<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725</id><updated>2011-04-21T21:27:44.585-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Greatest Fifteen Minutes Of My Life</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>64</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-7849320572461737600</id><published>2007-11-21T12:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-21T13:31:28.720-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Proff Of Heaven</title><content type='html'>There must be a Heaven. I have confirmed the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;existence&lt;/span&gt; of Hell, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Walmart&lt;/span&gt; during holiday shopping season. Nothing says holiday spirit like having the growing urge to club everyone invading your personal space with a baseball bat to the tune of Jingle Bells. Where is Quentin &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Tarantino&lt;/span&gt; with a holiday movie I can relate to? There can't be a Heaven without a Hell. Hell most certainly exists at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Walmart&lt;/span&gt; in late November. No wonder online shopping is so popular. Come to think of it, the grocery store was just as hellish. People, seriously, how many kids to you have to have before you have yourself fixed? What is up with people that can't seem to go to the store without all seventeen members of the family? Dude, it sucks to get stuck behind you. Clear the f---in' aisle so other people can shop! Please, watch your damn kids. There's a guy with candy and a white cargo van just waiting for them. "I don't know how this could have happened to me, I just turned my head for 80 or 90 minutes." Have a happy Thanksgiving. I personally am thankful for condoms and the people that use them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-7849320572461737600?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/7849320572461737600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=7849320572461737600' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7849320572461737600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7849320572461737600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/11/proff-of-heaven.html' title='Proff Of Heaven'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-6500265382033393551</id><published>2007-09-24T09:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T15:35:13.349-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Me 101</title><content type='html'>101. My name is: &lt;em&gt;Jim&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;100. I was born in: &lt;em&gt;The log cabin that I helped my Dad build.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;99. I am really: &lt;em&gt;A lesbian trapped inside a man's body.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;98. My cell phone company is: &lt;em&gt;Making money&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;97. My eye color is: &lt;em&gt;Determined by D.N.A.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;96. My shoe size is: &lt;em&gt;Big enough to get me dates.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;95. My ring size is: &lt;em&gt;Don't go there.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;94. My height is: &lt;em&gt;6'&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;93. I am allergic to: &lt;em&gt;Cats.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;92. I was born: &lt;em&gt;Me too.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;91. I am annoyed by: &lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Polititians&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;90. Last book you read: &lt;em&gt;Rocket Surgery for Dummies.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;89. My bed is: &lt;em&gt;Leaking air like my last girlfriend.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;88: One thing you hate about yourself: &lt;em&gt;I can't think of anything.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;87. My favorite Holiday is: &lt;em&gt;Halloween.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;86. The perfect kiss: &lt;em&gt;Is a pleasant surprise.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;85. The last three &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;cd&lt;/span&gt;’s I bought were: &lt;em&gt;In 1987.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;84. Are you living at home: &lt;em&gt;I'm living in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;someone's&lt;/span&gt; home but they don't know about it.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;83. Do you have any siblings: &lt;em&gt;No, I just got tested, I'm clean. Oh, that's what it means? One brother.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;82. Are your parents divorced: &lt;em&gt;Yes.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;81. What did you do yesterday: &lt;em&gt;I went to Jerome, Arizona and made a live recording of my buddy Rich's band.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.:::I Believe In:::&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;80. Love at first sight: &lt;em&gt;Oh, I'm certain that it happens all the time.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;79. Luck: &lt;em&gt;I like a little in my coffee now and then.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;78. Fate: &lt;em&gt;Only if it's meant to be.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;77. Yourself: &lt;em&gt;If I don't, who will?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;76. Aliens: &lt;em&gt;Totally, haven't you ever been to Home Depot?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;75. Heaven: &lt;em&gt;Every dead person I've ever talked to says it's true.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;74. Hell: &lt;em&gt;The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;abscence&lt;/span&gt; of God.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;73. Ghosts: &lt;em&gt;The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;abscence&lt;/span&gt; of life.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;72. Horoscopes: &lt;em&gt;Only in the hands of a real astrologer. NOT MISS CLEO.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;71. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Soulmates&lt;/span&gt;: &lt;em&gt;I can barely find mates to my socks.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.:::Which is Better:::&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;70. Hugs or Kisses: &lt;em&gt;Hugs.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;69. Drunk or High: &lt;em&gt;Highly drunk.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;68. Phone or Online: &lt;em&gt;Online.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;67. Red heads or Black haired: &lt;em&gt;If they shave, how do you know?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;66. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Blondes&lt;/span&gt; or Brunettes: &lt;em&gt;See question 67.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;65. Hot or cold: &lt;em&gt;Depends, hot beer sucks and so do cold fries.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;64. Summer or winter: &lt;em&gt;Winter.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;63. Fall or Spring: &lt;em&gt;Fall, I vaguely recall seasons.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;62. Chocolate or vanilla: &lt;em&gt;I've had both, both are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;tasety&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;61. Night or Day: &lt;em&gt;Night.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;60. Oranges or Apples: &lt;em&gt;I like apple pie, never had orange pie, so, apples.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;59. Curly or Straight hair: &lt;em&gt;I hear that Asian women have straight, oh that hair, doesn't matter.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:::Here’s What I Think About:::&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;58. Abortion: &lt;em&gt;Too bad you don't know what kind of person they'll be before you make that decision. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;57. Backstabbers: &lt;em&gt;Good &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;arguement&lt;/span&gt; for abortion.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:::Last time I:::&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;56.Had food? &lt;em&gt;I threw up. New diet, it's called the undercooked chicken diet. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;55. Saw someone I haven’t seen in awhile: &lt;em&gt;I said hello to that person.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;54. Cried in front of someone: &lt;em&gt;When I knew for sure that I was in love with Katy Holmes, jumped on my couch for about an hour.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;53. Who is the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;ditziest&lt;/span&gt; person you know? &lt;em&gt;I'd rather not say, the person I'm thinking of is just too nice.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;52. Who makes you laugh the most: &lt;em&gt;All my friends make me laugh.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;51. The last movie I saw: &lt;em&gt;Lipstick Lesbian Sorority 5, much better than 12.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;50. What I don’t understand is: &lt;em&gt;I don't think there's enough room in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;cyber&lt;/span&gt; space for the answer to that.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;49. The thing that I’m looking forward to: &lt;em&gt;Is my next breakup. They don't even hurt anymore.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;48. Someone I always really miss: &lt;em&gt;The girl I breakup with.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;47. The thing that I’m not looking forward to is: &lt;em&gt;That magic part of a new relationship when you first meet and you get butterflies in your stomach, I hate that.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;46. Tomorrow: &lt;em&gt;Less commonly known as the day after today.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;45. Today: &lt;em&gt;Less commonly known as the day before tomorrow&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;44. Next Summer: &lt;em&gt;I'll be sweating.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;43. Next Weekend: &lt;em&gt;Watching porn and eating cup cakes. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;42. People call me: &lt;em&gt;All sorts of things.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;41. The person who knows the most about me is: &lt;em&gt;The C.I.A.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;40. The most difficult thing to do is: &lt;em&gt;Remember where the hell I live when I'm drunk.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;39. I have gotten a speeding ticket: &lt;em&gt;For speeding, not sure where to go with that one.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;38.My zodiac sign is: &lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Sagitarious&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;37. The first person i talked to today was: &lt;em&gt;Some crazy person, I talk to myself a lot.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;36. First time you had a crush: &lt;em&gt;It was orange.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;35. The one person who i can’t hide things from: &lt;em&gt;The troll that lives underneath the stairs, he knows everything, even where I put my keys.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;34. Last time someone said something you were thinking: &lt;em&gt;No one can even guess what I'm thinking.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;33. Right now I am talking to: &lt;em&gt;No one.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;32. What is your dream job? &lt;em&gt;Gentle without teeth digging in.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;31. First real job? &lt;em&gt;Rocket surgeon for the government.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30. I have/will get a job: &lt;em&gt;If I meet the right girl.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29. I have these pets: &lt;em&gt;None.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28. I wish: &lt;em&gt;Mexico was a better place to live.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27. The worst sound in the world: &lt;em&gt;Leaf blowers.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26. The person that makes me cry the most is? George W. Bush, I laugh so hard I tear up and can't breathe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. Best sound in the world: &lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Pssssssh&lt;/span&gt;... bubble, bubble, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;glug&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;glug&lt;/span&gt;, fizz.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. Person[s] that makes you happy: &lt;em&gt;You mean what parts of me get happy? Don't understand the question.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. Florida or Hawaii: &lt;em&gt;What's the point spread?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. My favorite piece of clothing: &lt;em&gt;My Betty Ford Clinic hat.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. Last time I cried: &lt;em&gt;I was laughing so hard.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. My friends are: &lt;em&gt;Growing up, how boring.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. My computer is: &lt;em&gt;A Commodore 64.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. The school I go to is: &lt;em&gt;I don't go to school.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. Last person I got mad at: &lt;em&gt;Won't live forever. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. The all-time best movie is: &lt;em&gt;Throw Mama From The Leaky &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Prophylactic&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. The all-time best feeling in the world is: &lt;em&gt;Sex.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. I lose all respect for people who: &lt;em&gt;Molest children.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. The movie I cried at was: &lt;em&gt;Wizard of Oz, I was three. Mean old lady taking D's dog Toto.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. TV channels you watch: &lt;em&gt;History Channel, Animal Planet, Comedy Central, Spike, FX, Fox and Travel Channel.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Favorite web site: &lt;em&gt;Mine.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. I like/love: &lt;em&gt;Chicken wings.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. The worst pain I was ever in was: &lt;em&gt;After I ate some bad chicken wings.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. My favorite word is: &lt;em&gt;Yes.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. My room is: &lt;em&gt;Attached to the rest of my place.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. My favorite celebrity is: &lt;em&gt;Santa Claus.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. My weakness is: &lt;em&gt;Guinness.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. What I like about the opposite sex is: Women&lt;em&gt; are kinda um, gosh .... uh pretty. I like boobies!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Who broke your heart: &lt;em&gt;How would I know her name? I guess I could get it off the restraining order.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. One thing that makes you feel great is: &lt;em&gt;Taking candy from a baby, then replacing it with a healthy nutrious piece of fruit.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. One person that you wish you could see right now: &lt;em&gt;I'm not really in the mood for company right now.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-6500265382033393551?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/6500265382033393551/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=6500265382033393551' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/6500265382033393551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/6500265382033393551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/09/101.html' title='Me 101'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-5789223878205920411</id><published>2007-08-22T14:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-22T15:43:33.460-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hot August Night</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"Phoenix is an old  Apache word that means Jesus Christ it's f-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ing&lt;/span&gt; hot!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;-Ollie Joe Prater&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is so hot here in Phoenix, Arizona. It's August which means there is no relief even at night. The heat is oppressive. The only thing that keeps me from going &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;completely&lt;/span&gt; crazy is the thought that there are only nine more days of August left this year. I know, there are places that get a lot of snow dumped on them in the winter. The good news, you don't have to shovel heat. One day I hope to become a snowbird. For those unfamiliar with the term, snowbirds live where summer is a nice thing and spend their winter in Arizona. It's the best of both worlds really. October is when it usually starts getting nice. Maybe that's why I love Halloween so much. The weather is nice, the cactus start changing color (not really),  and women dress like prostitutes. "I'm not a prostitute, I'm a witch." Only if the witch is a hooker. The witch part is Jim Gaffigan's material. Jim was on &lt;em&gt;That 70's Show. &lt;/em&gt;He was the manager at the hotel where Hyde, Kelso and Eric Foreman worked. You may have seen him in one of several Sierra Mist commercials. Jim's no fool. He's not coming to Arizona until the first part of next year. He's not going to deal with our summer heat. My friend Eddie Elliott goes on tour during the hot part of the year. I'm not sure where I'm going with this entry, I'll blame it on the heat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-5789223878205920411?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/5789223878205920411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=5789223878205920411' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5789223878205920411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5789223878205920411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/08/hot-august-night.html' title='Hot August Night'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-1903973947891861445</id><published>2007-08-20T09:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-20T16:23:51.374-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Survey, Why Not, It's Been Awhile</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;1. Do you know anyone in prison? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Not yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;2. Have you ever logged onto a boyfriend/girlfriend/crush's myspace? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;3. When is the last time you ate peanut butter and jelly?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; A year ago, I had a craving, the jelly's still in the fridge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;4. Do you have a desk in your room? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;They're all my room, so, yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;5. Have you ever gotten naked at a party? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Can it really be called a "party" unless you're naked?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;6. What kind of car insurance do you have? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Caveman, lizard, Taco Bell dog... What was the question?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;7. Are you named after one of your parents or grandparents? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Yes, my grandmother's name is Jim as well. Just kidding. My grandfather.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;8. Does your first significant other still live in the same town as you? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;No, she was so ashamed she left the country.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;9. Do you throw up gang signs? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Gang bulls*#t makes me want to throw up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;10. Have you ever broken a rib? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Mine or someone else's?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;11. Would you rather be a girl or a guy? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;I've always felt like a lesbian trapped inside a man's body.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;12. Who is the most spoiled person you know? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;My nephew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;13. Would you rather have a million dollars or true love? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;I've had a million true loves... I'll take the cash.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;14. Have you ever had sex in church? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;No, I'm not Catholic so I've never been an alter boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;15. Is your boyfriend/girlfriend a marine? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;16. Do you watch the Grammy's? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;17. Would you ever work for the border patrol? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Tuff job, I wouldn't want to do it but I'm glad there are people that do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;18. Which one word would describe your last relationship: &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;19. Would you rather date someone 2 years older then you or 20 years older? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;What an obvious "chick" question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;20. Have you ever slept outside in a tent? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Yes, ask Sheriff Joe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;21. Do you have a porn collection? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Collection? I've had to employ the Duey Decimal System, it's a library.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;22. How many proms have you been to in your life? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Three. They were so magical. I'd make the prom dresses disappear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;24. Is your birthday on a holiday? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;My birthday is a freakin' holiday, in my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;26. Do you have any friends or family in the War right now? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;No, thank God. How long does it take to pipe all the oil out of a country and set fire to the rest anyway?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;28. Do you worry about global warming? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;I worry about my beer getting warm. I don't really care for globes, I'm a relief map kind of guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;29. Do you like polar bears? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Weird, Coca Cola asked me that same question several years back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;30. Have you ever taken back a cheater, only for them to cheat again? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;I LOVE SLUTS, but no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;31. What kind of birth control do you use? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;The mental image of that fat, hairy woman with the eight screaming kids that I saw at the supermarket.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;32. What slang word(s) do you call marijuana? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Drugs are bad. I don't want to glorify weed by refering to pot in slang terms. Mary Jane use has become a chronic problem. Look at Cheech &amp; Chong, those guys haven't worked since the 70's. That's because smoking blunts causes people to lose all their motivation. I'll bet they just melted into the couch like on those t.v. commercials. Melting into the couch is more like an acid trip than a pot thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;33. Are you an atheist? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;No, I wouldn't know how to tell God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;34. Did you lose your virginity to your neighbor? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;35. Did or do you think your childhood dreams will come true? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Yes, one day I'll be rockstar firefighter cowboy detective in outer space.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;36. Do you wear your sweetie's clothes? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;No, neither does she if I have anything to say about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;37. What's your opinion on gold diggers? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Never met one, wonder why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;38. Are you a country or city girl/boy? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;I &lt;em&gt;thank God I'm a country boy&lt;/em&gt; but then they took me down to &lt;em&gt;Paradise City&lt;/em&gt; which was great because before that I was standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona because &lt;em&gt;Dr. Feelgood&lt;/em&gt; told me to &lt;em&gt;take it easy&lt;/em&gt;. That's were I met &lt;em&gt;Layla&lt;/em&gt; and she offered me &lt;em&gt;cocaine&lt;/em&gt;. She said it would make me feel &lt;em&gt;wonderful tonight&lt;/em&gt;. I said no because I've heard those kind of &lt;em&gt;promises&lt;/em&gt; and it's already &lt;em&gt;after midnight&lt;/em&gt;. I told her I'd had enough &lt;em&gt;bad love&lt;/em&gt; and she assured me she was a &lt;em&gt;sweet hitch-hiker.&lt;/em&gt; We traded her drugs for &lt;em&gt;two tickets to Paradise&lt;/em&gt;. We're staying with her cousin &lt;em&gt;Beth&lt;/em&gt; who works at a bar called The &lt;em&gt;God Of Thunder&lt;/em&gt; where they specialize in &lt;em&gt;cold gin&lt;/em&gt;. We partied there our first night but it got &lt;em&gt;helter skelter&lt;/em&gt; because there were &lt;em&gt;too many people&lt;/em&gt;. What was the question?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;39. Is your car a 2001 or higher? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;It's a convertible, or transformer or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;40. Do you go pee as soon as you wake up in the morning? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;It's the only reason I get up in the morning. Then I have some coffee so I can pee some more.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-1903973947891861445?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/1903973947891861445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=1903973947891861445' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1903973947891861445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1903973947891861445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/08/another-survey-why-not-its-been-awhile.html' title='Another Survey, Why Not, It&apos;s Been Awhile'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-3814148675757084749</id><published>2007-08-16T14:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-16T16:32:36.867-07:00</updated><title type='text'>As Moments Pass Gathering Memories....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RsTdrEfTiOI/AAAAAAAAACs/t-YNlaS2ojo/s1600-h/easter_2007_and_Roger_Falcone_Spa_sale_030.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099444410099402978" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RsTdrEfTiOI/AAAAAAAAACs/t-YNlaS2ojo/s400/easter_2007_and_Roger_Falcone_Spa_sale_030.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;A colleague of mine passed away Monday night. His name was Roger Falcone. He would come to work at special events for the company I work for. I'd usually work with him at least twice a year. He was only forty five years old. The story that I've heard is that he was out to dinner with a spa dealer in Texas and had a heart attack. They say he was dead before he hit the floor. Roger really seemed to love selling spas. He's what they call in the field of sales a "closer." I learned many things about sales from him. This October, when we have our winter warehouse sale will be wierd without him. That's Roger on the left of the picture, Ron Westbrook in the middle and Dave Lundburg at the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;August now holds two unexpected deaths for me. Two years ago my sister-in-law's mother Becci died. Roger died two days before the 2nd anniversary of Becci's passing, which coincidentally, is my sister-in-law's birthday. It's got me thinking about how every day you live could be the last. I wonder if I could be a better me. I'm sure I could.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-3814148675757084749?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/3814148675757084749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=3814148675757084749' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/3814148675757084749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/3814148675757084749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/08/as-moments-pass-gathering-memories.html' title='As Moments Pass Gathering Memories....'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RsTdrEfTiOI/AAAAAAAAACs/t-YNlaS2ojo/s72-c/easter_2007_and_Roger_Falcone_Spa_sale_030.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-2009583264682480371</id><published>2007-07-09T10:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-09T11:43:07.331-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"People, I just want to say, you know, can't we all just get along?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;-Rodney King&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a conversation last night with a couple of friends and a lot of Starbucks coffee that inspired the question "Why isn't the world embracing peace?" I can't honestly say that I've ever met anyone opposed to the idea. If so many people desire peace, why does it seem unlikely? That's where the blame game starts. I've decided to blame ignorance. Now that I'm "anti-ignorance" I have to stop being ignorant. The first stop on the journey is to learn more about the world's major religions. One could spend a lifetime in study of these but I'm not looking to become an expert. I only want a better understanding of what they are about. My plan is to research, study and form my own opinion. I'm not doing this to enlighten anyone other than myself. I do encourage others to do the same.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-2009583264682480371?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/2009583264682480371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=2009583264682480371' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2009583264682480371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2009583264682480371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/07/people-i-just-want-to-say-you-know-cant.html' title=''/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-8494963998498895517</id><published>2007-07-02T16:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-02T16:57:54.832-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A New Path</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"The secret is the answer to all that has been, all that is, and all that will ever be."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;-Ralph Waldo Emerson&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has been suggested to me that we are the sum total of our thoughts. It has also been suggested to me that people tend to focus on what they don't want and not what they want so it sends the wrong message to the universe. Pretty heavy stuff for my blog isn't it? I have talked to numerous single people and asked them what they are looking for in a mate and they say "I know what I don't want." They can't for the life of them understand why they attract the same kind of people time and time again. I couldn't figure it out either. I think I get it now. I'm going to digest this information and perhaps write more on the subject later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-8494963998498895517?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/8494963998498895517/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=8494963998498895517' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8494963998498895517'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8494963998498895517'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/07/new-path.html' title='A New Path'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-8640158571466934949</id><published>2007-06-27T15:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-27T16:22:14.651-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Love Is Grand</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"Love is grand, especially when you can be just as happy when your friends find it as you would be for yourself.&lt;/em&gt; "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;- Jim O'Kelley&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend Bob has found love. I'm not talking about the kind of love you have for the universe. I'm talking about that special love that two people share together for one another. I found myself happy for them. Why am I not filled with envy? Why am I not thinking the worst? Why am I not thinking thoughts like "Where's my happiness?" I don't know why, but it sure feels good to be happy for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Negativity is like cancer. I intend to find a cure. Maybe the cure just found me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-8640158571466934949?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/8640158571466934949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=8640158571466934949' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8640158571466934949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8640158571466934949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/06/love-is-grand.html' title='Love Is Grand'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-2950214539704121037</id><published>2007-06-20T14:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-20T15:12:30.056-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Serious Stuff</title><content type='html'>I'm going through a phase right now. This phase consists of being completely honest with myself. I was drinking a lot and very often. I asked myself a question. Why? The answer surprised me. I was feeling like I failed to grow up. My definition of what grown up is was something I've tried but didn't find much success with. I was escaping every chance I could because I felt like a failure. My definition of grown up was getting married, buying a house, having a couple of kids, white picket fence... bla, bla, bla. My definition of grown up was wrong. Those are things that people do because they want to not because it makes them feel grown up. I changed my definition. Grown up is meeting your responsibilities, becoming wiser not bitter for your experiences, and not losing what makes you who you are. Bettering yourself has little to do with material things. Then, I thought about it. What is there to escape from? I have a pretty damn good life. So, it's back to writing and recording songs. I don't care who likes them, they're for me. I'm getting too old to be a rock star anyway. Just call me Stella because I'm getting my groove back. On second thought, don't call me Stella. I'll keep the groove though.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-2950214539704121037?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/2950214539704121037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=2950214539704121037' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2950214539704121037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2950214539704121037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/06/serious-stuff.html' title='Serious Stuff'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-1522978886946172669</id><published>2007-06-20T13:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-20T14:41:08.548-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Can YOU answer 23 Questions About Your # 2?</title><content type='html'>Another questionnaire. Thanks someoddgirl. This one is about the #2 on your Myspace friends list. No, not what you normally think when you hear #2, you're #2 friend. Personally, I leave them were they came in unless someone gets their feelings hurt or I made a big deal about my placement on their page. I would not be good at assigning a number to everyone I know. There are too many on the same level.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) &lt;strong&gt;What's their name? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Eddie.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2) What is their sexual orientation? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Straight.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3) Where did you meet them? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I heard one of his songs and thought it was great, then I learned he was my next door neighbor.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;4) What was your age when you first met? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Thirty, I think.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;5) Is this person one of your friends? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Yes, a very good one at that.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;6) Say something that only makes sense to you and that person. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;See number twenty-three.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;7) Is this person older than you?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt; Yes, not much though.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;8) When was the last time you saw this person? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Sunday, June 10th.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;9) Do you miss them?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt; Yes.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;10) Are you related to this person?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt; No.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;11) Do you have nicknames for each other?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt; Not really.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;12) Is that person bringing sexy back?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt; What the hell does that mean? He would probably say yes with a straight face then a signature Eddie Elliott belly laugh.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;13) Do you think that person will repost this?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt; No.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;14) Why is this person # 2 on your top friends? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;They can't all be #1. It's just how it rolled in.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;15) Have you seen this person cry?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;I've seen him get choked up.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;16) Do you know this person's last name? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Yes, Elliott.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;17) Do you tell them a lot about your life? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Yes.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;18) Doing anything tonight with them? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;No, he's on tour making music and living the dream.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;19) If yes, What? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;If yes, chicken wings and beer.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;20) Do you love them? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Of course.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;21) Would they date you? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;That's not the kind of love I have for him. His wife wouldn't be happy either.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;22) What's something the person is obsessed with? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;He has the annoying habbit of trying to make the world a better place. What really pisses me off is that he's doing a good job of it.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;23) Does this person make you laugh&lt;/strong&gt;?&lt;em&gt; All the time. The latest thing that makes us laugh is when we hug someone, we hold on until it get's kind of uncomfortable and weird&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;; then we let go and laugh. Good times.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-1522978886946172669?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/1522978886946172669/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=1522978886946172669' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1522978886946172669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1522978886946172669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/06/can-you-answer-23-questions-about-your.html' title='Can YOU answer 23 Questions About Your # 2?'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-8810511867301030237</id><published>2007-06-18T11:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-18T15:33:33.978-07:00</updated><title type='text'>1991</title><content type='html'>1991&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today's entry is courtesy of Captain Paul. It seems I'm a sucker for these things so I filled it out. The questions are based on the year you graduated from high school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. &lt;strong&gt;Who was your best friend?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Dennis.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.&lt;strong&gt;What sports did you play?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Does quarters count?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;strong&gt;What kind of car did you drive?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;1985 Chevy Blazer.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;strong&gt;It's Friday night, where were you?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;House party, desert party, movie, or bowling then Denny's.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. &lt;strong&gt;Were you a party animal?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;I thought so.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. &lt;strong&gt;Were you considered a flirt?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Did I flirt? Yes.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. &lt;strong&gt;Were you in band, orchestra, or choir?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;No.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. &lt;strong&gt;Were you a nerd?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;I didn't think so, but probably. Who wasn't? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. &lt;strong&gt;Can you sing the fight song?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Not really.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. &lt;strong&gt;Who were your favorite teachers?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Ghandi, Christ, Socrates, oh and Mr. Roberts.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. &lt;strong&gt;Where did you sit during lunch?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;At a table like a civilized human being.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13.&lt;strong&gt;What was your school's full name?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Shadow Mountain High School.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. &lt;strong&gt;School mascot?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Matador.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. &lt;strong&gt;Did you go to Prom?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Yes, several of them.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. &lt;strong&gt;If you could go back and do it over, would you?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;What, Prom? No thanks, everytime I put on a tux these days someone gets married. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. &lt;strong&gt;What do you remember most about graduation?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Sweating, it was HOT.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. &lt;strong&gt;What was your favorite class?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Creative Writing.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. &lt;strong&gt;Where were you on senior ditch day?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;I don't remember where I was yesterday. It's a pretty safe bet that I wasn't at school.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. &lt;strong&gt;Were you in any clubs?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;You mean... like a gang? No.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. &lt;strong&gt;Where did you go most often for lunch?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Arnold's, with Potsie and the Fonz. When I was allowed off campus for lunch we went all kinds of places; home, Pizza Hut (Back when they had dine-in), Peter Piper, Taco Bell, Tamborino's, Uncle Sam's, Burger King and Paradise Valley Mall Food Court.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. &lt;strong&gt;What did you do after graduation?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Drink.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. &lt;strong&gt;When did you graduate?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;1991.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. &lt;strong&gt;Who was your Senior prom date?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt; Bridget.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26. &lt;strong&gt;Are you going to your 10 year reunion?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Yes, six years ago.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27. &lt;strong&gt;Who was your home room teacher?&lt;/strong&gt; I don't know, &lt;em&gt;I'm not sure that I knew then either.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28. &lt;strong&gt;Who will repost this after you?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;I don't know.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29. &lt;strong&gt;Who was your high school sweetheart?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;Sharon.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30. &lt;strong&gt;Do you still talk to people from high school? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Yes, they pop up from time to time.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;31. &lt;strong&gt;Are you where you'd thought you'd be in life?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;em&gt;No, I have indoor plumbing, electricity, a cell phone and I don't live with my parents.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-8810511867301030237?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/8810511867301030237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=8810511867301030237' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8810511867301030237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8810511867301030237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/06/1991.html' title='1991'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-5691878327856269361</id><published>2007-06-08T16:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-14T16:52:04.742-07:00</updated><title type='text'>55 Quirks About Me</title><content type='html'>I got this from a myspace bulletin posted by someoddgirl. I thought it would be fun to answer and post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;55 Quirks about me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1)What are your initials? &lt;em&gt;J.B.O. II.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. What is your favorite thing to wear? &lt;em&gt;A knowing grin.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Last thing you ate? &lt;em&gt;A ham sandwich.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I say "SHOTGUN", you say? &lt;em&gt;Hunting with the vice president.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Last person you hugged? &lt;em&gt;My nephew.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Does anyone you know wanna date you? &lt;em&gt;Only they would know.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. The last place you went out to dinner?&lt;em&gt; Outback Steakhouse.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Who is your best friend? &lt;em&gt;All my friends are best friends, I don't have time for meaningless associations.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Why are you still up? &lt;em&gt;They won't let me sleep at work.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.Who/What made you angry today? &lt;em&gt;I haven't been angry today.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Favorite type of Food?&lt;em&gt; People food.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. Favorite holiday? &lt;em&gt;Halloween. It asks so little of me.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Do you download music?&lt;em&gt; Not so much.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. Do you care if your socks are dirty?&lt;em&gt; Sure, why put them in the hamper if they are clean?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. Would you date the person who posted this?&lt;em&gt; I did once.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. Has anyone ever sang or played music for you personally?&lt;em&gt; Yes.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. Do you love anyone? &lt;em&gt;No,&lt;/em&gt; &lt;em&gt;I love everyone.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. Have you ever bungee jumped? &lt;em&gt;Bungee what??&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. Have you ever gone white-water rafting? &lt;em&gt;On purpose?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. Has anyone ten years older than you ever hit on you? &lt;em&gt;Does my scout leader count?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. Have you met a real redneck? &lt;em&gt;Does my scout leader count?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. How is the weather right now? &lt;em&gt;Hot.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. What are you listening to right now? &lt;em&gt;The voices in my head, mostly.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. What is your current favorite song? &lt;em&gt;Key West by Eddie Elliott.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. What was the last movie you watched? &lt;em&gt;Indiana Jones - The Last Crusade.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26. Do you wear contacts? &lt;em&gt;No.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27. Where was the last place you went besides your house? &lt;em&gt;I went to buy a 37" LCD HDTV.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28. What are you afraid of? &lt;em&gt;Whatcha got?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29. How many piercings have you had?&lt;em&gt; Three.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30. How many pets do you have? &lt;em&gt;None.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;31. What's one thing you've learned this year? &lt;em&gt;Only one thing? &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;32. What do you usually order from Starbucks? &lt;em&gt;Coffee.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;33. Have you ever fired a gun? &lt;em&gt;That reminds me of the last thing my father said before he died. Jimmy that gun's loaded! I'm just kidding, I didn't shoot my father. Well, I didn't kill him.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;34. Favorite TV show? &lt;em&gt;House.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;35. Do you have an iPod? &lt;em&gt;I used to. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;36. Who would you like to see right now? &lt;em&gt;My iPod.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;37. Favorite movie? &lt;em&gt;The Wizard Of Oz.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;38. Do you find yourself loved? &lt;em&gt;It's unavoidable. I've tried.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;39. Have you ever been caught doing something you weren't ? &lt;em&gt;I entered an isle in the music store that someone cut the cheese in and someone else walked up and thought I did it. It was funny.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;40. Favorite flower? &lt;em&gt;Venus Flytrap.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;41. Butter, plain, or salted popcorn? &lt;em&gt;Swimming in real butter, lightly salted.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;42. What Magazines are you reading? &lt;em&gt;They have porn on DVD now, no need for magazines.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;43. Has anyone you were really close to passed away recently? &lt;em&gt;Yes, real close, about six feet away. Don't romanticise suicide, it's gross.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;44. What's something that really bugs you? &lt;em&gt;Traffic.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;45. Do you like Michael Jackson? &lt;em&gt;Never met him.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;46. Is your best friend attractive? &lt;em&gt;They all are in some way.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;47. What's your favorite smell? &lt;em&gt;The smell of the Phoenix Mountain Preserve after it rains.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;48. Favorite baseball team? &lt;em&gt;The Bad News Bears.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;49. Favorite cereal? &lt;em&gt;Bacon &amp; Gravy-O's. The bacon stays crispy in the gravy. Just add milk.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;50. What's the longest time you've gone without sleep? &lt;em&gt;With or without the aid of meth?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;51. Last time you went bowling? &lt;em&gt;It's been awhile, never been very good at it.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;52. Where is the weirdest place you have slept? &lt;em&gt;Next to my ex-wife. Well, it seems really weird now.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;53. Who was your last phone call? &lt;em&gt;My employer.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;54. Who was your last text message? &lt;em&gt;My herbal supplement specialist.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;55. What's the closest orange object to you? &lt;em&gt;One of Sheriff Joe's chain gangs with the orange vests. I think they are women. They're picking up trash by the road.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-5691878327856269361?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/5691878327856269361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=5691878327856269361' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5691878327856269361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5691878327856269361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/06/55-quirks-about-me.html' title='55 Quirks About Me'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-2620606954102028395</id><published>2007-06-04T16:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-04T16:46:24.662-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Back From Re-Hab</title><content type='html'>I've been getting in touch with my feelings while going through re-hab. I don't like re-hab, I don't like feelings but at least I remember why I started drinking to begin with. I've learned that you can't depend on other people and If you don't believe in God or some higher power, the burden rests solely on your own shoulders. Instead of getting screwed up on alcohol they encourage you to get screwed up on God. It seems to me that there should be more to it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-2620606954102028395?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/2620606954102028395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=2620606954102028395' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2620606954102028395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2620606954102028395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/06/back-from-re-hab.html' title='Back From Re-Hab'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-7026587388874250366</id><published>2007-05-02T15:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-02T16:44:01.855-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Myspace</title><content type='html'>Okay, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;every one's&lt;/span&gt; doing it, the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;myspace&lt;/span&gt; account. I have one now. What a pain in the ass that was. It took more than an hour to come up with a password. The worst part is that every time you enter another password you have to type what the goofy looking text says in the box only to have to come up with another password. It has something to do with keeping out spam. I tried so many different passwords that I didn't think I'd remember the one that finally worked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being new to the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;myspace&lt;/span&gt; thing means I don't know what's up when I get a message from someone. I got a message from a girl before I even got my picture up (probably a good thing). Is it some sort of mass mailing? I'm not writing back, she doesn't smoke or drink and she talks a lot about Jesus. I don't have anything against Jesus but it is always a red flag to me when a woman brings up religion right away. It means she's going to make it her mission to save me from the devil. The ironic thing that I don't often tell women is that I'm a legally ordained Christian minister. I don't do much with it these days and it's easier to just not bring it up. Christian women like to point out that I drink too much. I tell them that Jesus turned water into wine so it's okay to be a wine-o.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this time I have one friend on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;myspace&lt;/span&gt;, Tom. He's the guy you &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;automatically get as a friend when you sign up. My myspace page is &lt;a href="http://www.myspace.com/jimokelley"&gt;www.myspace.com/jimokelley&lt;/a&gt; if you want to check it out. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Thanks to Mike for your comment and encouragement on the Internet dating entry. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-7026587388874250366?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/7026587388874250366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=7026587388874250366' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7026587388874250366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7026587388874250366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/05/myspace.html' title='Myspace'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-9115269617928162329</id><published>2007-04-27T10:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-27T11:53:42.169-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Internet Dating</title><content type='html'>I have never met a couple that met via an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Internet&lt;/span&gt; dating site. Still, I wanted to know who these people are. I've been checking out the gals on Yahoo personals. I've gone through many profiles. One thing that they all have in common is that they all claim to be warm, down to earth and the life of the party. I'm calling shenanigans on these girls. They write tag lines like &lt;em&gt;"Girls just want to have fun."&lt;/em&gt; or &lt;em&gt;"Looking for love."&lt;/em&gt; What they should be saying is &lt;em&gt;"Bitter raging bitch with kids and no social skills seeks rich guy who is also perfect for serious commitment." &lt;/em&gt;The truth is that they are not looking for what most men are looking for. Men are looking for a companion for social events and sex. Woman on these sites are looking for their knight in shining armor, whatever the hell that is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;My advice for women looking for a man is to simply say hello to them and start conversations. I know, I know, but Jim, you have to sift through too much garbage to find what you're looking for. Welcome to life and stop being lazy. Lazy is NOT attractive. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Women on these sites bitch about drama and head games. Most of the men I know aren't smart enough to play the head games that you women think they are playing. Here's how the "head game" goes. The woman says to the man that she needs more of a commitment or she's out. The man says he isn't ready and that she should see other people. Instead of making a clean break from this man she will "see other guys" and still hope the original guy will get jellous and make the commitment he isn't ready for. In the process, other guys meet this woman and will give her what she wanted from the other guy but she doesn't want it from them. She wants it from the original guy. So who's really playing head games here? &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-9115269617928162329?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/9115269617928162329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=9115269617928162329' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/9115269617928162329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/9115269617928162329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/04/internet-dating.html' title='Internet Dating'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-2986614762323230235</id><published>2007-04-23T16:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-23T16:58:36.428-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Weekend</title><content type='html'>Crazy turn of events over the weekend. Camping was canceled, my sister-in-law was sick. My &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;apartment&lt;/span&gt; started crawling with Arizona Bark Scorpions. My lease is up on April 29&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; so I will not be staying there. I will be moving this weekend so I have too much to accomplish in a few days. The only thing that I hate more than moving is scorpions. What finally did it was that I found several over the weekend and last night I found one in the room that I sleep (slept) in. I'm staying on friend's couches until next Sunday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-2986614762323230235?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/2986614762323230235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=2986614762323230235' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2986614762323230235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2986614762323230235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/04/weekend.html' title='Weekend'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-5410952444092481242</id><published>2007-04-20T14:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-20T16:23:10.505-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Four Twenty</title><content type='html'>Today is April 20 otherwise known as 4-20. Pot smokers rejoice. I wondered why today is so &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;significant&lt;/span&gt; to the Mary Jane friendly world so I did what any logical person would do, ask a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;stoner&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. For the sake of this entry we will call him &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Chong&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Chong&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; is a man in his late twenties with red eyes that I met outside of Taco Bell. His &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;explanation&lt;/span&gt; for 4-20 is "Man, that's police code for marijuana &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;possession&lt;/span&gt;." According to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Wikipedia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Chong's&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; definition is urban legend. So where did it come from? Again, according to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Wikipedia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, a group of high school students in San Rafael, California would gather at 4:20 p.m. to smoke cannabis. It caught on and now April 20&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; has become a sort of cult holiday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Internet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; search of 4-20 I learned that April 20&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; was Adolf Hitler's birthday. It is also Joey Lawrence's birthday, whoa! Today is the eighth anniversary of the Columbine shooting. With all that considered, maybe smoking a little green stuff isn't so bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My advice for a happy 4-20? However you decide to spend it, don't commit genocide, murder in any form, get arrested for being stupid or shave your head and dance with the stars.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-5410952444092481242?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/5410952444092481242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=5410952444092481242' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5410952444092481242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5410952444092481242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/04/four-twenty.html' title='Four Twenty'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-6348259147727015595</id><published>2007-04-17T09:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-17T13:12:27.385-07:00</updated><title type='text'>More Pictures</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiUacpAlcQI/AAAAAAAAACM/Z1g4MYT2r0c/s1600-h/Picture+006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054475236140216578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiUacpAlcQI/AAAAAAAAACM/Z1g4MYT2r0c/s400/Picture+006.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Above:Eddie's mom Sheila.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Below: Eric messing around with Kimberly and Ann.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiUadJAlcRI/AAAAAAAAACU/Or5VW2Cniho/s1600-h/Picture+005.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054475244730151186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiUadJAlcRI/AAAAAAAAACU/Or5VW2Cniho/s400/Picture+005.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Below: Troy the bartender&lt;/em&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiUadZAlcSI/AAAAAAAAACc/4l74YEC_Lo8/s1600-h/Picture+007.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054475249025118498" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiUadZAlcSI/AAAAAAAAACc/4l74YEC_Lo8/s400/Picture+007.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Front row: Dom and Jeremiah  Back row: Mark and Eddie&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiUad5AlcTI/AAAAAAAAACk/-1o5KILpbcs/s1600-h/Picture+008.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054475257615053106" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiUad5AlcTI/AAAAAAAAACk/-1o5KILpbcs/s400/Picture+008.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still have pictures from the weekend that I didn't publish yesterday so I thought I'd put them in today's post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night was fun. My brother, sister-in-law, Eric, Paul, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Deneen&lt;/span&gt;, Gary and myself went to one of those places where women take their shirts off and dance around poles. I believe they call them "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;gentlemen's&lt;/span&gt; clubs" although most of the men there were not acting like gentlemen. I met a nice young entertainer that called herself Kim. She asked me if I was a cop. I told her that not only am I not a cop, I never played one on t.v. either. She then asked me if I'd like to sleep with her for money. I said first of all, you'd probably hog all the covers and second of all I wouldn't charge you to sleep with me but I prefer to sleep alone. I'm only kidding. She did ask me if I was a cop though, I wonder why. Was she selling drugs?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-6348259147727015595?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/6348259147727015595/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=6348259147727015595' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/6348259147727015595'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/6348259147727015595'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/04/more-pictures.html' title='More Pictures'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiUacpAlcQI/AAAAAAAAACM/Z1g4MYT2r0c/s72-c/Picture+006.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-1681710965648726033</id><published>2007-04-16T15:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-17T09:12:58.448-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Friends, Old And New</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiQRLZAlcJI/AAAAAAAAABU/frCYxH5fPlU/s1600-h/Picture+002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054183569206112402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiQRLZAlcJI/AAAAAAAAABU/frCYxH5fPlU/s400/Picture+002.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiQRMJAlcKI/AAAAAAAAABc/sXw2Ydb712Q/s1600-h/Picture+003.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054183582091014306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiQRMJAlcKI/AAAAAAAAABc/sXw2Ydb712Q/s400/Picture+003.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiQRMZAlcLI/AAAAAAAAABk/HI9lj_MrILM/s1600-h/Picture+004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054183586385981618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiQRMZAlcLI/AAAAAAAAABk/HI9lj_MrILM/s400/Picture+004.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;Top picture: Jim and Eddie Elliott. Middle picture: Jim and Mark Tipton. Bottom picture: Bob Makela and Jim.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was a big weekend. My friends Bob &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Makela&lt;/span&gt; and his special friend Tamale came out from California for Eddie's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;cd&lt;/span&gt; release party. They stayed at my place while they were here. I wish I'd have had more time to spend with them but I had to work all weekend. We still managed to have a good time with the little time we had. We went to dinner on Friday night before we caught Eddie's show at the Dirty Drummer. I really liked Tamale, she says what she thinks and I like that. She clued me in on women that were flirting with me, I'm clueless about that sort of thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eddie's show at Cave Creek Coffee Company was great. He packed the Camp. The area where they do the live music is called the Camp. Eddie had his brother Dom playing bass as well as open the show. Jeremiah was there playing guitar and mandolin. Dave (Kates) was on the drums and Mark &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Tipton&lt;/span&gt; was lending his talents on the horn. Mark was also on the new album. I was expecting an older guy but I think he told me he is twenty six. A few of the people in the crowd remarked that he looked like the prop comedian Carrot Top. I admit that I had thought of that but I expect that he might have heard that a time or two, so why be ordinary? Once he starts playing you forget all about Carrot Top anyway. The great songs that Eddie played are too numerous to site here but there is a new one that didn't make the album that I like a lot. I think it is called &lt;em&gt;Dreaming Gets Me High&lt;/em&gt;. Maybe we should do a pre-production recording of that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tamale got a bottle of red wine for us to enjoy during the show and it was most enjoyable. After the show Bob, Tamale, Eric and I went to my place. Eric and I ended up having a dart tournement until four in the morning. Good times. There was so much going on last weekend that there was never a dull moment. Last night I went to bed at 9:00 and slept until I had to get up for work.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-1681710965648726033?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/1681710965648726033/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=1681710965648726033' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1681710965648726033'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1681710965648726033'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/04/friends-old-and-new.html' title='Friends, Old And New'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RiQRLZAlcJI/AAAAAAAAABU/frCYxH5fPlU/s72-c/Picture+002.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-7802629360048815045</id><published>2007-04-06T11:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-06T11:43:41.328-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Eddie Elliott - Without Blue</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RhaU0d1fAFI/AAAAAAAAABM/8955RbBjnIg/s1600-h/ed_photo_s-i.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050387661225656402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RhaU0d1fAFI/AAAAAAAAABM/8955RbBjnIg/s400/ed_photo_s-i.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My good friend Eddie Elliott is releasing his new cd next weekend. It is called &lt;em&gt;Without Blue&lt;/em&gt;. This album is particularly special to me because I was there for the conception. Eddie and I did a lot of the pre-production at my home studio. It was about two years ago when we started the project. I don't know as of yet what tracks made the final cut but they were all good. Eddie added a horn player on some of the tracks and it's very tasteful. Dan Jenks (I hope I spelled that right) recorded the final masters and as usual he did a fantastic job. He did the last two Eddie albums &lt;em&gt;Moving &lt;/em&gt;and &lt;em&gt;This Time&lt;/em&gt;. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Singer, songwritter, entertainer, the real deal, my friend Eddie Elliott.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-7802629360048815045?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/7802629360048815045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=7802629360048815045' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7802629360048815045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7802629360048815045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/04/eddie-elliott-without-blue.html' title='Eddie Elliott - Without Blue'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RhaU0d1fAFI/AAAAAAAAABM/8955RbBjnIg/s72-c/ed_photo_s-i.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-6890860217785002375</id><published>2007-03-30T15:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-30T16:48:56.885-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The End Of Yet Another Week</title><content type='html'>Another Friday looks me directly in the eyes with it's hypnotizing promise of fun, adventure and frolic for the weekend. With that kind of promise, who wouldn't rush to buy stock? So, as they say, I'm in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm finding myself in less than my typical party mood for a Friday. I get email from reunion dot com and it seems today is the birthday of my first "real" love. The mention of this person that I haven't seen or thought much about for thirteen or so years has put me in a rather pensive mood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It has me wondering if that particular love was so profound because I was young and not bittered by my experience or was it just great and I didn't know enough to know how great it was due to lack of experience. This is much too deep of a seed to plant in my pre-drunk mind. Will this thought manifest itself later tonight when I'm three sheets to the wind? Will it be ugly? Should I stay home and listen to some of the music that she and I used to enjoy together, have a good cry and wonder where it all went wrong? Hell no, I'm a man, diversion is the key to not having to confront such "chick-like" thoughts. Back to dwelling on the past for now. I used to get angry and jellous and yell and scream and carry on, that's what drove her away. I didn't stop to think how abusive that sort of behavior is and the damage it causes. That's how I was the majority of my twenties. I'm better now. I don't allow my buttons to be pushed. A lot of women consider me aloof because I don't often get visibly upset. I'll turn and leave. I'm not sure which they hate worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess passion and "spark" are as equally as dangerous as they are intoxicating. Sharon, if you're out there, happy birthday. I'll drink a toast in your honor and all the things that made us grin.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-6890860217785002375?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/6890860217785002375/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=6890860217785002375' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/6890860217785002375'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/6890860217785002375'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/03/end-of-yet-another-week.html' title='The End Of Yet Another Week'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-1008585329979273973</id><published>2007-03-27T15:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-27T15:21:19.257-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Albums Are On The Way Out</title><content type='html'>I read today that the sale of singles via downloading digitally has out sold full length albums. Well, duhhhh. It's not because people don't have the attention spans for long playing albums, it's that for the most part, the music industry is putting out crap. Do I want to pay one dollar for a song I like or $17.99 for a cd that has one song I like. Before the internet you couldn't buy a single for a lot less of an investment than the long play album. Oh, yes you could, it was called a 45. I hope one day that music goes totally independant. Screw you record companies. All this telling me what I want to hear is finally going to bite you in the rear. It is about time. What will they do when America gets over the rapper thug scene? Think of all the companies that make spinning rims, what will they do? Make something useful? I doubt it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-1008585329979273973?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/1008585329979273973/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=1008585329979273973' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1008585329979273973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1008585329979273973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/03/albums-are-on-way-out.html' title='Albums Are On The Way Out'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-5192036099187327280</id><published>2007-03-23T15:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-23T16:16:53.377-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Poker? You Brought Her.</title><content type='html'>What is up with people playing poker being television worthy? Isn't this something that is frowned upon? Isn't it illegal most places? Just another chapter in my continuing rants regarding reality television. What's next? Let's have "Beer Fest" style drinking contests and televise them. Just in case some network decides to do it, remember I thought of it first. It's not that absurd of an idea, after all, quarters is like a sport.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are channels for all kinds of things, the comedy channel, the movie channel, the news channel and the weather channel just to name a few. I think there should be an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;alcoholic&lt;/span&gt; channel. I forgot, that would be ESPN. Seriously, there would be the great quarters championships, billiards and darts contests as well as the beer drinking contests. There would be lots of beer commercials, hell, the whole network would be a beer commercial. Where better to advertise the discount D.U.I. lawyers. That reminds me, if you had the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;alcohol&lt;/span&gt; channel you could cut down on trips to the local bar. A community service I tell you. There could be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;informative&lt;/span&gt; programing as well. There could be a show about which household products that contain &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;alcohol&lt;/span&gt; are safe to drink in an emergency like when the bars and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;liquor&lt;/span&gt; stores are closed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll have to cut it right here, I have to go meet with some investors over a few drinks. Have a great weekend.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-5192036099187327280?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/5192036099187327280/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=5192036099187327280' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5192036099187327280'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5192036099187327280'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/03/poker-you-brought-her.html' title='Poker? You Brought Her.'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-5402103812544527036</id><published>2007-03-19T16:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-19T16:52:12.615-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Saint Patrick's Day (Part 2)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/Rf8iEsQrmPI/AAAAAAAAABE/d0skri_otQk/s1600-h/DSC00127.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043787571674192114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/Rf8iEsQrmPI/AAAAAAAAABE/d0skri_otQk/s400/DSC00127.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/Rf8hFMQrmOI/AAAAAAAAAA8/ShxGInx6lMI/s1600-h/DSC00121.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043786480752498914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/Rf8hFMQrmOI/AAAAAAAAAA8/ShxGInx6lMI/s400/DSC00121.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;"The most important thing to remember about drunks is that drunks are far more intelligent than non-drunks. They spend a lot of time talking in pubs, unlike workaholics who concentrate on their careers and ambitions, who never develop their higher spiritual values, who never explore the insides of their head like a drunk does." - Shane MacGowan&lt;/em&gt; &lt;em&gt;of The Pogues&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to say that Saturday was fun. My friend Eric was the voice of reason and talked me out of going to any bars. We bought a couple of eight packs of Guinness, a bottle of Baileys and a bottle of Bushmills. I had a bunch of friends, family and neighbors over to my place and utilized the at-home-bar. I got up early and put the corned beef in the slow cooker. We had green cabbage and baked red potatoes. Friend Kim pointed out yesterday that the meal I prepared is not a traditional Irish meal. I don't really care because it was fantastic and there wasn't a crumb left. I got a really great picture of my nephew Connor drinking his Sprite from a shot glass.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-5402103812544527036?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/5402103812544527036/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=5402103812544527036' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5402103812544527036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5402103812544527036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/03/saint-patricks-day-part-2.html' title='Saint Patrick&apos;s Day (Part 2)'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/Rf8iEsQrmPI/AAAAAAAAABE/d0skri_otQk/s72-c/DSC00127.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-3186258324682451029</id><published>2007-03-16T14:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-19T10:47:19.959-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Saint Patrick's Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RfsXNMQrmNI/AAAAAAAAAAs/Mik9VGV4aJE/s1600-h/DSC00111.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042649723168331986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RfsXNMQrmNI/AAAAAAAAAAs/Mik9VGV4aJE/s400/DSC00111.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hmmm, wonder what kind of weekend I'm going to have? Got Guinness? In the picture up above you can see me getting in shape at the Dubliner for the beer fest known as St. Patrick's Day. My sister-in-law Val is to the side of me and you can almost see my brother next to her. My friend Eric took this candid shot of yours truly. Let's be careful this Saturday and remember what Deaf Frat Guy says "Friends don't let friends beer goggle." I'm only kidding, beer goggle away! Who's going to remember? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-3186258324682451029?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/3186258324682451029/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=3186258324682451029' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/3186258324682451029'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/3186258324682451029'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/03/saint-pattys-day.html' title='Saint Patrick&apos;s Day'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RfsXNMQrmNI/AAAAAAAAAAs/Mik9VGV4aJE/s72-c/DSC00111.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-8204868620769075489</id><published>2007-03-15T16:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-15T16:50:50.781-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Friends</title><content type='html'>FRIENDS&lt;br /&gt;Where would I be without friends, to take good care of me,&lt;br /&gt;My friends,&lt;br /&gt;What would I do I would be alone&lt;br /&gt;On my own.&lt;br /&gt;* Enemies, some say add spice to your life&lt;br /&gt;* But I've always hated to be so disliked&lt;br /&gt;* I cant see why in this short span of time&lt;br /&gt;* Anyone does without friends.&lt;br /&gt;FRIENDS&lt;br /&gt;Will always help when you're feeling down,&lt;br /&gt;On the ground,&lt;br /&gt;Your friends&lt;br /&gt;Will put a shoulder to the wheel&lt;br /&gt;I feel&lt;br /&gt;* REPEAT.....&lt;br /&gt;FRIENDS&lt;br /&gt;This is a song to thank you all&lt;br /&gt;For being good friends,&lt;br /&gt;You only number just a few,&lt;br /&gt;But you are my good friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lyrics to one of my favorite Gentle Giant songs.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-8204868620769075489?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/8204868620769075489/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=8204868620769075489' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8204868620769075489'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8204868620769075489'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/03/friends.html' title='Friends'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-7929433422192654363</id><published>2007-03-15T14:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-15T16:05:20.647-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Reality?</title><content type='html'>How is that reality television is always about people that don't live in reality? Because if it were it would be called a documentary. Escapism is entertaining, documentaries are informative. Knowing that, I've decided to live my life like it's a reality show without the video cameras.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's up to all the people that I know or encounter to edit what they see and come up with the most interesting plot line and drama. I'll entertain, disappoint, be loved, hated, but mostly misunderstood. But, then again, don't people do that already with everyone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess that we're all stars in our own "reality" dramas wondering when we'll be voted off the island and sent home. I can only eat so many bugs, sing so much Karoke, and search for so many bachelorettes. It's time I change the channel. I wonder what's on Comedy Central?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-7929433422192654363?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/7929433422192654363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=7929433422192654363' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7929433422192654363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7929433422192654363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/03/reality.html' title='Reality?'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-1372444148331819931</id><published>2007-03-13T16:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T14:35:12.627-07:00</updated><title type='text'>General Pace &amp; Gay Peoples</title><content type='html'>Another high profile person has said something to offend gay advocacy groups. General Pace, the Pentagon's top general stated "Homosexuality is immoral." He has offered no appology for his comment but has issued a statement acknowledging that he should have focused more on his support of the "don't ask, don't tell" policy and less on his personal moral views.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I may not agree with his moral view on homosexuals, I have to give him some credit for not being another one of these people that issues a less than sincere appology after being caught just to save face in a politically correct on the surface society. As an American, General Pace has every right to his personal moral views. The key word being personal. A lot of homosexuals have given their lives for this country but they shouldn't be singled out as anything other than United States soldiers. If you were to single out any group based on race or sexual preference how would that be any different from segregation? No one should have any rights other than those guaranteed by the constitution and no one should have any less as United States citizens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If someone calls you a fag, who looks like the jerk, the person name calling or the person being called a name? Sticks and stones people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-1372444148331819931?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/1372444148331819931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=1372444148331819931' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1372444148331819931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1372444148331819931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/03/general-pace-gay-peoples.html' title='General Pace &amp; Gay Peoples'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-9036163928320624244</id><published>2007-03-05T15:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-05T16:14:04.080-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ultra Mellow Weekend</title><content type='html'>I was wrong about not having any adventures over the weekend. I had many domestic adventures. For starters, I caught up on eight loads of laundry and found money in my pocket that I assumed I spent, treasure! I got my car washed and it looks all nice and shinny. I went to Costco and stocked up on goodies. I cleaned almost every inch of my home. I managed to attend a wine and cheese party at my neighbor's, very cool. The featured wines were two of my favorites, merlot and pinot noir. We had great cheese and fantastic olives and crackers. I think the wine and cheese thing is going to be a regular happening. I'm even considering keeping an open mind to white wine. I never set foot in a bar or resturant all weekend and didn't miss a thing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-9036163928320624244?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/9036163928320624244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=9036163928320624244' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/9036163928320624244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/9036163928320624244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/03/ultra-mellow-weekend.html' title='Ultra Mellow Weekend'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-8499057946629400096</id><published>2007-03-02T14:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T14:34:25.057-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How Is It That Life Is So Hard And I'm So Soft In The Middle?</title><content type='html'>Super stupid drunk night last night. Too bad most of it happened during my blackout. It sounds like it was pretty darn fun. It was my friend's birthday and we were doing Irish Car Bombs. Irish Car Bombs are shots of Jameson Irish wiskey and Bailey's Irish cream in Guinness. There were Jagermeister shots in there too. I was doing very well until I lost my balance and rearranged my face on a stucko wall. I look awful. The girls rushed me into the bathroom and cleaned my wounds right after it happened. They were good to me. I haven't been near that drunk since my friend the minx had to make me a baked potato and put me on the couch so I could sleep it off. That was a few years ago. I guess it's out of my system for a while. Tonight I'm laying low, no drinks for me this weekend. I'm going to barbeque with my friend Eric tonight and watch a movie. I don't plan on having any adventures this weekend. I may have nothing to report Monday. Maybe I'll have time to send out some emails I owe to people. Tanya from Russia I know I'm long overdue. Vagabond Bob, I still don't have my poetry book but I'm glad you have a new posting. I'm going to bust on you if you don't keep your promise of 13 days in a row. I'm one to talk. Minx, I like the new look of your site. Eddie, I'm really lovin' the accoustic album, Key West, The Cross, all great. Congrats to Al on his book deal, too cool. I have to go and make more coffee.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-8499057946629400096?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/8499057946629400096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=8499057946629400096' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8499057946629400096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8499057946629400096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/03/how-is-it-that-life-is-so-hard-while-im.html' title='How Is It That Life Is So Hard And I&apos;m So Soft In The Middle?'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-3525209288747921606</id><published>2007-02-22T13:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-22T14:04:20.558-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Healthy?</title><content type='html'>I'm officially spending more time at health food stores than regular grocery stores. Eating healthy makes a difference that I can't argue with. I've come to the conclusion that you could go crazy with it. I'm not trying to go overboard, I'm only trying to make an improvement. Since I stopped going to fast food places and eating bar food for dinner five nights a week I've noticed a difference. Eating habbits are the only change I've really made and the waist is shrinking. I'd like to say that I've been exercising and cutting down on beer and cigarettes but Rome wasn't built in a day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-3525209288747921606?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/3525209288747921606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=3525209288747921606' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/3525209288747921606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/3525209288747921606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/02/healthy.html' title='Healthy?'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-7075884937884057526</id><published>2007-02-21T13:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-21T15:01:13.303-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What The F*#k!</title><content type='html'>Driving in the streets of Phoenix, Arizona lately has brought me to a conclusion, people can not drive in this town. Today I watched two cars waiting to make a left turn. The drivers of both cars were women on their cell phones. The woman behind the car that was first in line to make the left hand turn drove around the car in front of her and made the left hand turn almost causing three accidents, all while still talking on the cell phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     I've been seeing this far too often lately, people making a left hand turn from the right side of the street. How far does your head need to be up your ass to pull this one? If I see another jackass not pull over for an emergency vehicle I'm going to lose it. I see people slow down as a fire engine passes but I see very few people pulling over. When I was a kid, everyone pulled over for emergency vehicles. If the ambulance, for example, was coming for you or someone you loved you'd want people to get the hell out of the way wouldn't you? Sure you would, so do your part and move over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     That brings me to road rage. If someone cuts me off and nearly kills me in the process and I get pissed off, that's road rage. I think it's a natural instinct of survival. If someone cuts me off and I pull them out of their car and rearrange their face with a baseball bat, now that's road rage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     Phoenix has a habit of taking three lane roads and shutting two lanes down. You look around to see what they might be doing and there's no crew, no hole, no dirt just barriers obstucting traffic and signs that very few bother to read telling you that you're about to become stuck in a traffic jam. Two days ago there was the typical three lanes down to two scenario on Tatum, it was raining, there was an accident and the emergency vehicles couldn't find it because traffic was backed up so far. All I can think is that more people should ride a bicycle.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-7075884937884057526?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/7075884937884057526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=7075884937884057526' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7075884937884057526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7075884937884057526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/02/what-fk.html' title='What The F*#k!'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-8220822801674475427</id><published>2007-02-20T15:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-21T12:59:35.495-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fat Tuesday Part 2</title><content type='html'>I really thought I was going to have a great adventure last night talking to festive people and finding out their views on Mardi Gras. I was surprised to see that there wasn't a wild crowd at any of the watering holes I went to. The only beads I encountered advertised Corona beer. The two beers on special were both Mexican imports. I would not be deterred. I ordered jambalaya, a traditional rice dish cooked with sausage and seasoned with herbs. It can actually contain just about any kind of meat but in this case it was sausage. It was very bland. After I finished my dinner I went back on task. I asked a young lady in her early twenties named Tina what Mardi Gras meant to her and she had never heard of it. I thought she was kidding at first but after I spoke with her for a while I could tell she wasn't. I decided it was time to move on to another bar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next stop on my Mardi Gras pub crawl was a place that featured live music. I thought live music would be more in the spirit of things. The music was good but a little on the mellow side. It really didn't inspire a lot of reckless abandon. There was certainly a better vibe at the new bar but the party seemed a bit half-assed. As a matter of fact, that would seem to be the recurring theme of the evening, half-assed. Don't get me wrong, I still had a good time but it wasn't a Mardi Gras kind of time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mardi Gras means decadence to me. It's about good Cajun food, spirited drinks, festive jazz music, women showing their breasts in exchange for cheap plastic beads and just letting loose on a Tuesday. This year the spirit fell short. I guess a lot of people didn't even know it was Fat Tuesday. Carnival? No, just another Tuesday night indistinct from any other. I know, all the days we have are special but that isn't the point. Imagine Christmas without any Christmas trees or cookies or Charlie Brown Chritmas special. Imagine Halloween without costumes or candy or The Monster Mash or It's the Great Pumkin Charlie Brown. Maybe that's the problem, no Charlie Brown special for Mardi Gras. Is it really a holiday if there is no Charlie Brown special for it?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-8220822801674475427?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/8220822801674475427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=8220822801674475427' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8220822801674475427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8220822801674475427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/02/fat-tuesday-part-2.html' title='Fat Tuesday Part 2'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-1893749430828666405</id><published>2007-02-20T14:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-20T15:18:22.486-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fat Tuesday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/Rdt_ydpDN6I/AAAAAAAAAAY/qd-L1dWdSlo/s1600-h/mardigras2.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033757513443653538" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/Rdt_ydpDN6I/AAAAAAAAAAY/qd-L1dWdSlo/s400/mardigras2.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Bust out the beads and bring on the craw fish it's Fat Tusday! I will have to see if I can find my favorite beer from cajun country, Dixie Blackened Voo Doo. If I'm not mistaken the Dixie factory was a Hurricane Katrina victim. I thought I heard something on the news about them being back in business. I hope so, good beer. To the best of my understanding Fat Tuesday is always 46 days before Easter. Being that the date of Easter varries from year to year so does Fat Tuesay. Mardi is french for Tuesday and gras is french for fat, beyond that I know very little about why we celebrate it. To learn more about this holiday is my mission for the evening, that and eating good food and drinking a few brews. I look forward to writing about this one. Look for Fat Tuesday Part 2 coming soon.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-1893749430828666405?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/1893749430828666405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=1893749430828666405' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1893749430828666405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1893749430828666405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/02/fat-tuesday.html' title='Fat Tuesday'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/Rdt_ydpDN6I/AAAAAAAAAAY/qd-L1dWdSlo/s72-c/mardigras2.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-7936423686432069235</id><published>2007-02-14T14:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-14T15:08:40.223-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Valentine's Day</title><content type='html'>I've never been crazy about these "Hallmark" holidays but it doesn't seem so bad this time. I'm feeling good about it for a change. I'm done with negativity. All this time I thought the problem was some kind of mystery. It turns out it was negativity. My being negative attracted negativity. I don't know that we can ever fully avoid the emotional vampires and the verbal impalers of the world but we certainly have the choice to not spend our off hours with them or act like them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why the sudden change in attitude? I've been eating healthy food. I am no longer impressed with my former beer and chicken wing diet. I'm also taking heart burn medication, that truly changed my world. I may even work out a little. I have my goal for 007, healthy body, mind and soul. It's not too late to find direction this year. I'm excited. I'm so glad that there will be no more smoking in public places on May 1st. I hate smelling of smoke when I'm not smoking. I haven't quit completely, but it will be a lot easier come May 1st. So far this week I've smoked Monday night when I was enjoying a few light beers. Going out is where I crumble. Everyone around me is doing it and I'm not over it yet. May 1st.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-7936423686432069235?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/7936423686432069235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=7936423686432069235' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7936423686432069235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7936423686432069235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/02/valentines-day.html' title='Valentine&apos;s Day'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-2962392779792965355</id><published>2007-02-13T14:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-13T15:03:01.546-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cave Creek Eddie Gig</title><content type='html'>My friend Eddie Elliott had a gig at a yoga studio in Cave Creek. There were those that had their doubts about the venue. The up side was that we could bring our own beverages. My friends Brooks and Angela made the trip with me. On our way we stopped at Safeway and bought a few bottles of wine and some really cool plastic wine glasses. They had a stem on them and everything. The drive was nice and when we got there we took our seats (folding chairs on loan from Cave Creek Coffee Company) then began to enjoy our wine. When more people started to file in there were a few familiar faces like Eddie's mom Sheila and her friend Anita but mostly there were strangers. It turned out to be quite crowded but what a cool crowd. People brought chocolates and cookies and were sharing them with everyone. The thing that struck me most was the genuine feeling of love in the room. Eddie played one of the best shows I've ever seen. He said it was the great vibe in the room that helped. Eddie and I had talked about playing a Neil Young song together but we didn't have much time to run through it so I told him we'd try it some other time. As the evening was coming to an end Eddie said he'd like his good buddy Jim to come up and play a song with him. How could I say no? We played Harvest Moon as if we'd played it a million times and then Eddie ended the set with his song 404. 404 is an acappella song but I followed his led and we kept time by tapping our guitars. Later that night Eddie told me he had planned on ending with Harvest Moon but it just felt right to go into 404. It was a truly inspirational night. I could use more times like that. Couldn't everyone? I hope Judah, the owner of the yoga studio, decides to host another night of wine and song.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-2962392779792965355?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/2962392779792965355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=2962392779792965355' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2962392779792965355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2962392779792965355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/02/cave-creek-eddie-gig.html' title='Cave Creek Eddie Gig'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-5239691982717333247</id><published>2007-01-24T15:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-26T16:06:38.762-08:00</updated><title type='text'>43 Questions</title><content type='html'>These questions were on my friend Bob's website and I thought It would be a good thing to answer when I had nothing else to write about. Thank you for the feedback howmanytimes from Moscow and Tanya from Russia, maybe you'll answer these 43 questions as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. &lt;strong&gt;What is your occupation?&lt;/strong&gt; General Operations Manager.&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;strong&gt;What color are your socks right now?&lt;/strong&gt; White.&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;strong&gt;What are you listening to right now?&lt;/strong&gt; Frosty, Heidi and Frank on Free FM.&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;strong&gt;What is the last thing you ate?&lt;/strong&gt; A burrito.&lt;br /&gt;5. &lt;strong&gt;Can you drive a stick shift?&lt;/strong&gt; Yes, I have owned several.&lt;br /&gt;6. &lt;strong&gt;If you were a crayon, what color would you be?&lt;/strong&gt; I'd like to be the crayon sharpener on the back of the box.&lt;br /&gt;7. &lt;strong&gt;Last person you spoke to on the phone?&lt;/strong&gt; A customer.&lt;br /&gt;8. &lt;strong&gt;Do you like the person who sent this to you?&lt;/strong&gt; Sure, he's an inspiration to many.&lt;br /&gt;9. &lt;strong&gt;How old are you today?&lt;/strong&gt; One day older than yesterday and yet, still thirty-five.&lt;br /&gt;10. &lt;strong&gt;Favorite Drink?&lt;/strong&gt; Guinness.&lt;br /&gt;11. &lt;strong&gt;What is your favorite sport to watch?&lt;/strong&gt; Women's Pro Beach Volleyball, the only sport worth watching :)&lt;br /&gt;12. &lt;strong&gt;Have you ever dyed your hair?&lt;/strong&gt; When I was much younger my girlfriend tried to bleach my hair blonde, it turned orange.&lt;br /&gt;13. &lt;strong&gt;What color?&lt;/strong&gt; See above.&lt;br /&gt;14. &lt;strong&gt;Pets?&lt;/strong&gt; None right now.&lt;br /&gt;15. &lt;strong&gt;Favorite food?&lt;/strong&gt; Yes, food is my favorite.&lt;br /&gt;16. &lt;strong&gt;What was the last movie you watched?&lt;/strong&gt; The Guardian with Kevin Costner and Ashton Kutcher, good flick.&lt;br /&gt;17. &lt;strong&gt;Favorite day of the year?&lt;/strong&gt; Halloween.&lt;br /&gt;18. &lt;strong&gt;What do you do to vent anger?&lt;/strong&gt; Get even.&lt;br /&gt;19. &lt;strong&gt;What was your favorite toy as a child?&lt;/strong&gt; My radio.&lt;br /&gt;20. &lt;strong&gt;What is your favorite season?&lt;/strong&gt; Spring.&lt;br /&gt;21. &lt;strong&gt;Hugs or kisses?&lt;/strong&gt; That all depends on who.&lt;br /&gt;22. &lt;strong&gt;Cherries or blueberries?&lt;/strong&gt; You can't go wrong either way but I'll say cherries because it sounds a little kinky.&lt;br /&gt;23. &lt;strong&gt;Do you want your friends to email you back?&lt;/strong&gt; Stupid question, if not why would you email them to begin with.&lt;br /&gt;24. &lt;strong&gt;Who is most likely to respond?&lt;/strong&gt; All of them.&lt;br /&gt;25. &lt;strong&gt;Who is least likely to respond?&lt;/strong&gt; George Bush (cheap Hurricane Katrina shot).&lt;br /&gt;26. &lt;strong&gt;Living arrangements?&lt;/strong&gt; It's the basic walls and roof deal, three bedrooms, two bathrooms and no roommates.&lt;br /&gt;27. &lt;strong&gt;When was the last time you cried?&lt;/strong&gt; The last time I wrote a check for my living situation.&lt;br /&gt;28. &lt;strong&gt;What is on the floor of your closet?&lt;/strong&gt; I don't know. I don't go in there, it's dark.&lt;br /&gt;29. &lt;strong&gt;Who is the friend you have had the longest?&lt;/strong&gt; My friend Mari since high school.&lt;br /&gt;30. &lt;strong&gt;What did you do last night?&lt;/strong&gt; I watched Scrubs.&lt;br /&gt;31. &lt;strong&gt;Favorite smells?&lt;/strong&gt; Rain, the desert and teen spirit.&lt;br /&gt;32. &lt;strong&gt;What are you afraid of?&lt;/strong&gt; Monsters.&lt;br /&gt;33. &lt;strong&gt;Plain, cheese or spicy hamburgers?&lt;/strong&gt; Cheese.&lt;br /&gt;34. &lt;strong&gt;Favorite dog breed?&lt;/strong&gt; German Shepard.&lt;br /&gt;35. &lt;strong&gt;Number of keys on your key ring?&lt;/strong&gt; Too many to count.&lt;br /&gt;36. &lt;strong&gt;How many years at your current job?&lt;/strong&gt; Ten years.&lt;br /&gt;37. &lt;strong&gt;Favorite day of the week?&lt;/strong&gt; The last day.&lt;br /&gt;38. &lt;strong&gt;How many states have you lived in?&lt;/strong&gt; Texas and Arizona.&lt;br /&gt;39. &lt;strong&gt;Favorite holiday?&lt;/strong&gt; Ground Hog Day.&lt;br /&gt;40. &lt;strong&gt;Ever driven a motorcycle or heavy machinery?&lt;/strong&gt; Fork lift at work.&lt;br /&gt;41. &lt;strong&gt;Who's your favorite NFL team?&lt;/strong&gt; What's the NFL?&lt;br /&gt;42. &lt;strong&gt;Do you have a house phone that is NOT cordless?&lt;/strong&gt; No.&lt;br /&gt;43. &lt;strong&gt;10 inches of snow or 100 degree weather?&lt;/strong&gt; 100 degree weather, you don't have to shovel heat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-5239691982717333247?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/5239691982717333247/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=5239691982717333247' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5239691982717333247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5239691982717333247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/01/43-questions.html' title='43 Questions'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-3575522524574520399</id><published>2007-01-24T13:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-24T15:34:59.977-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Want My MTV?</title><content type='html'>August 1st 1981&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;Mtv debuted with the Buggles &lt;em&gt;Video Killed The Radio Star. &lt;/em&gt;Mtv soon became a household name and gave rise to the expression the Mtv generation. I was 10 years old, making me part of the Mtv generation. Using that line of logic, anyone in the age range of the early thirties to the early fourties is the original Mtv generation. My question is why do I not find on any of the three so-called music channels, anything geared towards anyone over the age of nineteen?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've heard that there is supposed to be an Mtv for my generation but it's nowhere on my basic cable service. I would really hate to shell out the extra money to find out that it's just as bad as regular Mtv. I can only imagine that the programing schedule would be full of "reality" television and Celebrity Death Match reruns.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think Mtv should realize the potential for recapturing their original fans. The idea would be to mix the "oldies" of the eighties with music geared toward people in their thirties and fourties. I'm sure there are plenty of artists that would benefit from a mature Mtv. What ever happened to that guy that sang the song with Santana? Rob something or the other? What about that band from Seattle? Pearl Cream? Not Pearl Baily? Oh! Pearl Jam. Who knows, maybe they have a new album that very few know about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This brings me to Beavis And Butt-Head. I've got the first season on dvd. What I didn't understand at the time was that the videos and their commentary were the best part. The stories were secondary. On the dvds they take the videos out. Bummer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I just can't embrace the "music" of this generation. I merely believe that there are very few things more pathetic than being thirty-five and listening to Ashley Simpson or Kelly Clarkson and dressing like I'm in high school.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-3575522524574520399?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/3575522524574520399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=3575522524574520399' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/3575522524574520399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/3575522524574520399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/01/i-want-my-mtv.html' title='I Want My MTV?'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-2214795373787099566</id><published>2007-01-19T15:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-19T15:23:42.804-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Congradulations Eddie And Steph!</title><content type='html'>At 9:37 last night, January 18th 2007, I got a text message from my good friend Eddie Elliott saying "Jack was born!" Jack is the name Eddie and Steph picked out for their new baby boy. I'll be drinking a toast to the Elliott's new addition Jack Elliott tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned Eddie on to the series 24 back in 2005 and he ended up renting the dvd's. I wonder if Jack is named after Jack Bower. Hmm.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-2214795373787099566?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/2214795373787099566/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=2214795373787099566' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2214795373787099566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2214795373787099566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/01/congradulations-eddie-and-steph.html' title='Congradulations Eddie And Steph!'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-4530065840518699178</id><published>2007-01-18T15:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-18T16:03:44.468-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Legalize It?</title><content type='html'>Mary Jane, pot, smoke, green, dope, bud, just some of the words used to refer to marijuana. I know more people that are completely screwed up on pain medication than marijuana. These are people that would never dream of smoking the illegal "herb" known as pot. They are physically addicted to pain medication. When they run out, they'll steel it from old people or buy it from people that stole it from old people and they'll pay a lot for it. So much for pot being a "gateway" drug. I've heard it said that pain killers will destroy your liver when used long term.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think all addiction is unhealthy but I don't see them making chocolate illegal. What is the worst thing anyone has ever done while under the influence of marijuana? It's much like drinking, you shouldn't drive a car or opperate heavy machinery. When was the last time someone woke up in the morning after smoking pot with a splitting headache and wondering what happened during the black out?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The point I'm trying to make is that I think the law enforcement agencies should concentrate on the things that really are harmful to our communities. Methamphetamines are bad for individuals but I'm not out to save them from themselves. What I care about is the crime that is involved with the habit. People on methamphetamines can't hold a job, meth costs money, therefore it inspires burglary, prostitution and various theft. What does marijuana inspire? The munchies man.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-4530065840518699178?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/4530065840518699178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=4530065840518699178' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/4530065840518699178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/4530065840518699178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/01/legalize-it.html' title='Legalize It?'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-6837063626066766257</id><published>2007-01-17T15:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-17T15:42:29.857-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Nice</title><content type='html'>My friend Eric invited me to join him for beers with a new friend of his. She is the cutest guy I've ever met. If it weren't for her boobs and feminine looks you'd never guess she was a chick. She was that cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She told us stories of having sex with women and her reason for not doing it anymore. She said she'd be at a club dancing with a cute girl that was all over her and how the minute a guy would come up to them the girl she was dancing with would go off with the guy. She said "I got tired of being teased." "So you know what it's like to be a man." Eric and I replyed in stereo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We moved on to the next establishment for a change of scenery. "I think Jim should feel my boobs" she said out of nowhere. I looked at Eric and he said "Go ahead." I thought is was strange but if Eric didn't care and she was offering, why not? Very nice indeed. That's were the night ended for me. I knew she was totally into Eric so I said "Goodnight" and went home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eric stayed up until 5:00 in the morning with his new twenty three year old friend. The poor guy. I couldn't feel sorry for him. I know they didn't stay up that late talking. Good going E.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-6837063626066766257?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/6837063626066766257/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=6837063626066766257' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/6837063626066766257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/6837063626066766257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/01/nice.html' title='Nice'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-9211663510290498552</id><published>2007-01-09T15:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-09T15:46:19.570-08:00</updated><title type='text'>For The Record</title><content type='html'>I guess I had a few of the facts wrong regarding my travel companion. Her card was "eaten" while making an ATM deposit. I also found out that that wasn't a deciding factor as to her going or not. So my not meant to be theory, which everyone can't seem to get enough of telling me, is bullshit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't possibly feel any worse than I already do about the situation. I can't dwell on the negative, there's too much of it. Hopefully one day I won't be filled with so much anger and disgust for myself. As for now I'm going to climb down from the cross, use the wood to build a bridge and get over it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-9211663510290498552?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/9211663510290498552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=9211663510290498552' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/9211663510290498552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/9211663510290498552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/01/for-record.html' title='For The Record'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-3741170741009810540</id><published>2007-01-08T15:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-08T16:08:33.947-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Making Plans Is The Surest Way To Hear God Laugh</title><content type='html'>Airline info and cruise tickets, check. One unstamped United States passport, check. Luggage packed and ready, check. Book, magazines and mp3 player, check. Transportation to and from the airport, check. Alarm set for 3:30 a.m., check. Waking up in time to catch the plane, oops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't had more than three days off in a row since the year 2000. I was awarded a cruise to the Caribbean from my employer and needless to say the time off to go. You have no idea how devastated I was to wake up to find that I litterally "missed the boat" on this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so excited to be going to Jamacia and Grand Cayman that I couldn't fall asleep. I was looking forward to this for three months. My travel companion called me seven times to try and wake me. She decided to go on without me, I don't blame her. When she put her credit card into the machine to verify identifacation the machine "ate" her card. It was the very same card she would be using to pay her cruise account with. She didn't end up going either because she would have no way to pay for anything. Her boyfriend got back from Iraq the night before so at least she'll get to spend time with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead of sitting on a Caribbean island sipping drinks with umbrellas in them, I'm at work. Between the two problems, it seems to me that there were forces that were against us on this. I may not ever find out just exactally the cosmic reason for this. I will eventually be more at peace with it but it still stings. I really wanted to go. Perhaps it will make sence to me someday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-3741170741009810540?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/3741170741009810540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=3741170741009810540' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/3741170741009810540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/3741170741009810540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/01/making-plans-is-surest-way-to-hear-god.html' title='Making Plans Is The Surest Way To Hear God Laugh'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-1988901323661757357</id><published>2007-01-05T15:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-05T15:51:21.806-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cuz</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RZ7kZ-48ctI/AAAAAAAAAAM/JsZ0ZhCcX5M/s1600-h/Jim+&amp;+Thumper.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5016698169967014610" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RZ7kZ-48ctI/AAAAAAAAAAM/JsZ0ZhCcX5M/s400/Jim+%26+Thumper.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My friend Bob Makela &lt;a href="http://www.thegreatestyearofmylife.com"&gt;www.thegreatestyearofmylife.com&lt;/a&gt; reminded me of someone that I could write about. His name was Jim O'Kelley from Florence, Alabama. I met him while surfing the web for O'Kelley web sites. I saw a message on the message board from Jim O'Kelley and thought the name is familiar but I don't know any family with that email address, so I wrote him. He responded to my email and we became friends via the internet. He worked drug enforcement in Alabama. We talked about everything under the sun. He refered to me as his cuz although we never found out if we were blood relation. He loved his wife Gina, God, his Harley Davidson motorcycle "Thumper" and being a cop. He said the one draw back to working drug enforcement is that he could no longer smoke a little bud now and then because they test their agents for drugs. We shared a love for the old west. We were making plans of visiting Tombstone when I recieved an email from his wife telling me he died in a motorcyle accident. I was stunned. It was surreal. I wondered how this could happen. I spoke with him on the phone just a few weeks prior. The man rode that motorcyle everywhere and was a very good rider. It smelled suspicious to me. I called his wife and she too was very suspicious given his profession and the fact that he was such a good rider. I felt horrible for Gina losing her husband of so many years like that. I would never have believed in soul mates if it weren't for those two. He helped me through a lot of hard times and made me laugh out loud when reading his emails. His nickname was "outlaw" because he said he looked more like a crook than a cop. I think of things he told me and I still smile. Some people are just too good for this world. Rest in peace cuz.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-1988901323661757357?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/1988901323661757357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=1988901323661757357' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1988901323661757357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1988901323661757357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/01/cuz.html' title='Cuz'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_KE0iPv9s0A4/RZ7kZ-48ctI/AAAAAAAAAAM/JsZ0ZhCcX5M/s72-c/Jim+%26+Thumper.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-1264551192653028282</id><published>2007-01-02T09:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-02T14:07:00.894-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Favorite Number</title><content type='html'>A lot of people have favorite colors, favorite songs, favorite wars and so forth, but I've never understood the favorite number. I guess I'd have to say that I'm partial to 1 through 10. One is the loneliest number. Two can be as bad as one, it's the lonliest number since the number one. Three to get ready now go cat go. 25 or 6 to 4. You're going to cry 96 tears. If I had a dollar I might give you 99. People like to incorporate numbers into songs but what do they mean? 867-5309 I understand, it's Jenny's phone number. Damn Tommy Tutone didn't include an area code. Oh well, I'm sure she's moved by now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many people think they are clever when they say that their favorite number is 69. Stop. It's been over done. I really don't want the mental image of most of the people that would give that as an answer anyway. There are those that like the number 666. You know who you are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people say that they have a lucky number. If I were to win the lottery then that would be my lucky number. Does anyone have a favorite or lucky letter? My favorite letter is "A" because it was the first one I could write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd have to say that right now my favorite number is 2007. Happy New Year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-1264551192653028282?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/1264551192653028282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=1264551192653028282' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1264551192653028282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1264551192653028282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2007/01/my-favorite-number.html' title='My Favorite Number'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-8279040934023252243</id><published>2006-12-21T14:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-29T12:46:54.714-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Post?</title><content type='html'>That last post was rather negative. It seems that I've missed my own point. What is the use in spreading negativity through cyberspace? Isn't there enough everywhere you go? The truth is we need to dwell more on the things that touch us in a possitive way. On that note, I'd like to say "hello" to my special friend in Russia. Sorry that it's taken me so long to return your email. I'd like to give a shout out to Vagabond Bob. Thanks for the inspiration. To my friend the Minx, I have your back, I just don't talk behind it.&lt;br /&gt;What's in store for next year? A blogger's cruise to the Caribbean? A recording session centered on Happy Meals without onions please? You never can tell. There should always be something to look forward to. Maybe there will be more song writting next year. Maybe my old buddies from Goodfoot will feel like it's time to go for it. Which reminds me, Brooks, "What the Hell?" Goodfoot Rich and I have been recording. Go west young man. Goodfoot Mike is ready to get the "F" out of the house.&lt;br /&gt;I'll say goodbye for now. Thanks Minx for encouraging me to post something new.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-8279040934023252243?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/8279040934023252243/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=8279040934023252243' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8279040934023252243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8279040934023252243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/12/new-post.html' title='New Post?'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-9118414252500136318</id><published>2006-12-13T15:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-13T16:09:42.219-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mistaking Kindness For Weakness</title><content type='html'>Since I was twenty I've known that I can never change the world. I have always believed since then that I could change my world. The point is, there are a lot of flat out shitty people out there. I know everyone is flawed but I never lost hope in the over all good of people. You can't tell by looking at people which is bad and which is good. Sometimes you think you know someone and that they are good. Now it is starting to no longer surprise me when it turns out that I was wrong. I guess that's a part of getting older. But what do you do? Cut off all ties to the outside world? Live in a bubble? Be very guarded? Take on a persona that is quite different than the person that you really are? No. You say "Fuck you" and go about your day. That must be why I'm such a success at being emotionally unavailable. I know who I am. I don't need to hear anyone's theories on what my demons are. Most of the time they are sooooo off base that I have to laugh. Very few people stop talking long enough to listen anyway. What do people expect? You'll say "Wow, no one understands me but you" No one understands anyone and no one cares to. They may sincerely think they do but they don't. I'd say that the majority of people that talk to me do so only because they want something or I amuse them. Let's hope I don't feel so dark tomorrow. This is a little example of my holiday cheer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-9118414252500136318?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/9118414252500136318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=9118414252500136318' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/9118414252500136318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/9118414252500136318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/12/mistaking-kindness-for-weakness.html' title='Mistaking Kindness For Weakness'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-4935403623260341893</id><published>2006-12-12T14:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-12T15:38:45.352-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Holiday Spending Vs. Holiday Spirit</title><content type='html'>This is an age old problem that only gets worse every year. We started to say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" as not to offend any non-Christians. Now a Rabi asks for one manora to go with the nine Christmas trees at an airport and what do they do? Give the man a manora? No. In the middle of the night they took out the Christmas trees. Now it makes it look like the jews stole Christmas. We know this isn't the case. I think being politically correct during the holidays is the devil's work. Because of my faith, I don't actually believe in the devil but if there were a devil, what an acomplishment. Being invisible would be the best way to cause trouble.&lt;br /&gt;People sure don't mind taking your money during the "holidays" do they? You pull out the plastic to buy all those gifts you can't afford and the credit card companies make money. The stores make money. Every time you buy something there is a sales tax that goes to funding public programs (more money). Have a little "holiday" drink at a "holiday" party then drive and see if the courts mind taking your money.&lt;br /&gt;Christmas is supposed to be the one time of year we take our heads out of our asses and love our fellow humans and put petty differences aside. A once a year reminder that we could be at peace. We humans found a way to fuck it up. Good going human race! We've all become the Grinch, the Scrooge, the mindless throwing money at the marketing without feeling the spirit. There are a lot of suicides at this time of year. People would be better to open their hearts than their wallets. Some people just buy their kids everything they want. People never stop wanting for material things, no one has that much money. Someone simply wishing a total stranger a Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays or whatever could change someone's mood for the better. I'm not talking about saying it just to people who buy something from you. I'm talking about people you pass everywhere. It may sound simple, it may sound goofy, but it sure feels good, as much to the poor as the rich.&lt;br /&gt;I wonder what we'll take away next year. I'm sick of listening to six weeks of Jingle Bells. Maybe they'll take away "holiday" music. Don't get me wrong, holiday music is good but not the day after Halloween.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-4935403623260341893?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/4935403623260341893/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=4935403623260341893' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/4935403623260341893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/4935403623260341893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/12/holiday-spending-vs-holiday-spirit.html' title='Holiday Spending Vs. Holiday Spirit'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-480105359648067320</id><published>2006-12-11T15:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-11T15:56:25.470-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What Birthday?</title><content type='html'>I woke up on the morning of the day of my birth still drunk from the night before. I had what at the time seemed like a logical idea... keep drinking. Who wants to be hung over on their birthday anyway? I remember meeting a lot of new interesting people. I remember phone calls that weren't neccessary. I remember a lovely young girl telling me that she liked my shirt. I decided to wear my t-shirt that looks like the front of a tuxedo with my black suit and black Converse All Stars. I remember a guy telling me that he lost his job. I remember asking him where he saw it last. I remember a nice woman named Robyn bring me a shot of Tequila. I remember going to a lot of different bars. I remember a lot of people giving me rides to the next bar. I remember standing up straight with confidence because it was my birthday and it was my right to be drunk. I remember hearing that my former co-worker/friend passed away that day. I remember feeling, for a moment, far too mortal for a drunk man. It wasn't that long ago that we were celebrating his birthday. Fucking cancer. The bad thing about being thirty five is that a two day day drunk has a two day hang over.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-480105359648067320?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/480105359648067320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=480105359648067320' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/480105359648067320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/480105359648067320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/12/what-birthday.html' title='What Birthday?'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-5016408779567418123</id><published>2006-12-01T12:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-01T13:45:25.598-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Men Don't Want Children</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/1600/939868/untitled.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/400/631116/untitled.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are several reasons why men would want to have children. I am only speaking of the things that scare the hell out of men. The first big reason is financial. Babies are expensive, diapers, clothes, daycare and medical care are just a few of the expenses. Child support usually is another issue. Couples usually don't make it more than seven years on average before divorce. Men, more often than not, end up having to pay child support. It's not unjust, it's just a fact of life. Second is responsibility. Both parents become responsible for a little person's life. The needs of the baby come first. That means sacrifice on all levels. You, as a parent are responsible for all of your child's actions. If your child decides that it would be fun to throw a rock at a car, you are responsible for all damages. A big concern for men is that women usually put on a bit of weight and don't lose it after the baby is born. They often times stop making an effort to look nice because they are too tired from working and taking care of the baby. Men are called insensitive jerks for saying anything about it. A lot of men don't say anything and lose their attraction for the woman. This &lt;strong&gt;will&lt;/strong&gt; cause problems. Men certainly have been guilty of letting themselves go as well. When the relationship does come to an end there can not be a clean break. You will have to deal with one another for years to come because there are always issues concerning the child or children. The man often finds himself at 30 to 40 newly single, out of shape, living in an apartment, having the baggage of financial obligations to the child and possibly the ex, being a part time father and wondering if he'll ever have anything to offer to a new relationship. After a while his ex will meet a man that will be spending more time with your child than you do because of the custody arrangement. I'm not saying that the woman has it any easier. This is a one sided view from the man's perspective. What do you have when it all falls apart? A child or children that you love but will probably on more than one occasion tell you how much they hate you because you are so unfair and ruined their life. Parenthood is a thankless job. I need to call my dad and thank him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-5016408779567418123?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/5016408779567418123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=5016408779567418123' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5016408779567418123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5016408779567418123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/12/why-men-dont-want-children.html' title='Why Men Don&apos;t Want Children'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-5295620131888654950</id><published>2006-11-27T15:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-27T15:49:41.451-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Holidays?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/1600/PEACE.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/400/PEACE.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;What is wrong with this homeowner's association in Denver? Someone displayed a Christmas wreath made into a peace sign and the association deems it offensive. The president of the association says it may offend people with children in Iraq or may be a symbol of Satan. Bovine feces! If I had a child or a loved one serving in Iraq I would pray everyday for peace so that person could come home. I do anyway. The peace sign, a symbol of Satan? Oh, sure, you know how much Satan likes peace. I suppose the Christmas song that speaks of peace on earth and good will towards man was written by Satan. Christmas is a celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ. Jesus is known as the Prince of Peace. Is Jesus Satan? Give me a break. I think most Christmas decorations look a bit tacky but this is still a free country isn't it? It's not like she's trying to park her car on the lawn. To Lisa Jensen, the person that hung the wreath, I admire you for not being bullied. I hope it stays up through the holidays. The idea of peace is never anything to be ashamed of, after all, that's what our service people are fighting for. To Bob Kearns, president of the homeowner's association, shame on you! I don't normally put up a Christmas wreath but I think I will make one of these peace wreaths for my door. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-5295620131888654950?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/5295620131888654950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=5295620131888654950' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5295620131888654950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5295620131888654950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/happy-holidays.html' title='Happy Holidays?'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-2782582798615850858</id><published>2006-11-21T08:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-21T08:41:27.324-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/1600/908521/turkey.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/400/837139/turkey.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I like Thanksgiving. It's okay to eat like a pig and it's a good excuse to visit with friends and relatives. Abraham Lincoln made it an official national holiday back in 1860 something. They ate much better then. They had duck, leg of lamb and all kinds of good stuff. I'm looking forward to having a day off and eating like there's no tomorrow. This Thanksgiving let's spend a little time thinking about the long journey and the struggle the Cardinals have gone through to get their own stadium. They may even win a few games there. I'm just kidding. Happy Thanksgiving.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-2782582798615850858?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/2782582798615850858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=2782582798615850858' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2782582798615850858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/2782582798615850858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/happy-thanksgiving.html' title='Happy Thanksgiving'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-5574638428989527229</id><published>2006-11-20T12:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-20T15:00:44.626-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Music Night</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/1600/690401/ed_photo_s-i.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/400/451086/ed_photo_s-i.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Friday night I went to The Dirty Drummer to see my friend Eddie Elliott play. As a bonus Jeremiah was there from Los Angeles. What a great time. Eddie played the first few sets then Jeremiah played with Eddie and Jeremiah finished the last few sets. It was a great way to spend a Friday. Eddie is getting a lot of possitive feedback from the Dirty Drummer patrons. It was a major treat to hear Jeremiah play songs with Eddie. They played a song called Willie Wonka Revisited together and it was GREAT! Eddie has too many fantastic songs to list here. I realized this yesterday when I was trying to make an Eddie Elliott mix disc and I couldn't fit all the songs that I wanted on to one disc. To find out more about Ed visit &lt;a href="http://www.eddieelliott.com"&gt;www.eddieelliott.com&lt;/a&gt; and maybe you can catch a show. Eddie and I used to be next door neighbors. Before I ever met him I heard his music. Eddie had given my brother his cd. I went to the pizza place that my brother worked and the song 12 Again was on in the dining room. I told my brother that it was about time that the radio started playing good songs and I asked him if he knew who the artist was. My brother said that it was our new neighbor and I didn't believe him. Three months later when Eddie got back from his tour I was already a fan. That was back in 2002. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-5574638428989527229?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/5574638428989527229/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=5574638428989527229' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5574638428989527229'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5574638428989527229'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/good-music-night.html' title='Good Music Night'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-9114555235288584935</id><published>2006-11-17T13:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-17T14:12:13.545-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Holy Estrogen!</title><content type='html'>Does Tyra Banks HAVE to be on television? To watch her you would swear that there is nothing more important or nobel than being a model. Let's face it, most women don't look like Tyra Banks. How in the world are any typical, normal women going to relate? It must be like hanging out with that really "cool" person that normally would be too good to hang out with you but for some reason the're hanging anyway. I must hand it to her though, she's going to save all those women from their dangerous thong underwear. Where does she get her topics? Who is watching these shows? She seems like a genuinely good person, but I know a lot of genuinely good people that do not have their own television shows. The bottom line is that we already have Oprah, can't we leave well enough alone? Maybe Tyra could get a job on The View, then no one could ever make out what the hell she's saying. Cluck, cluck, cluck. I just don't like it when the commercials are more interesting than the show. If anyone from any of the networks are reading, here's an idea. Topless Tyra, high definition in surround silence.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-9114555235288584935?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/9114555235288584935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=9114555235288584935' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/9114555235288584935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/9114555235288584935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/holy-estrogen.html' title='Holy Estrogen!'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-5699275732139639815</id><published>2006-11-16T13:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-16T14:38:25.944-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Betty Ford Clinic</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/1600/Mark%20Cordes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/320/Mark%20Cordes.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My friend Mark Cordes came by the office today. He is a comedian (a funny fellar). He is the one that came up with my signature Betty Ford Clinic hat. I've heard him compared to a "funny" Chevy Chase. How fortunate he is, can you think of a better job than making people laugh for a living? You can learn more about him at &lt;a href="http://www.markcordes.com"&gt;www.markcordes.com&lt;/a&gt; . I've seen him at the Tempe Improv several times, I urge anyone looking to see a very funny comedian to see one of his shows.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-5699275732139639815?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/5699275732139639815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=5699275732139639815' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5699275732139639815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/5699275732139639815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/betty-ford-clinic.html' title='Betty Ford Clinic'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-4737616995567875866</id><published>2006-11-15T15:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T16:04:36.661-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Weekend</title><content type='html'>I finally have a few moments to write about the weekend. Too bad I didn't get pictures. Friday night was the good 'ol beer drinking night. My friends Sky and Barry and I went to Eddie's Tavern. Saturday, Nicki T. and I met at Famous Sam's where her friend Shawn and I were exposed to a wardrobe malfunction of an older woman. It was, as Nicki said "Like watching a train wreck." My yelling out "I'm blind!" probably didn't help the situation. We then went to meet up with my friend and old band mate Rich and our friend Sedona Becky at the Ox Bar. It was a rough crowd but it was a lot of fun after a few Miller Lite's. Rich, Becky and I met up with my friend John at my place. There was a domestic disturbance somewhere in the neighborhood and the hottie chick cop asked if I heard anything and I said I didn't but my friend Becky said she heard something. I poked my head in the door and asked what she heard and as she was walking out she said "Someone got murdered." The hottie cop was standing right there. Oh was Becky ever surprised. We went to Lagerfields and had many laughs. I slept most of Sunday. Nicki T. and I never did make it to that party we were planning on going to.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-4737616995567875866?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/4737616995567875866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=4737616995567875866' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/4737616995567875866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/4737616995567875866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/weekend.html' title='Weekend'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-8804938291594630641</id><published>2006-11-15T12:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T13:58:12.862-08:00</updated><title type='text'>O.J. - I've never seen so much blood in my life</title><content type='html'>O.J. Simpson is going to be on television promoting his book. He will be talking about "If I did it, here's how it happened." If he didn't do it, how does he know how it happened? If he didn't do it, why would he discuss how he would have done it? If he publishes a book and makes money on it, because he lost the civil suit, would he have to start paying the settlement from the proceeds of book sales? None of this makes any sense to me. If he really didn't do it, he should refrain from making stupid comments regarding the murder. What's next, will he make a movie showing how he would have done it? Maybe the bonus footage on the DVD would show his home made sex tape with Nicole Brown Simpson (If there ever was one). Maybe they'll show him golfing over her grave. The sick thing is that someone would buy it. Bad taste, that's the nicest thing I can say.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-8804938291594630641?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/8804938291594630641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=8804938291594630641' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8804938291594630641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/8804938291594630641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/oj-ive-never-seen-so-much-blood-in-my.html' title='O.J. - I&apos;ve never seen so much blood in my life'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-7683935088402422010</id><published>2006-11-13T15:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-13T16:00:40.160-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Monday from Hell</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/1600/101_0248.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/320/101_0248.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love the Monday that people expect you to get a week's worth of work done in one day. That would be today. I had all kinds of things to write about but it isn't likely to happen. I'll try tomorrow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-7683935088402422010?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/7683935088402422010/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=7683935088402422010' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7683935088402422010'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7683935088402422010'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/monday-from-hell.html' title='Monday from Hell'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-3690895346258235646</id><published>2006-11-10T15:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-10T15:59:35.793-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Family</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/1600/Connor_Fall_2006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4365/979766524998205/320/Connor_Fall_2006.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kids are cool. I was playing Nerf guns with my nephews yesterday and Connor, the youngest one, did a full on dramatic death scene. When he was done he giggled like crazy. Being an uncle is great, I get to get them hiper and go home. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-3690895346258235646?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/3690895346258235646/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=3690895346258235646' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/3690895346258235646'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/3690895346258235646'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/family.html' title='Family'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-443655497544510843</id><published>2006-11-10T13:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-10T14:31:10.863-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stress</title><content type='html'>I have been worried that I may be consuming too much beer lately, then I have a day like today. I'm looking forward to that cold beverage brewed from malt and hops that makes me feel like the slack-jawed hillbilly that came to town. When I'm feeling a bit more thoughtful and artsy I prefer red wine. It is a lot of fun going to a wine bar, listening to piano, guitar, or a jazz combo and trying different wine. When I want to act stupid and do things that I probably won't remember, I'll drink hard stuff. Today, however, is a good 'ol draft beer, hell raising, alcohol sure do numb the pain, thank god it's Friday kind of night. Tomorrow I'm going to a party with my good friend Nicki T. at her friend's house. With this in mind, I will try to end the insanity early tonight. I will be meeting new people tomorrow and don't want to be hung over, embarrassing, or worse yet; boring.&lt;br /&gt;I would like to thank Minx for the mention on her site. The Minx knows how to put photos on her blog, check it out &lt;a href="http://www.minxinthecity.com"&gt;www.minxinthecity.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-443655497544510843?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/443655497544510843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=443655497544510843' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/443655497544510843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/443655497544510843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/stress.html' title='Stress'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-11230634546340663</id><published>2006-11-09T12:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-09T12:15:46.747-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh my God, I killed Jimmy!</title><content type='html'>I just read my own post about outsourcing. I sounded really preachy. I'm stepping off the soap box now. Heard any good jokes lately? Okay, a duck walks into a bar....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-11230634546340663?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/11230634546340663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=11230634546340663' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/11230634546340663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/11230634546340663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/oh-my-god-i-killed-jimmy.html' title='Oh my God, I killed Jimmy!'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-1830146709223253800</id><published>2006-11-09T11:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-09T12:10:56.227-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Outsourcing</title><content type='html'>I find it very depressing to watch "Rome" fall. By Rome I mean the United States. I understand that other countries need to eat and Americans are charitable but if we keep giving jobs to outsourcing and undocumented workers this country won't have the money to be charitable. People will argue that these are jobs that Americans won't do, but I have news for you Sally, they're starting to outsource surgery. It's cheaper to put you on a plane to India for surgery and fly you back than to send you two miles from your home. People will say that American doctors are too greedy. The American people are too greedy. America is sue crazy. Work hard? Why? I'll either sue somebody, win the lottery or wait for my parents to die. America has gone horribly wrong. Hard work is what made this country. Think of all the people that died defending this country next time you support a business that outsources.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-1830146709223253800?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/1830146709223253800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=1830146709223253800' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1830146709223253800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/1830146709223253800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/outsourcing.html' title='Outsourcing'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-315531187142609558</id><published>2006-11-08T16:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-08T16:24:24.077-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Who, What, When, How, Where... Why?</title><content type='html'>I selected the title The Greatest Fifteen Minutes Of My Life because of my good friend Bob. Bob has the site &lt;a href="http://www.thegreatestyearofmylife.com"&gt;www.thegreatestyearofmylife.com&lt;/a&gt; and it has inspired me, Gentleman Jim. I can barely write my name in the dirt with a stick but I'll struggle through it. I chose fifteen minutes because that may be how long I stay focused on this endeavor. I have no idea what I'll be writing or what subjects are off limits. I wonder if anyone will read it?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-315531187142609558?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/315531187142609558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=315531187142609558' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/315531187142609558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/315531187142609558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/who-what-when-how-where-why.html' title='Who, What, When, How, Where... Why?'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026247372785299725.post-7883720262955684070</id><published>2006-11-08T15:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-08T15:21:42.474-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Starting A Blog</title><content type='html'>I've never posted a blog before. It should be a good old fashioned Easter Seal clubbing time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8026247372785299725-7883720262955684070?l=thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/feeds/7883720262955684070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8026247372785299725&amp;postID=7883720262955684070' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7883720262955684070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8026247372785299725/posts/default/7883720262955684070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thegreatestfifteenminutesofmylife.blogspot.com/2006/11/starting-blog.html' title='Starting A Blog'/><author><name>Gentleman Jim</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13127322137051707398</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
