Dylan Bolin

In a previous post, I addressed the issue of the proposed ban of the “R-Word.”  Since banning words is back on the table, I would like to nominate a phrase to put on the chopping block:  “…a dog in this fight.”

If you’ve never heard the phrase before, it is almost always said with a southern drawl, and it essentially means:  “Do you have an opinion?” as in:  “Little Bobby, for dinner your sister wants to go giggin’ for crawdads, but your mother wants to get dressed up and go to the buffet in the strip mall.  You got a dog in this fight?”

I hate this phrase the way that parents with special needs children hate the “R-Word.”

It is, of course, a reference to the despicable practice of dog fighting.  I am the owner of a rescue pit bull that, we think, was bred to fight, didn’t take to it, and was therefore thrown away and treated horribly.  Thankfully, she belonged to someone better than Michael Vick, and survived long enough to be rescued instead of, say, drowned, electrocuted or thrown to the ground until she was dead.  Yes, Michael Vick did all of these things.

Now maybe you’re one of those people (perhaps a football fan) who think:  “C’mon, Dylan, lighten up.  Michael Vick served his time.  Everybody deserves a second chance.”

No, not everybody does.  Sadists don’t.  Michael Vick’s was not a case of youthful indiscretion, temporary recklessness or a momentary lapse in judgment.  It was premeditated and cruel.  One of the female dogs that authorities found had had all of her teeth pulled out by pliers so she couldn’t bite her “handlers” or other dogs as she was strapped to the “rape stand.”  Whoopsie!

“But Dylan, it’s just a cultural thing.”

Then your culture is stupid.  But don’t worry, it’s not just your culture; most cultures have quite a bit of stupid in them.  That’s because the people that practiced the culture did so a long time ago when people were actually stupider than they are today.  Once upon a time, my culture burned outspoken women as witches, but you’ll never hear me defending it.

“But Dylan, they were just dogs.”

This might be what bothers me the most.  This is the absolute pinnacle of human arrogance:  The fact that anything not human is “less than.”  If you are allowed to think that, then I am allowed to consider you “less than.”  Inhumane is inhuman.  Michael Vick and people like him are dragging down the spiritual evolution of our species. 

“But Dylan, Michael Vick apologized.”

Yeah, because he got caught.  One day he, like all of us, will return to the Universal Consciousness from which we sprung; the place to which he also painfully and fearfully sent several of God’s creatures for no other reason than his entertainment.  His money, fame and smirking conceit will be useless, as will his apologies. 

As long as there are Michael Vicks, there will be the need for the enlightened and good-hearted to clean up their messes.  Please visit the website of the Brew City Bully Club, or a similar program in your area.

-Dylan

I have a confession to make, and after 40 years of drawing breath on this planet, I think I’m ready to come clean.  I am a liberal.  There, I said it.  I’m prepared to face the repercussions. 

I decided that I am a liberal when I looked up the definition of the word and found this:

Liberal (adj):
1. favorable to progress or reform, as in political or religious affairs.
2. (often initial capital letter) noting or pertaining to a political party advocating measures of progressive political reform.
3. of, pertaining to, based on, or advocating liberalism.
4. favorable to or in accord with concepts of maximum individual freedom possible, esp. as guaranteed by law and secured by governmental protection of civil liberties.
5. favoring or permitting freedom of action, esp. with respect to matters of personal belief or expression: a liberal policy toward dissident artists and writers. 
6. of or pertaining to representational forms of government rather than aristocracies and monarchies.
7. free from prejudice or bigotry; tolerant: a liberal attitude toward foreigners. 
8. open-minded or tolerant, esp. free of or not bound by traditional or conventional ideas, values, etc.
9. characterized by generosity and willingness to give in large amounts: a liberal donor. 
10. given freely or abundantly; generous: a liberal donation. 
11. not strict or rigorous; free; not literal: a liberal interpretation of a rule. 
12. of, pertaining to, or based on the liberal arts.
13. of, pertaining to, or befitting a freeman.

This is the established, traditional definition of “liberal” so you might even call it a conservative definition.  Or so I thought.  Turns out the Conservative definition of “Liberal” is as follows:

Liberal (Noun) (profanity):
1. valueless individual, Hell-bent on the destruction of our Republic.
2. of or pertaining to hating Freedom.
3. God-hating Hippie bastard.
4. hates Government or loves Government; whichever is the opposite of what is right.
5. treasonous, flag-burning, arugula-eating, know-it-all so-and-so.
6. lover of taxes, Europe and N.P.R.
7. can’t have enough abortions; would hand out two-for-one coupons if possible.
8. unpatriotic, non-supporter of troops.
9. trust-busting, monopoly-fearing and Free Market-destroying; anti-business.
10. tree hugging espouser of Climate Change; anti-business.
11. wants to kill old people with socialized health care; anti-business.
12. hates marriage; refuses to acknowledge the “Gay Agenda.”
13. believes in the need for Public Schools despite the copious number of poor people contained therein.

Synonyms:  “Leftist,” “Lefty,” “Lib,” “Socialist,” “Marxist,” “Bolshevik,” “‘Bout to Get His Ass Kicked by Toby Keith.”

I guess if you control the language, you control the debate.  I’m going with the first definition.  And let the healing begin.

-Dylan

*This is dedicated to the hygienist and Dr. Taito, DDS who were worried that I might use this experience in one of my “bits.”  I am.

First, some exposition:  For over a month I’ve had a wicked pain on the left side of my head.  Various doctors have prescribed antibiotics and pain killers to temporary results, but the pain always returned.  Then I thought the source of the pain might be an un-erupted wisdom tooth that, by laying low, avoided the fate of the other three which, after they were pulled, I turned into buttons for a rather Gothic cardigan. 

That suspicion took me to my wife’s dentist.  In a matter of moments he diagnosed the pain that had plagued me for weeks.  “Well, I don’t think it’s the wisdom tooth,” he said, “I think the problem is that you have an enormous cavity in that tooth right there.”  He pointed to the X-ray and a convex area of black among my mouth’s ghostly white, picket fence.  It was tooth #19; the “Robin Yount Tooth.”  He knelt down beside the chair.  “I think this is going to require a root canal.” 

My first cavity ever, and it required a root canal.

Now if you’re anything like me, just the term “root canal” is enough to make you break into a cold sweat.  I know it does me, despite the fact that I’ve never had one.  I considered asking if for another option like perhaps two .38 slugs to the back of the head, but the doctor assured me that he knew a great Endodontist (root canal specialist).

Two days later and one day before the most celebrated mouth holiday there is, I was to receive a root canal.

Here’s what it would look like if my mouth was a cartoon:

Anyway, on the day of the big procedure, I shaved my body smooth, and anointed it with goat’s milk and Lavender.  Then, I kissed my wife goodbye and drove to Dr. Taito’s office singing I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing by Aerosmith.

When I arrived at the office, I checked in at reception.  I gave them my name and the staff became very furtive, like they were trying to get a look at me without looking like they were looking.  I felt a bit like Harry Potter when he first arrived at Hogwarts. 

Later, talking to the hygienist, I learned that some of the staff knew my name from WKLH and wondered if I was the same guy.  This is actually pretty common when people put a face to a radio voice.  (The strangest comment I ever received was:  “I thought you would be blond.”  How do you sound blond?)

When Dr. Taito came in, he informed me that he had done a Google search on me, and he seemed impressed by my prolific on-line presence.  Now, you’d think this would be a good thing, being recognized and all, but I immediately thought:  “Crap.  Now I can’t be a wuss.”

I mean, who wants to later be a character in the doctor’s story:

“So get this.  You know that Dylan guy from WKLH?”

“Yeah?”

“Total wimp.  Cried like a kitten.  We ran out of Novocaine; had to borrow more from another office.”

So every time they asked me if I was okay, I tried to wink like John Wayne…despite the fact that it would cause a single tear to roll into my ear.

Anyway, turns out that Dr. Taito and Advanced Dental Specialists are pretty incredible.  His chair-side manner was a lot like I imagine Oprah’s Dr. Oz.

So I’m finally on the mend.  For the first time in weeks, and on Thanksgiving Eve, I couldn’t be more thankful that I’m now pain-free.  Of course that could be because of the meds.  But I prefer to think that it’s because I’m spooning a unicorn in a chocolate hammock.

Did you know unicorns could purr?  Me neither.

-Dylan

As mentioned in an earlier post, I’m something of a word nerd, which is why I was a little confused when I came across a colonial recipe for Thanksgiving turkey in a coffee table book.  It said:

“Behead the foul ‘ere you pluck a feather…”

Now, I had heard the term “behead” before, but, for some reason, reading it, it struck me as strange.  I couldn’t put my finger on why for the longest time, and then I saw a commercial for the BeDazzler, the item that will make a plain old denim jacket look like a fishing lure for just $19.95.

Surely the prefix “be-” couldn’t be correct for both, could it?  It’s commonly accepted that to behead something means to remove its head, yet in the case of the BeDazzler it means to add…dazzle.  So I looked it up and, sure enough, the prefix “be-” means: 

“1.  Completely; thoroughly; excessively.  Used as an intensive:  Bemuse”

By this definition, to behead a turkey would mean a) to make sure the turkey has plenty of heads, or b) to kill it via several sharp head butts, which, let’s face it, would be a hilarious way to kill a turkey.

But if “behead” does mean “to remove the head,” what happens to someone who is “beloved?”  Do you remove their love?  Are all those Valentine’s Day cards really meant as aggressive threats?

So I say we “dehead” our turkeys, and by all means DeDazzle your denim jacket; for God’s sake, you look like a Lumberjack Disco Ball.

-Dylan

They’re heeeeere!

Folks, I don’t want to cause a panic, despite how good it is for readership, but the invasive Asian Carp is making its way north and threatens to destroy the delicate Great Lakes ecosystem.  As you know, destroying ecosystems is our job, and this latest invasion is another example of irresponsible outsourcing to Asia.

You, like me, have probably heard of the Asian Carp but didn’t know much about it.  When we say “Asian Carp,” we’re referring to a couple species in particular:  The Silver Carp and the Bighead Carp.  What makes these fish so dangerous?  They are voracious eaters, occasionally reaching upwards of 100lbs.  They are also insatiable breeders.  The concern is that they will force out the Great Lakes’ native fish.  But with the Silver Carp, there is another worry:  When agitated by boat motors, they tend to leap out of the water like cannon balls, bludgeoning boaters and other maritime enthusiasts like Carp-A-Kazis.

In order to prevent the wiley carp from entering the Great Lakes, the Army Corps of Engineers built a $9 Million electric fish barrier on the Chicago Sanitary and Ship Canal.  Well, it seems that the barrier has been breached.  How?  Based on some exhaustive research on my part, I’ve determined that the carp have been engaging in some “engineering” of their own; specifically “human engineering.”

I should warn you:  What follows may not be suitable for young readers! 

A Bighead Carp seducing an Army Corps Engineer (Photo courtesy of fishingfury.com)

That’s right, folks, despite our love for our Great Lakes, it can’t compete with our love for the perfect figure:  12-65-12.  Later, as the guard slumbered, the fish, along with several of its school, crept past the barrier and continued on to Lake Michigan.

God help us all.

-Dylan

A lot has been made lately of the 20th Anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. 

But never let us forget the fateful day that oppression planted the seeds of future freedom.  Let us also celebrate August 13th, 1961.  That is the day the border was closed…and just 12 days after, Six Flags opened in Texas.

And what a wall!  From a humble wire fence at the beginning, to the Stützwandelement in 1975.  A masterpiece of wall technology, the Stützwandelement was constructed from 45,000 separate sections of reinforced concrete, each 12 ft high and 4 ft wide, and cost $3,638,000 U.S.  The top of the wall was lined with a smoothpipe, intended to make it more difficult to scale.  It was reinforced by mesh fencing, signal fencing, anti-vehicle trenches, barbed wire, dogs on long lines, beds of nails under balconies (the “death strip”), over 116 watchtowers and 20 bunkers.

Now that’s a f@#%ing wall!

So while we celebrate the day that Ronald Reagan ordered and David Hasselhoff delivered, let us never forget the day that made it all possible, August 13th, 1961, Oppression Day.

Raise a glass to oppression that we may later be free!

-Dylan

It’s Bay View, nighttime Trick or Treating time again.  When I was a resident of Bay View, I was happy to participate, and gave myself over 100% to the event, even going so far as to dress up myself.  There was a real sense of community about it.  Unfortunately, I no longer live in Bay View.

The thing is, I haven’t moved.  Believe me, if I had moved, I’d have mentioned it here.  In fact, I didn’t know that I no longer lived in Bay View until one day, when I was out walking my dog, I came across this spray-painted on the sidewalk:

I live on the upside-down side.

Trust me, this took some getting used to.  From then on, when people asked me where I lived I said:  “I live in Bay…(sigh) I just live in Milwaukee.”

But here’s the thing:  Come Trick or Treat time, Bay View graciously extends their border to include the home where my wife and I live.  Never mind that I now have to participate in both Milwaukee’s daytime Trick or Treating AND Bay View’s nighttime Trick or Treating.  Such is the bane of being a Bay View Ex-patriot.

I have a question however:  Who decided this?  I mean, Bay View is not an actual city like Wauwatosa, Shorewood, Whitefish Bay, St. Francis or Cudahy; it’s a community, a made up construct like, say, Riverwest.  When you call the Fire Department in “Bay View,” it’s a Milwaukee truck that shows up. 

And the criterion of “Bay View” is certainly not a “view” of the ”bay;” that would be a narrow strip of the city roughly two blocks deep.

But it’s apparently official enough to spray paint it on the sidewalk.  Believe you me, I’d get arrested if I spray-painted this on the sidewalk:

And it would be a Milwaukee cop doing the arresting.

I guess nothing says “Bay View” like spray-painting the sidewalk to let others know that they aren’t.

Stay classy, Bay View.

-Dylan

As promised, here’s the short list:

First, there are Circus Peanuts.  Thankfully, Circus Peanuts are hard to find.  If you’re not familiar, they are basically marshmallows molded into the shape of a large peanut.  Most people never experience the horrible taste because the color is enough to keep it from being consumed.  Much like many insects have bright coloring to warn predators that they are poisonous, the unhealthy, fleshy color of the circus peanut provides a similar defense.  They look like the benign polyp of a Florida retiree that rubbed off and fell into a puddle of spray-on tan.

Second, we have the Good and Plenty.  For kids anyway, the reason that there are Plenty is because they aren’t very Good.  Sure we adults might appreciate the many subtle flavors that comprise black licorice or, as the Italians call it, Anisette, but to kids, it tastes like tree bark coated in WD-40. 

In a similar vein is Number Three, the Mounds bar, not to be confused with Almond Joy.  Almond Joy’s got nuts, Mounds don’t.  As kids, we laughed ourselves silly at the fact that Almond Joy was clearly the boy candy and Mounds was the girl candy, and I know I run the risk of sounding sexist, but the Mounds bar is a far inferior candy…although I do think it deserves equal pay for equal work.  The problem with the Mounds bar is the shredded coconut.  Watch a child eat a Mounds bar for the first time and you’ll see what I mean.  They dive in with the appropriate youthful gusto, but then they experience the texture of the shredded coconut.  At first, they’re confused, but then the confusion gives way to disgust, and, finally, that look of utter devastation.  As if, twenty years from now, they’ll be discussing the Mounds bar incident with their therapist.  Even as an adult, I have trouble with coconut.  The only time I truly don’t mind it is when it’s mixed in with batter, wrapped around a shrimp and deep fried, but it’s not recommended that you pass out coconut shrimp for Halloween.

Fourth is candy corn.  At first, I didn’t understand this.  Personally, I like candy corn, but the more I thought about it, I discovered that I liked candy corn more as a decoration than a confection.  It’s like that dark green leaf that occasionally appears on your plate at a restaurant.  Not lettuce, but that other thing.  Sometimes it’s got some red in it.  It’s never included in the description of the thing you’re ordering, so you probably shouldn’t eat it.  For instance, the menu description never says:  “Baked, honey-glazed chicken, a twice baked potato, green beans almandine…and a dark green leaf of some sort.”  Anyway, that’s like candy corn.

The fifth and final candy on my incomplete list of horrible Halloween candies are the heinous things in the black and orange wrappers:   The Peanut Butter Kiss.  Not since Judas Iscariot has a “kiss” been associated with so much betrayal. The only redeeming quality of the Peanut Butter Kiss is that if your child accidentally eats one, you can give him a second Peanut Butter Kiss to induce vomiting.  If you’re considering handing out Peanut Butter Kisses for Halloween, save yourself the money and just clean up after your dog with black and orange baggies and hand those out.  At least it’s more sincere.

Happy Halloween!

-Dylan

A word of advice to prospective Trick or Treaters:  You must at least try to dress up.  Bed head and eye boogers are not a costume, and the pillow case you’re carrying doesn’t help either. 

And if you’ve already hit puberty, maybe you should consider retiring from Trick or Treating and start a family of your own…or at least make an attempt to cover your moustache. 

To the kids out there, if you want to score the best candy, go early.  In an attempt to impress, we grown-ups will always give out the top shelf stuff first.  However, if you want to score the most candy, go late.  The last thing we grown-ups want is a bunch of left-over candy that we are forced to eat, so by the end of the Trick or Treating, we’ll be stuffing handfuls into your bags. 

And here is a request and some advice for the adults out there:

First, candy makers have to stop labeling their Halloween candy as “Snack-size.”  Of course, it’s a snack.  Are they somehow implying that their full-sized candy is a meal?  And the same holds true for the label “Fun-size.”  This is silly.  Smaller equals fun?  It’s like saying that dimes are more fun than dollars.  But regardless of how the candy is labeled, it’s important to choose the right kind of candy lest you be labeled “That House.” 

C’mon back tomorrow for a short list of the absolute worst, gag-worthy candy you can drop in a little beggar’s bag.

-Dylan

It’s here again; my favorite time of the year.  I am of course talking about Halloween.  This wonderful time of year when you walk around the neighborhood, leaves crunching under your feet, and stop at a particular that has been painstakingly decorated in honor of our favorite Druid holiday.  Most people don’t know that that’s what they’re celebrating, but Halloween has it’s origins in the Celtic New Year as far back as two thousand years; that’s like thirty-five hundred years metric. 

Back then, they used to celebrate with bonfires and animal sacrifices, but today Halloween is a $6.9 Billion Dollar industry.  And if you’re anything like me, when you heard that figure you thought:  “$6.9 Billion?  That’s Chump Change.  Heck, $6.9 Billion won’t even buy a Golden Parachute.”  And then you pulled the covers back over your head. 

But this year my wife and I decided to do our part and contribute, so she sent me out to buy some Halloween decorations.  Now, even though we’ve only been married about two and a half years, normally my wife and I communicate very well.  One notable exception is the phrase:  “Please clean the bathroom.”  With this phrase, it’s like one of us is speaking another language, like Druid. 

For me, cleaning the bathroom is just an ongoing process of attempting to improve my aim.  For her, it involves no end of scrubbing.  Get this, she actually scrubs THE SHOWER.  All that we ever do in the shower is get clean.  Hot water, soap, shampoo.  Doesn’t that automatically make it the cleanest place in the house?  Did she actually expect me to know that I was supposed to go in and clean the one place where all this cleaning already occurs?  Your honor, Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case! 

Well, apparently the second phrase with which we don’t communicate very well is:  “Why don’t you go get some Halloween Decorations?”  Of course I didn’t know this when I went to get Halloween decorations, and she went to off to a baby shower.  Sure, I suppose I’ll have to scrub that shower, too. 

I’m sure when my wife said:  “Decorations,” she expected to see hay bales and cornstalks, a wreath of colorful leaves and a miniature pony perpetually pulling a tiny wagon around the yard full of gourds and rosy-cheeked children.  Imagine her surprise, then, when she returned home and I proudly showed her what I had bought:  A plastic pumpkin and a rubber bat. 

By the way, when I showed her, the wind had blown the plastic pumpkin into the yard and up against the fence like it was trying to escape.  But the bat came with this little metal ring so I could hang it up right where that wooden wind chime thingy had been.  My wife’s shoulders slumped and she went back inside while I went to collect the run-away pumpkin.  I’ll know better next time.

But what I lack in decorating, I think I make up for in my costume.  I’m one of those guys who puts on a costume and takes a very active role in the Trick or Treating transaction.  Without giving it away, it’s not a particularly scary costume, but it’s definitely not something that a child would expect to see as he bolts around the corner, and I’m about seven feet tall.  So while I’m not terrifying, I certainly do freak out a kid or two.  And I’m not ashamed to admit, I kind of dig it.  I think we all do.  That’s why we decorate our yards with headstones and skeletons and motion-activated monsters.  It’s why we put huge ghouls on pulleys, hang them from trees and drop them when the moment is right.  We love to hear the screams of frightened children; their fear sustains us.  Of course we buy the right to do this with candy.  And in the process, we teach them a valuable lesson:  Once you get past the terror, life can be pretty sweet.

Stop by tomorrow for some advice for prospective Trick or Treaters and the makers of the candy that they love so much. 

-Dylan