Dylan Bolin

Oh, it’s you.  Good to see you.  Although it would be better to see you with a massive, SUCKING CHEST WOUND!

Whoa!  Holy Cow, did I just write that?  I am so sorry, I don’t mean it; it’s just my Seasonal Affective Disorder talking.  If you’re anything like me and hundreds of thousands of others that live this far north of the equator, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  Seasonal Affective Disorder, or S.A.D., is very real.  It is a type of depression that occurs as the days grow shorter and colder. 

So you might be asking yourself:  “Why do we get depressed in winter?”  Well, it seems to stem from inadequate bright light in winter.  Researchers theorize that bright light actually changes the chemicals in the brain.  Then again, the Researchers also have theories regarding the touch of a woman and what it will feel like when the Researchers finally EXPERIENCE IT!

I did it again, didn’t I?  Sorry, Researchers. 

Now you may also be saying:  “But I don’t get depressed in winter; I love it!”  If this describes you, you are likely suffering from Advanced Seasonal Affective Disorder.  With A.S.A.D, the brain is so overrun by S.A.D. that it starts to accept the disease.  It’s like a hostage sympathizing with its captors…like Patty Hearst Syndrome or P.H.S.  And combined, A.S.A.D.P.H.S. is as serious as it sounds, and I have first-hand knowledge.  My B.F.F. at the M.M.S.D. had A.S.A.D.P.H.S. 

So how can you tell if you have Seasonal Affective Disorder?  The Seven Major Symptoms are:  tiredness, fatigue, crying spells, irritability, loss of sex drive, poor sleep and overeating.  If you experience these symptoms, it is likely you have S.A.D…or P.M.S. 

Seasonal Affective Disorder wasn’t always recognized as a disease.  It wasn’t until 1985 that it was diagnosed and then brought to light in January of that year when U.S.A. for Canada, a group of 80’s recording artists like Billy Joel, Cindy Lauper, Darrell Hall and John Oates, a total of six Jacksons, Dan Aykroyd for some reason and many more banded together, formed U.S.A. for Canada and recorded the song:  “We are So Cold.”  Perhaps you remember it: 

“We are so Cold, Where is the Sunshine?  When I drive home from work, it’s darker than a coal mine.”  And so on. 

All of the proceeds from sales of the single went to put an end to Canada’s national nightmare of Alberta Clippers.  But those Canucks kept producing their cold fronts and sending them south.  And, to make matters worse, while trying to help Canada, U.S.A. for Canada developed the first known case of Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Seeking someplace warm, they changed their name to U.S.A. for Africa and recorded “We are the World.”

So as you can see, Seasonal Affective Disorder is real and it’s tough to avoid.  Especially during the endless, dreamless, dry, gray death that is winter in Wisconsin.  It helps to scatter a bunch of holidays around during winter, but they’re long gone and we’ve still got a ways to go.  Sure we can look forward to Presidents’ Day which we traditionally celebrate by buying a new mattress set, but it’s still not enough to cure our S.A.D.

If you experience S.A.D. here are some tips:*

1.  Go Tanning.  There’s nothing like slathering on some tanning accelerator, standing in a microwave for twenty minutes and coming out smelling like a Hawaiian Luau.

2.  When it’s out, get all the sun you can.  If the sun is only out for 6-8 hours a day, make the most of it.  Get the sun to your brain quicker by staring at it through a pair of binoculars.

3.  Booze.

Thanks for reading.  I hope this helps and I hope, in some small way, I’ve made your day a little better.  See you in Spring, YOU RANCID WASTE OF SKIN!

Sorry.  I’m very sorry.

-Dylan

*By writing these tips, I in no way endorse them as they range from irresponsible and foolish to downright dangerous.  Thank you.

Hey, I want you to think about your best kiss.  The best kiss you ever gave; the best kiss you ever received.  Do you remember him or her?  Do you remember where you were?  Do you remember deciding that you were going to do it? 

I sure do.  The best kiss I ever gave was to my own forearm.  I was told that the forearm was very sensitive and if you kissed it, you could feel how someone else might feel your kiss.  Plus, my forearm has some very pronounced tendons that kind of look like lips, so it was win-win. 

Maybe you consider yourself a good kisser, but how much do you really know about it?

For instance, did you know that lips are like fingerprints, and that no two lip prints are alike?  Two thirds of couples tilt their head to the right when they kiss.  Are you looking to exercise those hard-to-reach facial muscles?  Well, you should know that a simple peck only works 2 muscles in the face, while a passionate kiss works all 34 facial muscles.  You can tell the truly passionate kissers by their bulging, sinewy faces. 

The average woman kisses 29 men before she gets married.  Now remember, that’s the average.  At one end you’ve got women like Tila Tequila whose mouth has had more visitors than the Smithsonian and whose saliva is a Cajun gumbo of disease.  At the other end, you’ve got your Amish women.  In the middle are the average women that kiss 29 men before they’re married.  To be fair, many of those kisses occur during the Bachelorette Party along with something called “Suck for a Buck,” which I assume raises money to combat Chronic Wasting Disease. 

But what about the guys?

Men who kiss their partners before they leave for work statistically have higher incomes than men who don’t.  So, fellas, the next time you’re planning on asking for that big raise, smear some lipstick across your face and muss your hair.  That’ll show your boss that you’re ready for that corner office.  Heck, why not cut out the middle man?  Have your wife come in and make out with your boss directly.

Plus, kissing releases the same endorphins and neurotransmitters in the brain as running, bungee jumping or skydiving.  So, as far as your brain is concerned, kissing causes exhaustion, fear and panic.  Throw in a little shame, and you’ve got puberty.

But maybe you don’t consider yourself a good kisser, and you’re reading this right now hoping for a little advice.  Don’t worry, friend, Mr. Nimble Lips is typing this very sentence with his mouth alone.  You’ve come to the right place.  All you have to do is follow these tips: 

1.  You have to be kissable.  Make sure your lips are clean and free of debris.  And make sure that your breath is fresh.  Chances are your going to be very nervous prior to the kiss and nervousness can lead to something called dry mouth.  Have something on hand like gum or a breath mint.

2.  Assess the situation.  Is the time right to move in?  Ask yourself these questions:  Is she relaxed?  Is she smiling?  Do you know her name?  Look for the signs that she would be receptive to a kiss like playing with her hair, subtle touching and consciousness.

3.  The timid seldom make history!  Seize her head in your hands and move in!  Open your mouth as wide as you can and flex your tongue so she can see it coming!  (Pound for pound the tongue is the strongest muscle in the human body, and chicks dig muscles.)  When your lips touch hers, suck in slightly to form a seal and then let your tongue explore!  Let it fly inside her mouth like an unmanned fire hose!  Get it in between her teeth; explore every nook and cranny!  From the outside, she should look like a pelican with a fresh fish flopping around in her pouched bill!  See how far back your tongue can go!  When you pull away, don’t worry if you see a thin thread of saliva hanging between you; in many cultures it’s considered a compliment…like belching after a meal! 

Congratulations, tenderfoot, you’ve just given your first kiss, and chances are, after you took her breath away, she ran outside to get some fresh air…and call the police. 

You’re welcome.

-Dylan

Readers, I need your assistance.  If you know a Mr. John Q. Sample or, better yet, if there is a Mr. John Q. Sample reading this, I should tell you that I seem to have received your credit card by mistake.  Maybe Mr. Sample lived at our house before my wife and I did, or maybe it was just a clerical error, I don’t know, but Mr. John Q. Sample I have your credit card.  So go ahead and contact me via the “My Office” page of this website, and we’ll make arrangements to get it to you. 

By the way, you know that somebody, somewhere in the United States must be named “John Q. Sample” and, God forbid it would ever happen, but if it did, how would he report a case of identity theft?

-Dylan

Folks, I’m a charitable guy.  Which is why when I received a charitable solicitation accompanied by some cute return address labels in the mail two months ago, I sent them a couple bucks.  Well, guess what?  That charity had some charity friends.  And it was nice enough to tell its charity friends about me.  Now, when I go out to the mailbox, I feel like I’ve wandered into a petting zoo covered in Grape Nuts.

If you are one of those charities that likes to include return address labels, and you’re reading this, allow me to say:  “Thank you.  Thank you for meeting, and surpassing my return address label needs.  Please do not send anymore.  Sure, I hate writing my name and address as much as the next guy, and I enjoy the status that only a well-printed return address label can offer a guy like me…especially with the folks in the mail room at WE Energies, but I just don’t need anymore return address labels.  I don’t know that I’ve ever needed this many.” 

I pray for the day that we cure all diseases and we won’t require money for research and I’m willing to help out until that time comes.  I’m just saying that the return address labels are no longer acting as an incentive.

Now, some of these charities have taken it one step further.  They claim that every nickel counts and, by way of proof, they send a nickel…attached to the paper with rubber cement.  If one such charity is reading this:  I know for some people who require visual and tactile affirmation of a particular concept, that nickel is a symbol of how easy it is to help, and those same people probably really appreciate that you took the time to rubber cement a nickel to the paper.  I, on the other hand, am just confused.  If nickels are so important, why are you sending them to me?  Keep them…please!  Besides, if I do send you a donation that is tax-deductible to the fullest extent of the law, I would prefer you not use it for nickels and rubber cement.

Thank you.

-Dylan

I don’t know if we have a say in the matter, but I’d like to appoint some new Hollywood royalty.  For years Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have reigned, but I feel the polish on the scepter is beginning to fade if it hasn’t already.

I never quite understood the fascination.  The Red Carpet sycophants from E! and TV Guide and so forth would have us think that love, happiness and glamour stream from Brad and Angelina like spider silk, but I think the perennially perky E! correspondents might be flogging a dead unicorn.

Watching the Red Carpet coverage from the SAG awards last night, it was clear that the response from the fans in attendance was more Pavlovian than actual joy; as if the high-pitched squealing was Heimliched out of them by a sense of obligation. 

I have no issue with Brad Pitt.  I’ve enjoyed most everything I’ve seen him in, and he seems like a genuine, caring fellow underneath his cloak of stardom, and he’s been very hands-on when it comes to rebuilding New Orleans (www.makeitrightnola.org).  I liked Benjamin Button better when it was Forrest Gump, and you’d be VERY hard pressed to do it better than Tom Hanks, but you can’t fault Brad Pitt for taking the gig.

I have a different feeling when it comes to Angelina Jolie.  She was very good in Girl, Interrupted, but I don’t understand all of this Changeling buzz.  Maybe it’s because I, like many men, tend to try to lay low and avoid the impending swath of destruction when we see a woman screaming and crying for two and a half hours.  It may well be a very good film, but I’ve retreated to the basement and am busy drilling holes into wood and sanding things until it blows over.

My point is that I’m not sure she’s earned her aloof and regal air.  Johnny Depp has an aloof and regal air too, but it seems to come from humility and kindness, whereas Angelina Jolie is poised to punish direct eye contact with a beat down from her security guards.  (By the way, listening to her speak, is she Australian now?)  But what do I know about it.

Nevertheless, I think it’s time to coronate a new celebrity couple.

In the category of New Celebrity Couple For Us To Fawn Over To Replace Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie (”Brangelina”), the nominees are:

Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick (”Kedgwick”), Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson (”Tita Wilhanks”), Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith (”Winket Smith”), Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi (”El de Grossi”) and Josh Brolin and Diane Lane (”J-Brain”).

And the winner is…

(To Be Continued)

-Dylan

I would like to start my own gym.  The trouble is that I still have a membership at Bally’s Total Fitness.  I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to cancel your membership with Bally’s, but, trust me, it’s very difficult.  To their credit, they have made it a little easier.  Nowadays, if you want to cancel you membership, all you have to do is go to your local Bally’s and blow your brains out all over the StairMaster.  After that, they’ll generally stop charging your bank account within six months. 

But there is another way.  During my last visit, while I was running on the indoor track, I noticed an Emergency Door.  On the door was a sign reading:  “Emergency use only!  Unauthorized use of this door may result in a loss of membership.”  Seriously?!  All this time I’ve been making phone calls and sitting on hold and sending proof of address when all I had to do was open the Emergency Door?!  Crazy!

But my gym would be very different from other gyms due in no small part to the very few, yet very specific rules.  First of all, NO WOMEN.  This rule is in NO WAY intended to be sexist.  I have a great deal of respect for women and the tight, psychological grip that they have on me.  Rather this rule is important because trying to impress women with their physical prowess is the leading cause of gym injuries among men.

The other rule is the Towel Rule.  A towel must be carried and UTILIZED at all times.  This rule used to be universal, but many gyms have gotten very lax with it.  Always wipe down the machine when you’re done with it.  No one wants to approach the curl machine only to splash down in your Grunt Gravy.

Also, in the locker room, you must always wear the towel around your waist.  Look, I’m not ashamed of my body; God knows Science has been studying it for years, but a little modesty would be nice.  After all, it’s a locker room, not Caligula’s Rome.

And by all means, when your sitting naked on the benches, PUT THE TOWEL DOWN FIRST.  It’s incredibly unnerving to see you sitting there with absolutely no barrier between your glutes and the bench.  And then to watch you get up with an audible POP only to see a dime-sized hickey on the pine.

And when you’re standing at the sink, WEAR THE TOWEL.  The height of the counter is designed to accommodate men of all statures.  Unfortunately, for far to many men, that means that the counter comes up to right about Groin Level.  For some strange reason, many of these men see that as an invitation to say:  You rest right there, little buddy, and watch Daddy shave.  And I guarantee, people will hesitate to extend their membership when you’ve got yours extended all over the counter.

-Dylan

I know that, on the heels of the last Blog, you may have the impression that this dream was somehow profound and poignant.  I’ll tell you right now that it wasn’t, but it was a dream nonetheless and I had to write it down.  It’s fragmented and weird like dreams are when recalled.

For some reason, I was late for a job.  I think it was a bartender job.  I was on foot and decided to take a shortcut that happened to be across a corner of a different country.  I didn’t have a passport and I hoped that that would be okay.

There was an office on the border that was similar to the weigh station on the east side of northbound I-94 as you enter Wisconsin from Illinois.  I entered the office and who should be the consulate/border guard but Scott Baio!  I told him that I was just passing through and I didn’t have my passport.  He seemed confused about how to handle it and, as a result, two other office workers, a man and a woman, began to laugh at him.  He began to laugh himself and then pulled out a silver automatic handgun.  He stood up, knocking his chair over and pumped three rounds a piece into his co-workers.  I screamed and ran.  I heard shots coming from behind me and, ahead of me, wood splintered off of the door jambs.

I ran and ran and ran.  I didn’t look back, but occassionally I’d hear a shot.  I eventually arrived at the bar, ran inside and yelled:  “Scott Baio is trying to kill me!”  I ducked behind the bar and waited.  Then I began filling the cooler. 

Analysis, anyone?

-Dylan

“We fear things in proportion to our ignorance of them.”  –Titus Livius

“Anger is nothing more than an outward expression of hurt, fear and frustration.”  –Dr. Phil

Today, on Martin Luther King Jr. Day and one day before the inauguration of our first African-American president, it’s difficult to not at least assess the state of race relations in this country and in this day and age.  I say “difficult” because, for many it would seem, acknowledging race runs the risk of disturbing the tenuous equilibrium that has been established between the oppressors and the oppressed, humanity and inhumanity, the righteous and the wronged. 

To many within the younger generations, unwitting beneficiaries of the Civil Rights Movement that they are, the topic may seem irrelevant.  Slavery, Segregation, Rosa Parks, Dr. Marin Luther King Jr., the Montgomery Bus Boycott and countless other personalities, actions and moments are just parts of a segment of time called “The Past” along with the Moon Landing, the Louisiana Purchase and the Treaty of Ghent.  Sure Barack Obama will be next president; he’s a thoughtful, articulate, seemingly empathetic figure.  He happens to be bi-racial and one of those races happens to be African American; what’s the big deal?  I know that there are young people with just that opinion.  I know because I’ve met them and talked to them.

It would seem that their lungs have developed an immunity to the air bearing the lingering poison of tear gas and the smoke from burning crosses.

Still others exhibit the stooped shoulders of hand-me-down racism.  They don’t know why they wear the vestments of bigotry, resentment and indignation, but they, like most humans, tend to accept the reality with which they are presented.  One’s World View is refracted through the glasses one is given, and philosophy will cling to any framework, however twisted.

Personally, I was raised in a small Indiana town.  Actively or passively, we were suspicious of anyone with more than a farmer’s tan.  I moved to Milwaukee, and saw an African-American for the first time when I was 12 years old; many were my new classmates.  I observed that the people who wanted to separate themselves did, and the people that wanted to blend did as well.  For the people who wanted to somehow distinguish themselves, race was just one of the many lines that they had at their disposal.  Intelligence, physical ability, gender, family wealth and wardrobe were others.  Of course, as children, we didn’t know from sexual orientation, but clearly it’s relevant today.  And if finer lines were necessary, each of the above traits had sub-traits that could be exploited.

I wonder if there will ever be a day when skin color is perceived as strictly genetic and physiological; when it’s only the result of more or less melanin in the epidermis, and therefore no more an indication of a person’s character than the melanin in (color of) his/her hair.  What if parents explained it to their kids just like that:

“Mommy?”

“Yes, honey.”

“Why is that man’s skin so dark?”

“Well, honey, it’s because he has more melanin which is produced by something called melanocytes which are found in the stratum basale of the epidermis.  The gene expression of certain people results in a greater or lesser concentration of melanin.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay.”

Personally, I look forward to that day.

-Dylan

“Three sheets to the wind” is a phrase that is commonly used to describe drunkenness.  Like most phrases and idioms of today, it has a nautical origin.  Sailors have their own language.  It’s as if, when they were babies, their parents carried them around, pointed at things and said words that had nothing at all to do with the things that they were pointing at.

If I told you that a boat contained several “sheets,” you would probably assume that I was referring to the sails.  After all, if you looked around your house for something with which to make a sail, you’d likely use a bed sheet.  That makes perfect sense…and would immediately identify you to any Old Salt as a “Landlubber.”  In nautical terms, the sheets are the ropes or chains that afix the sails to the deck.  Also, it’s important to know that the original version of “three sheets to the wind” was “three sheets in the wind.”

If one sheet (rope) came unfastened, the sail would flutter.  If two sheets came unfastened it was worse, and “three sheets in the wind” would make the ship bob and roll like a drunken sailor, which is how the phrase came to be.

And speaking of:  The other night, in a fit of alcoholic inspiration/desperation, I concocted the worst drink ever to sully the gullet of a man on this planet:  Windsor Canadian Whiskey and Pink Lemonade.  I call it the ”Frilly Canuck.”  I will say, however, that, as far as drinks go, it’s a very consistant beverage…by which I mean it tastes exactly the same going down as it does coming up.

-Dylan

I’ve always wondered about the effect of what meteorologists call wind chill on objects like cars.  The effect of wind chill on living things is undeniable.  Who hasn’t gone outside on a frigid day only to hear the solid thud of birds, frozen on the wing, hitting the ground like low-caliber cannonballs.  But what about our automobiles?

As you drive, the movement of the car through air is the same as wind, right?  So if you were traveling at 60mph through a temperature of 10 degrees, according to the handy, dandy wind chill calculator provided by the N.O.A.A. (the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration), that’s a wind chill of -18 degrees, or, in meteorological terms:  “Sucky.”  (By the way, I love the idea that someone somewhere is “administering” our national oceans and atmosphere.)  This being the case, you’d think that cars would quickly grind to an icy halt, stranding their occupants until Spring.

So, does wind chill affect machines?  Yes and no.  Machines will cool off quicker in the wind, but they will not cool off more than the temperature of the air.  A 10-degree engine block will still be 10 degrees even with a 60mph wind, but its operating temperature will not rise as much and will return to 10 degrees much faster in a 60mph wind than in no wind at all.  Now, if you stuck your hand out the window, you would be an idiot.

In conclusion, if your car is sitting out in 10-degree air with a 60mph wind, as far as your car is concerned, it’s 10 degrees.  But as far as we organic, living things are concerned, wind chill blows.

-Dylan