It's On. . .

We've all got one. It's that friend that you really don't like, but still shows up from time to time. It's that friend that when he/she shows up everybody else in the group gets angry and the group disperses much faster than it would have regularly. However, when that friend isn't around, he/she still affects the group as a whole. Whenever the friend isn't around the group sits and talks about the friend, and it becomes apparent that deep down in their hearts, everyone really wants the friend to be there because things just aren't the same without him/her. I have this friend, and I miss this friend dearly, this friend and I haven't spent a significant amount of time together in at least a week. This is my old friend sleep.

Sleep and I apparently haven't been getting along lately. It's been over a week since I've gotten a good nights sleep and I've gotta tell you it's getting pretty fucking old being tired all the time. Now, you are asking, "Count, why don't you just take a nap when you get off work?" Well, you simpletons (sorry, I get a little cranky if I don't get my sleep), if I take a nap when I get off of work, then I for sure won't get a good nights rest because I will have exhausted (no pun intended) my need for sleep, and will be up all night not sleeping because I did so earlier in the day. My theory, little ones (again, lack of sleep), is that if I can be at optimal tiredness as I lay my head down to sleep in the night, then eventually, I may actually sleep through the night. This hasn't worked for awhile now, so obviously there is a flaw in my theory, I will have to make some changes in the variables before this becomes law.

So this is my open challenge to sleep (as to be read in the voice of the Macho Man Randy Savage). Oooooh yeahhhh! Sleep, it's been a little bit too long since you and I have stepped into that squared circle together. You see, the Count used to have respect for you but since you've been out, the Count really can't see why you should come back, ooooooh yeahhhhh! If, you do decide to come back the Count wants the first shot at you. Here's what the Count thinks, the Count thinks that maybe you and I should step down into that ring together and go at it old school style. The Count thinks maybe sleep would want to enter the ring and have a two man, over the top rope, battle royal with the Count; ooooooh yeahhhh! The last one standing wins and the Count has a little prediction for you, when it's all said and done, the only one standing in the ring is going to be the Count. But bring it on, sleep, cause if you think you can handle the Count, the Count is going to make sure that you learn that lesson, and fast. Oooooooooh yeahhhhh!

It's on, now. Yes, it is definitely on.

The Band That I Hate to Love

I take music rather seriously. I've actually been in arguments that resulted in not speaking to someone for an extended period of time over music. And, needless to say, my music tastes have changed radically since I was in high school. Sure, there are some bands that I liked in high school that I still listen to now, but there is a Huge difference in the music I listen to regularly now that I never would have in high school. High school bands included: Steve Miller Band, Aerosmith, Zepplin, and Phish. I've basically given up on Phish considering I dropped the habit that made them seem like the most talented band in the universe, Zepplin's okay on occasion, I still like Aerosmith's old stuff, but they played the sell-out game so hard recently that I can barely stand to think about them, and whenever I want to Fly Like an Eagle I'll pull out my Miller. The ways my music tastes have changed more recently are that I like the stuff now that my dad listens to (i.e. James Taylor, The Eagles, etc.) I also must lay down the love for the movie industry last year for turning me on to Ray Charles, without who's music, I would not be the same person I am today. Essentially, there's very little good music being made today by bands that are easily accessible. Sure, there is some Indie Rock band out there that I SHOULD be listening to, but I don't know where to find them, therefore, I probably won't ever hear their stuff. The other drawback to listening to said Indie band's music is that the fact that I know who they are, and I love their music, and I attempt to turn people on to them makes me a music snob, and music snobbery is the worst kind. I also really like hip-hop music. If you ask me, the only music that has gotten significant radio play in the last 2 years that I would qualify as GOOD music is hip-hop.

And then, there's the music that you listen to that you are embarrassed about. And, yes, you should be embarrassed you listen to this music. You are a disappointment to your family and all of human-kind because you listen to this music. Moreover, you don't just listen to their music, you actually like their music. When you overhear people talking about how bad this band's music is you defend them, bitterly, in your head. You would never come out and say that you like this band's music and that you think they are very talented young men or women. You don't say this aloud because you know that no matter how good an arguer you are, there's no way you can actually make an argument that will hold water in this debate.

This brings me to the very essence of this post. I LOVE THE BAND FALL-OUT BOY!!!! I love them and I don't know why, and yes, I am embarrassed. The band Fall-Out Boy obviously derives its' name from Radioactive Man's sidekick from The Simpsons. They fall into the pop-punk genre that, if you ask me, the world would be a better place without. If there were no pop-punk revolution, there would be no racism, no hate, no war, and G-Dub would be living out his life in relative obscurity in west Texas. This movement in music is the very definition of bad music. And yet, I find it hard to totally dislike Fall-Out Boy, it's killing me. I literally die a little bit inside each time "Dance, Dance" or "Sugar, We're Goin' Down" comes on the radio and I blast the music, belt out the words and dance whilst driving my car. I love this band so much that the awareness that I have about people watching me dance and sing while driving is heightened, and disregarded. This band rules, but then again, they may just be the anti-Christ.

Whether the Weather is Bad. . .

Okay, I love winter. I mean I looooooooooooove winter. I love everything about it, the cold, the cold, and the cold. However, that evil bitch, mother nature fucked winter up for me this year. All throughout December and all of January we had 60-75 degree days. NOT THE WEATHER I WANTED. So, I called her up and we had a conference call with both of our attorneys present and taped it for quality assurance (I've got the tape still, I'll make you a copy if you want). She made some concessions, I made some concessions and, in the end, I think we both left relatively happy.

She promised me that I could have weather that rivaled that of San Diego everyday of the winter as long as I stopped poking and prodding the voodoo doll I made of her (I also still have that, you can borrow it if she pisses you of sometime). So, I was promised perfect weather until March 20th, the first day of Spring. Everything was going swimmingly until HE showed up. HE is the thing I hate most in the world. HE has been the bane of my existence before and this year HE reared his ugly head again.

HE, if you haven't guessed yet is Punxsutawney Phil. I had my perfect weather and mother nature had kept up her end of the bargain until that fateful day last week. I turned on the news that morning and caught the replay of the sight. Several men dressed in tuxedos that looked like they stole them from the traveling show of Oliver Twist stood on a makeshift stage while several hundred morons who actually went to the small hamlet in Pennsylvania and braved the biting cold cheered. Then, the mayor made his initial address and they pulled the overgrown gerbil out of his "cage."

Let's take a short break here and talk about the guy who grabs that disease infested rat of a weatherman. This is the bravest man in the world. At any point in time on that day every year he puts his life in danger. He holds the thing up in the air mimicking Rafiki introducing Simba to the kingdom and then brings him ENTIRELY too close to his face. Imagine that guy's embarrassment when the hedgehog with an ego problem attacks some year and he becomes the only American to ever be killed by a groundhog. I say the only American because if you follow the Canadian news, that stuff happens to our neighbors to the north all the time.

So, anyway, they pull the fur-ball out of his cage and listen to what he has to say in the ancient language of the groundhog. Which poses yet another flaw in the myth. Why couldn't I take Groundhogeese as my foreign language credit in college? Believe me, I asked and was literally scoffed at. Have you ever been scoffed at? It's not a pleasant experience. This is at an institution where you can take Sanskrit. Sanskrit! They offer that and Latin, but I can't take Groundhog? This is because it's not even a real language. The ministers of the most pointless holiday in the history of the world are liars. Liars on the grand scale of Fox News, when's Al Franken going to write a book about them?

They listen to what the ugly cousin to the beaver has to say and then they make the proclamation, six more weeks of winter. I hear this, yet I am not worried. I have made a pact with mother nature, she won't let me down.

She did. The bitch bowed down to that terd of a rodent and it got cold. From December all the way through February 1st it was beautiful outside. And now? Highs in the lower 50's, lows in the upper 20's, and now I have to put up all the T-shirts and shorts that mother nature told me to drag out of the back of the closet.

The Name

Okay, now, for those of you who know me you have but one question, "What the hell does his name mean?" Well, I'll tell you. If you know me or my wife you are probably familiar with her blog in which I am referred to as her counterpart. Well, I thought I would take that nickname and run with it. I didn't want to be Counterpart, so I decided to shorten it. That leaves the list of possible names as "Count," "Part," or ""Terpa," now, you tell me what you'd choose out of that list.

So I went with the Count, I must say that I like the name. The Count on Sesame Street was a great character who had a profound influence on my life. To this day I am still afraid of both vampires and numbers, so you can tell that the influence was great.

Also, there's a little game my friends and I play whilst partaking in the wonders that are malted hops and barley. In this game whenever someone is going to get another beer out of the fridge, he/she yells out, "One!" Then, if you feel as if you will soon need another or actually do need another, you simply yell out, "Two!" or "Three!" or whatever number has been counted up to. You may be thinking that there's no way that you would have to play barmaid to that many people, but I have witnessed someone have to grab 8 beers and pass them out to the masses assembled. The reason I tell you this actually does have something to do with my name. Last year we were drinking with some old friends and some new friends and someone was going to refresh their empty bottle. That person yelled, "One!" "Two, three, and four," followed; as did "Five, six, seven, eight!" So, the barmaid brought back eight refreshments and there were only six people there. As it turns out one person yelled, "Five, six, seven, eight!" and this person was not privy to the rules of the game, he had never played before. When we asked why it was that he had kept yelling numbers when he didn't know what he was doing he replied, "Because sometimes counting is fun."

And you know what? Sometimes it is.