Good Job!

In my recent musings to myself, I mused intensely about jobs and their relative pay.  “Surely,” I mused, “there must be some empirical indicators of job pay relating to another variable.”  What were these standards, and why were they consuming my every waking moment until my family held an intervention?

My current research (that is to say, that which I am making up off the top of my head) shows an undeniable relation between salary and another factor.  You must, of course, control for lesser variables, such as:

–Education
–Religious Background
–Hard Work
–Wind
–The GDP of Bangladesh
–Miley Cyrus
–Convection
–The sound of a tree falling in the forest when no one is there to hear it

All those considered, it leaves us with the only indicator that, without fail, holds an inverse relationship with a job’s salary: How tan you will get doing the job.  Think about it.  Let it soak in.  I’ll wait.

<Intermission>

For those of you who are mathematically inclined (read: men), we can sum up this relationship using a simple formula:

Σ - π ≠ (√½∞) ≤ Δ ÷ 0

Those of you who caught my little math joke noticed right away I didn’t take into account the coefficient of drag (how efficiently 2 men can wear women’s clothing).  Simplified even further, and a bit dumbed-down if you ask me, the formula means:

The more you get paid to do a job, the less tan you will get doing it.

–Another way of saying that is–

The more tan you get at your job, the less you get paid to do it.

For the simplest evidence, just look at the picture below.

The opposite rings true for lifeguards, who see plenty of the sun, but not much else in their paychecks.  They use their tan, even-toned bodies to regularly rummage through dumpsters looking for apple cores to suck on for sustenance.

I work in an office-type environment, surrounded by fluorescent lighting.  I can literally see sunlight, but none of the sun’s nourishing rays ever reach my pasty skin.  If I were any more pale, I’d be clear.  God help you if you could see through my skin and view what lurks inside.  I have the hardest-working colon is showbiz, folks.

I think my dream job would be the guy who stands next to the road construction and holds the sign that says, “SLOW”.  Oh, the power you wield doing that job!  People have to do what you say AND you don’t have to work as hard as anyone else.  Win-win, baby!

The only job more enjoyable than that would be the guy who has the two-sided sign that has “SLOW” on one side, and “STOP” on the other.  It’s a matter of national security that I never get to hold that sign.  I would be on the highway turning traffic into my own grown-up game of “Red Light, Green Light”.

Probably the most shining example of being simultaneously sickeningly tan and outlandishly underpaid is the girl behind the counter at the tanning salon.  She only gets paid $3.00 an hour, but she gets to tan as much as she wants.  If a tan could be cashed out, she’d be a gazillionaire.  Instead, she’ll look like a snakeskin suitcase by age 20.

I rest my case.  Either that, or I ran out of things to say.  It doesn’t really matter which.

Kyle Baxter Didn’t Start the Fire

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, read the previous 3 posts.  I haven’t the time to explain.  Kudos to Nick Riportella for kick-starting this idea that brings back memories of “We Didn’t Start the Fire”.  I have had an evening that lends itself nicely to releasing an assortment of random ideas.  I hope you enjoy this as much as I do.

The Everything Song

This is a song for all the random things
Faulty fake IDs that land you in jail
This is the anthem for all the starving children
Buy this CD and add some salt and pepper

I’m not calling for a youth movement
But more reruns of Home Improvement
Tim Taylor was truly the man of the hour
To see a dishwasher and say, “More power!”

Calling all formerly famous sitcom actors
David Schwimmer, Jason Alexander
Dave Coulier, never afraid of a Full House of danger
And that guy who played Balki on Perfect Strangers

Wash the bedsheets and tear open the curtains
Let the sunshine of the moonlight wash over your bald spot
Comb over the strands of piano wire, make music to my ears
You’ll be lost in the ballroom, that’s for certain

I’m not saying we should all get along, good grief
I’m with the old lady asking, “Where’s the beef?”
Until Ronald McDonald put a hit out on her
She was turning the fast-food world upside-down

Calling the used-to-be-somebody corporate spokespeople
Pillsbury Doughboy’s half-baked, Joe Camel’s been deserted
The Gerber Baby is already out of diapers
And the Maytag Man has hung himself out to dry

The terrible twos have come calling
And they want their tantrums back
Let’s make it to three before midnight
And the scene fades now to black

Rosemary, Ted, Louis: all terrible names for pets
Skippy, Howie, Benson: as good as it can get
We specialize in tragic comedy, laugh until you cry
Giggles run down your face without you knowing why

Calling again for the unwashed masses
I think I’ll start looking in France
Greasy old men in horn-rim glasses
Who truly believe they can dance

Where, oh where, can we find Dave Coulier now?

I make no apologies.  This is what it is.  Maybe it’ll be the surprise smash-hit of the summer.

Ballad of the Geriatric Customer

By request, I wrote a song about my experiences with the elderly at the grocery store.  As we all know, the more experienced generation really can be a valuable part of society and are able to care for themselves, but when they get to the grocery store, all that goes out the window.  I personally believe this song will speak directly to your heart, because even if you’ve never worked at a grocery store, you have at some point in your life gotten stuck in line behind one of the people about which I am writing this song.

This song is part of the Kyle Baxter Project promotion, “Kyle Baxter Will Write A Song About Anything”.  I like this promotion very much because it gives you, the reader, a chance to see your suggestions come to life.  Most of all, I like this because I can punch out one of these posts in about 30 minutes.  It’s a time-saver, and it enables me to give you something to read more often.  That’s a good thing, right?  Again, anyone who can turn this into a song on YouTube, complete with music, wins a fantastic prize: my respect.  “Fantastic” is in the eye of the beholder, obviously.  Thanks to Josh Webb for suggesting this song idea.

Ballad of the Geriatric Customer

You totter in with the enthusiasm of a funeral procession
A pocket full of change and butterscotch discs in your possession
Geritol and Dulcolax are both on the list
And to hassle the cashier about the sale you just missed

Brown polyester pants and a button-up shirt to match
Velcro shoes with argyle socks, you’re quite a catch
You’ve got a cane and fedora, but no tuxedo
Prune juice in hand, you’re coming into my line, oh no

And you said . . .

Four dollars, ninety-nine cents
Hold on, I think I have that in change
Don’t care about the people in line behind
Can’t even see them, cataracts have left me blind

A  danger in the aisles in your motorized cart
Parked in the middle, no one can get around
Reading a label on a box of Cheerios
“I don’t think I like this sugary cereal”

And you said . . .

Put it in paper inside of plastic
Then inside of paper, I know that will take forever
Don’t care about the people in line behind
Can’t even see them, cataracts have left me blind

The street is no longer safe for women and children
They just want to cross the parking lot in peace
God help us, we’re trying not to get run over
Your dangerous driving has us all running for cover

And you said . . .

I’m eighty-three years old, getting older by the day
I’ve lived long enough I deserve the right of way
Don’t care about the people in front
Don’t notice the children until I hear the *thump*

Please don’t come out for groceries, we’ll deliver
If you visit our business, who will deliver us from you?

And you said . . .

Thanks, everybody!  If you have a great suggestion for a song idea you’d love to see me write, leave me a comment!  Wouldn’t it be great to see your idea posted on a blog seen by the entire world (20 people by my count)?  Otherwise, feel free to leave a comment stroking my ego and telling me how great a writer I am.

Kyle Baxter Wrote Some Songs About Anything

I’ve decided to bring you a series of short posts of songs I have written.  By popular demand, I am now writing some songs about anything.  I wish I had the musical prowess to make a video (and it may be yet to come), but for now, I must settle for being a passable lyricist.  Enjoy the following rhymes.  Feel free to write the music in your head.  Eleventy billion cool points to whoever makes a video (with music) out of my lyrics.  First up, “Billy Bigfoot Goes to the Moon”.  My sincere thanks to David Belich for suggesting this theme.  It’s wacky and a GREAT way to start off this promotion.

Billy Bigfoot Goes to the Moon

Winter feelings bloom to summer love
Billy Bigfoot is on Cloud Nine now
Sally Sasquatch sent from up above
He’s got to tell her somehow

Billy Bigfoot, please come home
Billy Bigfoot, from the moon
We miss you, love you, need you here
She can’t make you shed another tear

Courage, don’t you fail Billy this time
Heart beating, this love is truly sublime
Handful of flowers wilting today
As you pointed, laughed, and turned away

Billy wants to fly to the moon
But he don’t need no rocket to fly . . .

Billy Bigfoot, please come home
Billy Bigfoot, from the moon
We miss you, love you, need you here
She can’t make you shed another tear

Three, two, one, blast-off
I’m sorry, Earth, I can’t stay
Love makes us do crazy things
Especially when you’re covered with hair

Billy Bigfoot, please come home
Billy Bigfoot, from the moon
We miss you, love you, need you here
She can’t make you shed another tear

Please take a moment to wipe the single tear from your eye.  I get a little wistful, too, when pondering the circumstances of a “Harry and the Hendersons” kind of love.  I do believe we just had “a moment”.  You’re welcome.

Check back often for new songs based on the ideas you send in!  Keep them coming!

Kyle Baxter Will Write A Song About Anything

My reading public, you have a great chance to be a part of the action on the Kyle Baxter Project!  I am opening up this forum to ideas from you, the great unwashed masses, about songs I should write.  I will accept nearly any topic.  The more specific, the better, but general works, too, if it’s a universal theme.  Please try to keep it family-friendly.  If anyone will cross the lines of good taste, it’ll be me, buddy.

I still haven’t decided whether or not to just write lyrics (for you to set your own music to), or if I should make it a whole video production, complete with my melodious voice and backing percussion (spoons).  Should I make full-fledged videos of my songs?  I’d like your opinion, please.  I realize I’m taking a leap here by opening up this part of the Kyle Baxter Project to you.  Fortunately, I trust you, I trust the comment system, and most of all, I trust the delete button works if you send me a stupid idea.

If I receive a deluge of song ideas, I may have to pick and choose, so get your ideas in early, and get creative!  Check back often to see if your topic gets chosen!  Begin.

I Have the Worst Musical Taste Ever (And I Love It!)

Throughout my day, I receive a lot of feedback from many people.  Most of it is positive, like “Your breath smells less bad today.  Congratulations,” or, “I can see you’ve washed your hair in the last month.  That’s quite the improvement.”  It really builds my self esteem.  Just when I get to this high point of “Your shoes match today.  Good job,” someone has to come along and mock me relentlessly for my taste in music.  Mostly, that someone is my wife, but that’s beside the point.  I do hear it from others as well.

I do not see any problem with my choice of music, but that is mainly because I am tone-deaf and have suspect oral hygiene.  (I’m not sure exactly what my rotting teeth and puffy gums have to do with poor musical taste, but I’ve never been shy about how I let my body fall into neglected, diseased pieces.)  I have complied a short list of bands I like.  You will probably tease me to no end also, but I risk being vulnerable because I love you, my readers, so gosh-darn much.  Here goes:

-U2 (I am, apparently, 40 years old at heart)
-Live (and I appreciate men who sing way too high)
-Linkin Park (I don’t know why, either)
-Good Charlotte (because there’s a little teen angst in all of us)
-Tokio Hotel (strange, because I haven’t worn black nail polish in years. I’m trying to jump on the bandwagon before they get talented)
-God help me, I still don’t mind listening to Creed (everyone needs a little convoluted, watered-down spirituality)

There is a whole host of other musicians I could put on this list, but I believe it’s diverse enough that I can poke fun at them (and myself) for a reasonable amount of time.  Plus, if you don’t understand my criticism of one band, you should be able to for another and be able to laugh along.  I’d like to tackle these bands one at a time, to help you (and me, actually) figure out why in the world I would listen to such drivel when other great bands exist and make relevant, competent music.

U2- Many people can’t figure out why I would listen to a band whose biggest album came out when I was 3, but I can’t help it.  In 2001, I got hooked on the classics U2 put out, and have learned to tolerate the passable garbage they have put out since. Bono, either go to every foreign dignitary in a vain attempt to save the world or sing.  And the world would prefer you do the latter.  Thank you.

Live- Again, this band’s heyday was well before I was of music-appreciating age.  A distinct blend of Eastern symbolism American spirituality (menthol, of course), Live embodied the confused youth of the early 90s (who, coincidentally, wore oversized plaid shirts with torn-up jeans).  Since then, they have put out a string of feel-good, “love everybody” tunes that have not done well anywhere in the world except Australia.  No one likes Australia.  Not even Australia.  They’re like the France of the Southern Hemisphere.

Linkin Park- No one has perfected the “sing quiet, then the other guy raps, then I scream like a pinched toddler” formula quite like LP.  Kudos to them for making so much money that they can take baths in gold doubloons.  You will never find a band that uses the words “pain” and “shut up” in such a formidable way.  Sure, we can mock them, but they laugh all the way to the bank to cash a solid gold check.

Good Charlotte- Yes, we understand, you were picked on in high school.  It’s time to move on and become a member of the tax-paying adult community.  You have a receding hairline and are still writing songs about not getting picked for the junior varsity baseball team, we get it.  That’s all I can say.  They’re really that one-dimensional.

Tokio Hotel- I realize they’re not any good.  Don’t even point that out.  My point is, they will be good. Five years from now, when you’re all wearing their t-shirts, let this serve as a reminder that I posted this on October 11th, 2009.  I just bought the new album, and it’s mostly bad.  Still, it’s ten times better than the previous offering that was vomited from the dregs of “Record Companyland”.  What can you expect?  They’re German.  (No offense to the Germans, though I don’t know why it wouldn’t be offensive.)

Creed- I could never figure out if Creed was singing about God or psychedelic mushrooms.  “Can you take me higher?”  It was always so shrouded in mystery that I had no clue.  I suppose it’s in the eye of the beholder, assuming the beholder is stupid and 14.  I heard they are putting out a new album.  I just (as I am writing this) watched a video of the new single, and I must admit I am ashamed to witness the shameless cashing-in of past glory.  Good for them, ha!

If you loved this, let me know.  If it made no sense and flew completely over your head, let me know in that case as well.  I WILL post something very soon in which I will be writing my own songs.  Plus, I will be needing your input.  Did somebody say “exciting“?  No?  Did anybody at least say, “marginally thought-producing“?  Not that either?  Forget it, then.

Paulyball

Over the last 8 weeks, I had the distinct pleasure of being part of a recreational volleyball team.  Let’s back up a bit.  Near the beginning of training at my new job, some co-workers and I decided we should get together weekly to exercise, burn off some steam, and gossip intensely about our workplace.  This plan worked swimmingly until we realized the fatal flaw: I am no good at volleyball.  The only weak areas of my game are that I am physically unable to serve, set, spike, block, or go an entire game without pulling a muscle.  I can jump, though.  I can even jump pretty high.  The opposing team would be intimidated by my mad net rush, then quickly realize it was all a ruse to disguise my utter lack of every other talent.  By the games’ end, the other team would be purposely hitting the ball in my direction, just to see me faceplant into the sand while launching the ball into adjacent courts.

Oh, and I am an incredible dancer.  When they put 90’s slow jams over the loudspeakers, I sent opponents into utter confusion with my flawless steps, shakes, and the all-important “raising the roof”.

I single-handedly cost my team several matches and countless more measures of morale.  They are very kind not to have stuffed me into trash cans post-game or slashed my tires at work on game days.  Well, they never admitted to the time my tires mysteriously were slashed, at least.

Lessons I learned from volleyball:

1. There are very few things I am good at.

2. The few things I am good at do not help me at volleyball.

3. If you face off against a team called “Team Awesome”, you will lose, no matter how valiantly you struggle to upset them.

I could write volumes about our epic battles with “Team Awesome”, but this is neither the time nor the place.  (That would be a side project I’m working on.  I’m on “Team Awesome Volume VI: Ea-Es” at the moment.  Look for the boxed set of the exhaustive account in stores soon.  It makes a lovely Christmas gift.)  The most frustrating part about Team Awesome is that they were so darn nice.  Their overwhelming graciousness lit a fire in me quicker than a stray spark on a Wal-Mart crib mattress.  I’m trying to move on and forgive them for their outlandish benevolence, but I’m only human.  They, of course, went undefeated.  24-0.  Ridiculous.  They didn’t even have matching team t-shirts like we did.  Some say that I’m just being childish, but people who say that are a big bunch of poo-poo heads.

I purposely do not have any video from my performance on the volleyball court, as it would tarnish my reputation even further.  If it became even more tarnished, you’d have to clean it with a jack hammer.  I would come home every night covered in a sandy dust, with several ounces of sand nestled deeply in unspeakable places.  If my bathtub ever backs up, I know it’s because the water cannot get past the 50 pounds of sand in the pipes after 8 weeks of v-ball.

I would like to personally thank my teammates: José, Megan, Katherine, Al, and Sara(h).  I would also like to thank our subs who stepped in when there were scheduling conflicts and when José sprained his ankle: Alicia and Kate.  My friends, it was a glorious season, and I measure it a complete success, because we did not finish last in the standings.  Second-to-last, yes.  But last?  I don’t think so!

UPDATE: Just as I was preparing to post this, I was scratching my head, and I found a piece of sand still attached to my scalp.  It may have been a termite egg, but if I say it was sand, it’s more relevant to the story.

What I Was Missing

Friends, I have become increasingly excited over the last 10 weeks, because I finally got something I always wanted.  My life was always a little bit incomplete, and a hole in my heart has now been filled with my greatest desire.  I now have: a butt.

I realize this isn’t the most exciting thing to most people, because many people have too much already, and would be willing to donate to the posteriorally-challenged people such as myself.  Having a rear has changed my life, my attitude, and especially my wardrobe.  I no longer have to wear suspenders under my shirt to keep my underwear from falling down!  I don’t have to buy belts from the children’s section any more to make sure I don’t lose my britches during long periods of walking, running, or riding a tricycle.  No longer will people say as I pass by, “There goes the guy with the Hannah Montana belt!  Let’s all mock him while pointing and throwing rotten fruit!”

Long gone is the day when I can only sit for 30 minutes at a time to keep my bony caboose from wearing through my jeans!  It’s like I’m sitting on a pillow filled with water placed on a 3-inch layer of feathers covered in rabbit pelts underneath a cloud.

Of course, every rose has it’s thorns, as I am increasingly subject to scientific phenomenon knows as “unassisted wedgies”.  This is where your rear reaches out and grabs a hold of your underwear (and God help me, my pants) like a horse eating an apple.  The only plus side is that when someone decides to give me a wedgie on purpose, I now have the protection to cushion the blow, where in the past, my pants would scrape directly against my tailbone.

I also have to be careful when I wear my swimsuit so my new-found booty doesn’t hang out too much.  But I guess that’s the nature of the beast when I wear a thong.  No way around it, that’s for sure.

The best part is, I no longer have to pad my underwear to acheive a “normal” look.  I’ll save a fortune on tissue paper.

SPECIAL BONUS MATERIAL FOR THE KYLE BAXTER PROJECT FAITHFUL

I love singing karaoke.  The video quality leaves something to be desired, but listen to that angel’s voice!  Hopefully I will get to post more of my karaoke soon.

Family Hunting Trip

This Labor Day, James (my brother-in-law) and I went camping.  Of course, I typically do not like the outdoors.  As soon as they bring the outdoors indoors, remove the bugs, and add central air and plumbing, I will be all for it.  Until then, I’ll just try to keep a cordial relationship with the woods.  Agree to disagree.

What I did not tell James is that I was actually planning a family hunting trip!  I packed some firearms into a suitcase with my camera, packed my sleeping bag, and headed for the wonderful Ozarks.  Upon arriving, we were quite hungry, but had fortunately packed some fruit to replenish our energy after the long car ride.  As he bit into a crisp nectarine, I unveiled my wonderful idea that we actually make out simple camping excursion into a family hunting trip!  He was very much excited, and we made plans to head out into the deep woods after he finished his wonderful peach-like fruit.

While I was waiting, I unpacked my firearm and camera.  Here is the footage I was able to take before having to speed home:

I told you it was a family hunting trip.  I used the trip to hunt family.

Disclaimer: This did not actually occur exactly as I told it.  Believe it or not, I have taken slight liberties with the details.  No one was harmed in the making of this footage.  We were very far away from civilization on private property when utilizing said firearm.  Please do not send any angry e-mails, letters, or Beanie Babies.  Cash would be nice, though.

The Iron Stomach

I’m looking to get a new nickname.  Based on the video you will soon see, I’m thinking one of these:

–The Iron Stomach

–The Garbage Disposal

–Mexfoodicus, the Destroyer of Tacos

This will replace my current nickname, “Sewerbreath”.  Not my favorite name, but that’s what happens when you let an ex-girlfriend name you.  After you dump her.  For someone better-looking.  On her birthday.  In front of her parents.  By text message.

I realize this video clocks in at just over 7 minutes.  I wanted to warn you up front, but also let you know it is totally worth the time.  Use the bathroom, pull up a chair, grab a beverage and a snack, and watch the effortless conversation take place.  I’d like to thank DeWayne and Mike for helping me capture such great video, as well as providing great material for me to play off of.

Well, here’s the setup: De Wayne and I have been going to Dixon’s Famous Chili for about 6 years now because of the all-you-can-eat taco special they have every day.  The first time we went was Thanksgiving 2003, because I was bored and needed to feed my food addiction prior to attending 2 dinners.  I stopped at 10 tacos that day because, hey, a guy has to save room for dinner.  Ever since then, I’ve done my best to topple my personal record.  My previous best is 15 tacos, which not very many people have touched.

You may be asking, “What is your secret to overeating?”  It’s simple.  I’ve done it so many times that I’ve learned to live with feeling uncomfortable.  When you feel the rush of having fresh tacos piling up in your esophagus, you are starting to feel my discomfort.  When you gauge how full you are by whether or not you have food resting against your trachea from the inside, you can truly understand who I am.  I am that boa constrictor you see on the Discovery Channel unhinging its jaw to swallow an antelope whole.

I began Saturday by prepping my body for maximum food overload.  I took full advantage of my bathroom beforehand, followed by a strict liquid diet of a 24 ounce can of Arizona Tea to open my stomach without using actual food.  The rest is history.

Let’s just say I didn’t eat another meal that day.

Any more name suggestions based on this video?