs up and I fell backwards a bit and I only held on by one of my feet caught in the stirrups and one hand holding on to the horn of the saddle.
After that rearing the horse ran like a gunshot away from the noise and full speed across the field. Mary shouted at the horse to stop but Old Nick was spooked and could think of nothing but escaping. She could only run to her own horse and hope that Old Nick would stop.
Now some of you out there might be going "Well if he knew how to handle a horse, it would have been a lot better." This was my first time on a horse, and the relax and calmly say woah might be easier for Keanu Reeves but I was too busy screaming and holding on to the saddle.
As the horse went racing across the fields I began panicking and shouting the occasional "woah" and "stop," accompanied by other words which I will not print here. Mary at this point was racing after me with her own horse, and her husband Allen had heard my very loud outbursts from the barn and took off after me on foot (since we had the two horses.)
Racing at full speed and screaming and no longer even able to try calming down me or the horse as we went racing toward a nearby railroad track and even over my screaming I could hear the sound of an engine horn. Old Nick and I were going to catch the 5:10 steel train if we didn't stop. (If you're wondering, I came from a town with four train lines and you learn the schedules if you live next to them long enough-so the time and train are accurate even without me really studying it.)
At this point I screamed out "If you don't stop we are both going to die . . . (the rest of the sentence is unprintable.) Then I closed my eyes, held on tight, and, if you could call it that, I prayed. The horse stopped very close to the tracks with a sudden complete halt. The horse seemed to skid a bit and stopped right before the gravel at the side of the train line. I lurched forward and bruised my thigh against the horn of the saddle and my ankle twisted and sprained in the stirrup that my foot was still attached to. Even though my eyes were closed, I felt the hot air from the side of the train on my face and wondered if I had actually died.
I felt a hand on my own after what felt like hours. I opened my eyes and instead of meeting St. Peter at the gates I saw Allen take hold of my hand and tell me I was ok. Mary had held the reins of the two horses and kept them still. The Train had been gone for a few minutes and I was fine and safe.
"You can let go now, "Allen said quietly to me. Allen had always been somewhat a rough and gruff man that normally would make a sailor blush. Today I saw relief and paternal fear for me, and seeing how it had him almost made me want to cry. He pulled my fingers from the death grip on the saddle and after freeing my aching foot he pulled me off the back of Old Nick. I couldn't talk, I wanted to cry but couldn't. With his arm on my shoulder, Allen walked me back to the farmhouse, while Mary led the horses back to the stable.
They have an expression that you must get back on the horse, but I will level with you all. I never did. I have lived in fear of riding on anything with four legs and I have to force myself to even pet a horse at a petting zoo.
Old Nick and I have more in common than that brief ride on an April afternoon. We are both runners.I have been running most of my life, rather than dealing with adversity. If something becomes too hard, I quit. If I feel rejected or that I fail, I walk to the exit. You don't have to be running fast to run.
Don't confuse running as retreating or living to fight another day. When you run you are looking to escape and never come back, you actually run faster and faster the further you get away. Start now and you will never stop, until something forces you to.
I wrote that letter to my niece a few days ago, and I admit that I have a hypocrite in me that tells her not to run away and quit. I admit that for the most part I didn't listen to that advice myself. When the problem comes along you must whip it . . . well I try to skip it. I would rather do nothing, than do something and fail. When I fail, I don't get on the horse again when I should.
Today the lesson I heard in a sermon/message was about "Fighting Discouragement." This is the first time I have told this story to more than a few select people, and rarely do I tell the whole story. The fear and not letting go of the saddle is normally left out because I hate to admit how afraid I really was. I want to come clean about it, if anything to tell you that I am trying to get back on the horse. (Someday perhaps literally, as well as figuratively.)
I had plenty of chances to talk to people face to face about this today (the trying to not run part, not the horse story) and tell someone about how I haven't had a good sleep for over a week. I frequently have people around that would like to talk to me, pray for me, encourage me, and sometimes just listen and nod.
I talked myself out of it, by saying they are too busy, or they would pretend to care because that's their job, or I had to go home and work. A lot of people out there are throwing me a rescue rope and I would rather cut the line and drown than deal with things.
I hope none of you do the same.I want to stop running and face things, instead of finding ways out of them. The longer you run, the harder it is to turn around. In times you will be afraid, in times you will fail, in times you will be rejected or hurt. You can choose to let that rule you, or you can get back on the saddle again.
It is time for Janus to stop running, and it shouldn't take a train to convince me of that.

Waste your life for a low monthly fee

Don't worry you don't have to hear me whine about being tired too much this morning.

When I actually do work at reviewing games, which is rare because I am lazy, I occasionally have to review an Online Game. When I talk about online games in general I am referring to the "MMORPG's" which stands for Massive Multiplayer Online Role Playing Games. Try Saying that ten times really fast.
Since many of my readers may be layman, and I might be out of touch and they might of changed what they call these games now, I will try to explain the concept of MMO.... oh nevermind I am not typing that out again.
Basically the point is, I like to play video games and talk to people, I don't want to have real social interaction though that would require me to wear pants and shave. The solution is play an online game where I can talk to other people that need to shower and haven't seen the sunlight since the Clinton Administration. This method saves you from having to smell those other people or leaving your chair ever again. (Except if you need to use the bathroom, and the milk jug is full.)
About 95% of the online games that are out there are fantasy role playing games, which is not as dirty as it sounds. Fantasy role playing games usually means that it has elves, orks, swords, and basically anything else that Tolkien thought of about half a century ago. Every month or so another company designs another one of these games, because God only knows we need another game with a damn elf in it.
The point of these games for the player is for you to kill everything you can, find and/or make things, and get better at killing and making stuff until you can do no more advancement. I have no idea what you do after that, since I don't have the attention span to get that far. I suppose that you sit around with all the other elves and get drunk and talk about how good you are.
Some games are simpler to use and work on older computers, and others require a 2 year degree in college and need a small network just to get it to work on lower settings. If the game is simple and works on my computer that means that it is no longer popular. I have considered spending 2000 dollars for a computer upgrade and 10-30 dollars a month so that I can pretend to be a slightly creepy looking gnome who can cast magic. Fortunately for me and my creditors I usually sober up and recover from the head trauma before the store opens.
Now back in the day (cue that blurring waving lines and creepy flashback music) about oh..a decade ago, I used to play one of these games fairly regular. That's because back then the world was popular from this crazy thing called eBay. My business partner and I used to play a game quite often and sell things from the game on the world's best online auction site. Our biggest clients were teenagers that had Daddies that would buy them anything just so they shut up and men and women in their middle age that like being elves just a little too damn much for their own good.
Some of you purists are going "that's stupid!"or "that's unethical." Well 300 dollars for playing a game for two days may be stupid and unethical but at the time I was able to get over it as we went out to the pubs and went road tripping all over the Midwest.
I think back and often wonder...where the hell did all that money go.
Now the online game companies have made it so you can't sell fake things to fake elves on the fake auction site. This is because they don't want you to ruin the game by flooding the markets...that and they sell it on their auction site and charge you a service fee. So I guess it's ok to destroy the economy as long as they get their cut. They also made it so it's a lot harder to get money on those role playing games for the amount of time it takes.
So when it takes as much time as a regular job to make about the same amount of money... Well you can say that Janus bowed out and let the younger generation take over. I don't like to pay by the month to waste my life away while I sit at a desk getting a beer belly and pretending to be something I am not.
I prefer one time payments for that sort of thing.

Shouldas (Thats Shood uhs and not Shoulders in Chicagonese)

I am tired again, and again I stayed up late. I should of gone to bed.

I should never get involved in a video game to unwind, I usually end up unwinding way to long. Then again when else can you say you have conquered half of country before you wake up. Mind you since it's a fake country on a game it's not nearly impressive.

I should of wrote an article yesterday, I should of done more stuff yesterday, I should not stay up all night at my age.

Bad night for my headache, and I was rather snippy and I made everyone else fall asleep so they didn't have to talk to me anymore, I should of not done that.

I should stop typing this and go to bed.

Loving advice to a teenage niece from Uncle Janus

Dear Elley,

I've heard recently that your parents have become old and stupid and I am really sorry to hear that. It usually happens to people when their kids turn about 12 or 13 years old. I guess the strain of having smarter, better, and younger people around causes their brain to melt.
I am sworn to secrecy but I will risk the other fogeys turning me into school pudding, and tell you our secrets.
Yes, it is true, the school's vanilla pudding is made out of people that dare to tell you kids the truth. That's why all the rest of us old people lie. Because I am your uncle though, I will risk it because I love you. Soon I will be getting old like your parents and will also become a complete idiot, and don't have much time.
It is true, your parents know absolutely nothing. They didn't have boys, acne, drugs, cigarettes, video games, schools, Cosmo Magazine, teen magazines, and curfews when they were your age.
Since I have never been a teenager, but I was around when your mother was for some reason despite her being older than me, it is time that I finally told you the truth.
Your mom never dated a boy in her life. She made up all those things like her going to the prom and going to movies with boys. When your grandpa Janus Sr. met your other grandpa Janus Sr. they thought that your father would be a great match for my sister Caroline. So your grandpa sold your dad to my sister in exchange for three head of cattle and a new blender. The cattle was ate long before you were born, but the blender is still at your grandfather's house.
So since your mom never dated anyone, she doesn't know anything about boys. Since your dad and I were always at least twenty years old, we know nothing at all about teenage boys. You are probably right in assuming that the 8th grader that has had 7 girlfriends since the last semester is definitely husband material. After all he is "cute" and "kinda sweet...sometimes", and that should be the basis for your entire relationship. He was mistaken the other 7 times but this time he is in it for the long haul for sure. I think you picked a real weiner, er, I mean winner here, and be sure to tell your mom I said so.
You're also right about school being stupid and pointless. I think it is awful that your mother wants you to learn such useless things like how to read and math. You will never need that crap in the real world, trust me. You should quit school as soon as you can. College is even more of a waste of time. I stay awake late at night at times regretting not quitting college earlier when I could of spent more time pursuing work in the fast food profession or being a professional blood donor.
So as I said you should find a way to quit while you are still young and know everything. Then you can convince some old geezer that wasted his life finishing high school and maybe even college and convince him that you are dedicated, smart, and perfect for the job- despite not finishing school.
In fact all the most successful people I know these days didn't stay in school. I can introduce you to Mr. Wicke. He is a very nice homeless man that lives near the dumpster at the White Hen. He dropped out of school early to take up the career of begging for people's loose change and collecting bottles of Mad Dog.
Mr. Wicke is about two years younger than me, but he looks about fifty years older because all that knowledge and experience has made him grow faster than his time. He is the happiest man in the world, and if you ask him he will probably deny it. That's because he didn't get successful by sharing this knowledge with just anyone.
Perhaps someday if you have some time after school, I can take you to meet him. We can learn all about his great intern program.
Of course, I may not get the chance to, since the others will turn me into the pudding before long. So if you don't hear for a while, don't eat the pudding.

Your loving uncle,
Screwtape...er Janus.

I should of blogged but...

This blog is really late, I am getting messages from people over yahoo and Aol from people wondering why I am still awake.

I will tell you why because I was supposed to be working on something productive and I ended up surfing the web doing "research."

Research of course means "Running around Google and thinking of more and more stuff to look up that really doesn't matter."

I forgot what I was looking for but now it is 8 am and I better go to bed.

See ya soon

I donn't make missteaks (Apology for lack of an Editor)

This is one of those slightly apologetic posts that I feel obligated to do once in a while.

Rather than rant and rave about stuff and make a really long winded speech I decided just to itemize and offer brief comments to answer the comments I have recieved lately. (That means within the last 5 years, I am not that current.)

1. I find your blog offensive because of this certain article..blah blah. I have pretty much figured out that I can never make everyone happy, and sometimes I can't make anyone happy. Don't worry I am used to it, I hope I can get you used to me too. So please if I say something that makes you fuming mad and desire to have me hunted down and beaten I just ask you to check back the next day. I write new stuff almost daily (hopefully) and I might be able to redeem myself.

2. Your Grammar and Spelling is very Unprofessional. Actually so am I, but that's beside the point. The truth is I either had to fire the editor or give up caffeine because of my budget, so the editor had to go.
I do actually have spell check and a grammar checker, but I hardly ever use it. I will admit that my English teachers would not claim me unless I became a best selling international author. I rarely run checker programs, I don't do multiple drafts for a blog entry on "How I like Oreo cookies," and I was threatened bodily harm if I wake them up at 4 am so they can read my Blog and check it for mistakes.
Speaking of 4 am, thats another reason why my blog usually can be tried for "crimes against humanity." Let's see how well you can write about an hour before you go to sleep and drinking Sleepytime tea.
I do apologize for those of you that might get this on feed to your email. (Lord knows why anyone would do that.) Because I usually edit and change my post slightly a few times after I read it, and it might send you an update everytime I mix up "to" with "too". I hope that my mistakes aren't so glaring that they distract you.
And finally you may have noticed that I try really hard to make this readable to people of different levels of education and sensitivities. So I avoid using the "F" bomb, colorful ways of saying excrement, and other lovely substitutions for polite speech. This isn't because I am overly sensitive really, it's because I want to have something that you can normally read without having to be embarrassed. Besides if one says such things too often it really cheapens your writing.
I don't think I can cheapen it too much more, otherwise I will have to do a bluelight special.
In the past I didn't have a problem with using profanity a lot more because I didn't care if you read this or not, but really I have become a hack now. Well scratch that, a hack get's paid. The point is, what is the point of publishing it on the computer if I didn't want you to read it. If I was doing this all for just me I would write it in a journal and never let anyone read it, like that guy that was in my English class with the eye liner that was a poet but he worked at Taco Bell on the side.

Ok This is getting too long (Trying not to do that too) so quick quick wrap up. Yes you can link to this site, I would be honored, unless you have a website called "Blogs that really stink.com." I do link to other sites, though a little more rarely. You can email me at Mynameisjanus@yahoo.com and its on my profile page. No I don't make Balloon animals, my giraffe looks like a poodle that Bob Barker tried to neuter blindfolded. Yes, I really did say quick wrap up...in fact this article is over now.

Chew on this for a while and an exciting statistic

Just one of those random thoughts that just drive you nuts.
I opened up a computer box not too long ago and I saw little silicon packets that said "Do Not Eat."
I was wondering if anyone that is old enough to read and open a computer box would regard anything in a Dell computer box as ediable? I mean do people think that the good folks at Dell wanted to give you a free snack with the purchase of your new computer, or perhaps they were worried that you would set it on the desk next to the coffee and the Sweet and Low and you would just dump it in your coffee.
Someone said to me "Well a little kid might put it in their mouth."
Which makes sense a Toddler will instinctivly find the most toxic and dangerous substance it can and proceed to eat it as soon as your back is turned. They could find a needle in haystack, just so they can eat it.
The point is though, that the warning label has not detered them for some reason, I guess they can't read it unless it is written with a Crayon.

As a side note, because I have the news playing in the background. Recent studies show that teenagers that listen to music with sexual lyrics are more likely to have sex at a young age. I don't know how they test these statistics, or who gets paid to find out this shocking information and isolates all the other misleading factors like "Children that are not supervised, Children that like to party, and teenage girls that really think that teenage boys are pondering long term commitments because he writes a note in study hall that says 'I love you'..."
So I am here to offer a statistic of my own. Teenage boys that listen to "Barney the Dinosaur and Friends" music are least likely to move out before the age of 40 and are 10% more likely to be serial killers.

Too Tired to write right

Well it's Monday morning again, and I am still here. Though I have been gone most of the weekend.

No exciting Blog today, since I am falling alseep at my desk.

I might fill you in later if I remember it, but I am off for bed.

Just wanted to let you know I am ok.

Janus is back again..and again

Well hey you may have noticed that this blog is not just filled with enriching and exciting posts. That's because I kind of restarted it.

My apologies to the folks that weren't here last week when I revealed this weeks winning lotto numbers, offered a solution to world hunger, and predicted when the world will end (down to the hour, minute, and time zone.) I am afraid I deleted the old posts.

I can't promise I will have any better discipline at writing blogs this time around either, since occasionally I go into writer's block for roughly 4 years at a time. Here is what I can offer you though.

1. the Real Janus talking about real things that come to his mind, opposed to those fake things that I write for my night job I suppose (the one I don't have to quit either, along with the day job people tell me not to quit.)

2. Serious stuff, blantant attempts to amuse people, and I might even get liquored up and try poetry someday.

3. A relaxin place to read where the grammar is very poor and the spelling is worse

With that in mind, and to keep this post from becoming longer than a Kevin Costner film I am just going to post my ground rules that all my readers must follow to be good little boys and girls.

A. Don't expect too much from me, I write sporadically- This ain't my job, this is my hobby. So please don't expect me to comment all the time or even write daily. I don't spend my whole day at this computer, I got things to do too. You should read some of the other blogs on my favorites list that might be updated occasionally or daily too if you need something to do.
Otherwise I suggest reading some classic literature.

B. Please just call me Janus, and no that is not my real name. My parent's didn't normally name their children after mythological figures. I like my privacy, as much as every other rambling guy that has a blog can, so of course I don't offer my real name. I write about other people occasionally but I change their name also. Because I care about their privacy too. So if you know me or the person I am writing about (that isn't a celebrity) please refrain from using their real name in comments.

C. If you make a mistake and accidentally don't follow instruction "B" I will delete your comment, not because I am mad at you but to safe guard the privacy of people.

D. If you want to have your comment removed and you already submitted it, just email me at
mynameisjanus@yahoo.com If you wish to send a fan letter you can send it to there, if you wish to send a hate letter you can send it to there, if you wish to send me a recipe for great potato soup you can send it there, if you are a spammer trying to send me an ad for Viagra you can send it to someone else.

Glad to see some old faces, glad to welcome some new ones. Hope to see you all again soon.

Janus