What to put on my resume?

Time to explore new options and opportunities, no I am not thinking about couple swapping, or joining the circus, I am referring to updating my resume. In fact, it has been my intention to do this for quite some time now, but I am undecided on the ratio of facts, accomplishments, stretched truths, omissions, and down-right lies to include. After all, you only get one shot to make a good first impression. Whoever coined the phrase, "honesty is always the best policy" was a naive sucker, and the person who said, "the truth will set you free" was certainly out of their damn mind; just ask Martha Stewart.

I grew up with my mother giving me countless lectures on how important it is to tell the truth. But what one says, and what one does is not always the same. Case and example, when I was age five my mother decided it would be a good experience for me to join the YMCA Youth Summer Program. Only one problem, the minimal age requirement was age six. However, this small hurdle did not discourage my mother from placing her son into the program anyway; she merely duplicated my birth certificate and increased my age by one year. Lesson I learned from my mother, it is important to tell the truth 90 to 95 percent of the time, and fudge and or delete the truth 5 to 10 percent of the time. Now I know there are some of you who think deletions are not untruths, to which I say do not kid yourselves. When you intentionally leave out facts that would paint a more accurate description of the truth, plain and simple; you're lying. You may lie occasionally to others, but never lie to yourself.

Now, do not misconstrue what I am saying, I believe honesty and truth are very important. Without these qualities the very fabric and foundations of the relationships between our families, friends, co-workers and society in general would easily crumble. But, yes there is always a but, it is human nature to misrepresent the truth from time to time for the perceived benefit of the the greater good. Reasons include: gaining advantages in the work-place, avoiding legal actions and prosecution, securing entrance into a university or college, avoiding social ridicule (example, admitting you're gay or lesbian), protecting people's feelings, trying to impress, revenge, practical jokes, etc. In fact, most of us lie on a regular basis, much more than we realize, we just call them "white lies."

White lies are untruths that we deem socially acceptable, because they have minimal effects or consequences. These are the anecdotal stories that your grandfather tells while sitting on the front porch smoking a pipe recapping the story about how he helped storm the beaches at Normandy during World War II for the 1001 time. Each account seems to include some extra fabricated fact that was not included the time before. Women try to play the pretty and dumb roll to get out of speeding tickets. Parents have attempted to pass their fourteen-year-olds off as twelve to get a child discount on movie tickets; hell, I occasionally still use my college identification card to get the student rate myself. How many times have you heard this one - "this won't hurt a bit?" Yeah right, maybe if I was void of nerve endings. This just goes to show you how much lying and shaded truth have become an acceptable part of our society. I do not think it is even possible to survive or function in today's society being completely (100%) honest about everything you say and do. If you say you can, you're lying right now.

Well with that said, I think my resume will include the following ingredients:
1. 1 cup of education
2. 2 cups of work-related experience
3. 1/2 cup of personal achievements
4. A generous helping of stretched truths
5. A teaspoon of lies for flavoring
6. And omission of all faults and weaknesses

Yamaha Scooter Zuma II 2005

Decisions......Hmmmmm?

Vento Scooter R4 Triton 2005

Supposedly, I am all grown-up now, but all I want to do is play. If my character stays true to form, when I am eighty years old, my Christmas wish list will still include at least one present that can be purchased from Toys-R-Us. From conception to date, I figure that between gifts that were given to me and those I bought myself, I have been entertained and amused at a sum that could have paid for my college tuition three times over. I'm almost embarrassed and disturbed by this correlation, but what the hell, you can't take the money with you when you die. Now, baby boy has got his eyes set on a new scooter with chrome exhaust, mag wheels, and racing decals.

Now this won't be my first scooter, I had one when I was fourteen. It was a black Honda with baskets on the side, which I used to deliver the local newspaper with. You couldn't tell me I wasn't the coolest paperboy there ever was. I don't remember how much it cost, I put up $250.00 towards the purchase and my parents paid for the rest. But I can't imagine that it cost anything close to what manufacturers are asking for now. I've been doing some web research on scooters, and some of the prices on these things are ridiculous. There is no way a want-to-be motorcycle is suppose to cost a third or half the the price of a new car. So I have set a budget price of $2000 as my limit. Now there are quite a few choices of scoot-peds in this price range, but right now I have narrowed it down to the Yamaha Zuma II and the Vento Triton R4.

These little crotch rockets go about 40 to 45 miles per hour on a level street surface, but with a few modifications such as a 70cc speed kit, you can trick it out to go 60 to 70 miles per hour. Just don't let the Motor Vehicle Administration know about your little handy work. But the best feature of the Zuma II or Triton scooter is no-hassle-parking, and door to door service at 70-80 miles to the gallon. So to hell with parking enforcement and rising gas prices.

Now if anyone out there knows a good reason why I shouldn't consider the Zuma II or the Triton let me know. I don't have a personal attachment to either one, so I'm not beyond changing my decision. Just don't suggest any Chinese or Korean brands please, not that I have anything against these countries, but making motorized vehicles is not their forte.

Let's Talk, Let's Not

"Let's talk"is a statement most men dread hearing a woman say. Loosely translated, it means I (women) would like to discuss my emotions, and how what you (men) are doing or not doing is making me feel. The second the words come out of her mouth, a man's eyes will start to roll to the back of his head, and he will suddenly be over-come with a sunken feeling of emotional emptiness and excuses. Then a man will immediately check the clock to decide how much time he has to spare to the daunting task of talking versus how much time the discussion is liable to take. Next, a man will survey the scene to see if anyone is in ear-shot that might over-hear the conversation. There is always the fear of embarrassment depending on the tone and texture of the discussion. If the surrounding company is not an issue, then the question of when is. In the eyes of men, women pick some of the most inopportune moments to want to emotionally touch base. These times include: viewing or attending sporting events, just before sleeping, during sleeping, just after awakening, any moment around having sex, while reading, watching or listening to sporting news, during parties, while hanging out with friends, while working or attending school, commuting, dinner time, while working on home-projects, cars, bikes, etc. Just about anytime is the wrong time. Why? Because men hate to discuss their feelings. Men would rather show women how they feel, then to discuss it.

Woman: How come you never tell me you love me anymore? Translation: I've been thinking, what have you done for me lately?

Man: What are you talking about? I married you. I say, "I love you" every time I make an installment payment on that ring. That's why I can't afford anything else now. Pause, long sigh. Translation: I'm just trying to find an excuse to avoid talking about my feelings. I'm hoping your question will be lost in the argument we are about to have.

Woman: Let's talk, or the equally popular "we need to talk." The second statement is usually issued after several attempts of "let's talk" have produced unsatisfactory results. It means that not only is the woman emotionally distraught, she is also feeling judgmental and argumentative as well.

Man: I just got in the door twenty minutes ago. I'm tired and hungry, besides the big game is about to air. I fight all day long at work, I don't want to come home and have to fight you too. Can I just get a little peace and quite without you starting in on me as soon as I hit the door? Translation: I hate my dead-end, no chance for advancement, having to kiss the ass of my inappreciative bastard for a boss, minimal wage earning, long hours, no benefits job. Please don't further crush what little self-respect and ego I have by reminding me through discussion how inadequate my emotional character and communication skills are. I just want to be consoled by the baseball game, and lose myself in all my childhood dreams of fame and fortune of being in the big leagues. But I can't even communicate well enough to tell you that without showing anger.

Woman: It's never the right time. You just stomp all over my feelings, like your mashing grapes for wine. I want to talk, and you are not about to tune me out over a stupid baseball game! Translation: I insist that you sit-down and discuss the problems in our relationship instead of trying to ignore them and me. I'm hurt, and you need to get straight about fixing the lines of communication. Wait till I stop wanting to talk. Mamma is gonna put on a short tight skirt, get on a plane, fly somewhere warm and tropical, and get her groove back in the big strong arms of a mandingo warrior hung like a horse.

Man: Just let me be woman, I promise we will talk about this tomorrow, okay. In fact, I'll come pick you up from work and we will go have a nice long dinner and do some shopping. Translation: Let me show you I love you, don't ask me to say it, and need I remind you once again that the game is about to come on.

Woman: (Under her breath) Good, you can buy me a new thong-bottom, spaghetti-strap-top swimsuit for my trip. Translation: I'll call you from the beach, while Dexter is rubbing lotion on my sun-bathing ass, and any other place I think needs attention. What you don't take care of, somebody else will.

Man: What did you say? Translation: I wasn't listening.

Woman: Nothing dear, as she walks away humming, "I'm leaving on a jet plane, I don't know when I'll be back again." Translation: Man might have his will, but a woman will have her way.

Man: Go Yankees! Translation: I have no idea that in two weeks time, I will be lonely eating spam out of the can, drinking myself toward liver disease, while balled-up in a fetal-position in a dark corner, convincing myself I'm better-off without her, accompanied by fretful crying rages of why did she leave me, I don't need her, but I love her, damn, damn, damn.

Moral Of The Story:
Without communication you cannot have knowledge, and without knowledge you cannot see the beauty of a woman.

P.S.
By the way, the woman left her husband for Dexter, relocated to the tropics, and died shortly afterwards from malaria. I just love happy endings.

The Color Of Progress

All practitioners of Tae Kwon Do begin their training with the same objective in mind, to achieve the rank of black belt. Although the black belt is a symbol of advanced skill, its attainment does not mark the end of a journey, rather it is the beginning of advanced exploration toward the goal of physical perfection, moral certitude, and intellectual clarity.

It takes several years of dedicated training, blood, sweat, and yes, pain (the kind that lets you know you're alive) to become a first degree black belt. But the reward for those who are able to endure is increased physical and mental ability, extraordinary focus and discipline, giving one the ability to break pine boards with both hand and foot, and perform air-born punches and kicks landing with complete control. As impressive as these feats of skill may be, if you continue training past the rank of first dan (in Tae Kwon Do, there are ten levels of black belt, each one is known as a dan) you will discover there are even greater rewards and opportunities to be realized.

The Philosophy Of The Belt System
Early pioneers of TKD (Tae Kwon Do) did not use a belt to indicate rank, but merely as a practical means to hold one's clothing in place. But over a long period of time, as they practised their belts would become soiled and darkened. Eventually a darkened belt of a TKD practitioner began to symbolize someone who had practiced extensively, and was well versed and highly-skilled in the art.

In the modern era of TKD a black belt still symbolizes a practitioner of advanced skills. However, the black belt is part of an incorporated belt-ranking-system which not only outwardly indicates a practitioner's physical proficiency, but their mental and philosophical growth as well. The WTF (World Tae Kwon Do Federation) has standardized the progression of belts and recognizes five belts below the black belt: white, yellow, green, blue, red. The beginning students wear the white belt. The absence of color symbolizes innocence and purity as evident by a beginning student's lack of knowledge of TKD. Next the yellow belt represents the rising sun, the source of all life. At this stage the student begins to flourish and learn the basics of the art. The next belt is green, the color of well-rooted things growing upward toward the sky. During this stage the student starts to develop power. Next is the blue belt, the color of the sky, boundless and ever reaching. At this stage a student begins to stabilize their power and focuses on reaching their fullest potential. The color belt before reaching black is red, the color of blood which is the vital essence of life. Students at this level are refining and deepening their power and control. Finally, the black belt represents the color of all the belts combined. This stage represents technical mastery executed with calm dignity and sincerity.

Black is the color of the spectrum in which all colors blend into one.

Each One Teach One

Chokyonim (which means instructor) is the title given to a student who reaches the rank of first degree black belt or first dan (which is the minimal level of competency required to teach what he/she knows). At this point a student has a moral obligation to give back to TKD from which they have received by passing along the knowledge they have learned to other students following in their footsteps. Secondly, teaching helps to hone and consolidate a black belt's skills and understanding, bringing them more and more in accord with themselves in mind, body, and spirit. This understanding extends to all practitioners of the martial arts including the masters. In addition to reaching for a higher understanding, new black belts are expected to solidify their physical capabilities through constant training with the goal of increasing speed, precision, power, agility, stamina, and flexibility. The idea is to exhibit total will over the body, to achieve a state of perpetual readiness, able to attack or defend at any point and time along a 360 degree radius. Achieving near flawless execution of this kind will require many years of training, but time passes quickly for those who are dedicated.

You can tell the experience of a black belt practitioner by the shading of his/her belt, ash being the noblest.

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"Ask The Trainer: Part II" Common Fashion Mistakes In The Gym

They say, "discretion is the better part of valor." Do exercise good judgment when deciding what to wear to the gym. Now before I continue, let me say that I understand that fashion is a matter of personal choice, and everyone has the right to express themselves as they see fit. But quite frankly some choices just do not make sense to me. Just because some popular clothing item looks good being adorned by a mannequin in a store front window, does not mean it is going to look good on you or me.

"Oh what a tangled web we weave, when we practice to deceive, ourselves that is."

Whoever said, "clothes make the man", clearly did not live during the age of spandex. It seems the fashion police have been so concerned with manufacturers and consumers of fur clothing that they let the spandex abuse crisis slip under the radar. I blame spandex for my chronic case of T.M.I. (Too Much Information), which is what I get every time I have to bear witness to a guy walking around the gym in tight spandex shorts with a clearly formed impression of his tally-whacker and nut-sack highlighted like an outlined chalk figure at a murder scene. Till this day, every night I have this recurring nightmare of middle-aged men chasing me along the beach in Speedos with Buddha-Like stomachs that prevent them from viewing their own feet yelling, "Rub my belly!" The only thing that could be worse is dreaming of myself as a child running around the Neverland Ranch with Michael Jackson in Speedos gripping his crotch and chasing me yelling, "Touch it all!"

Feet don't fail me now.

Women are culprits too, committing heinous acts of spandex abuse as well. Now, I have to admit that I do enjoy seeing the cling of spandex around the body of a woman with shapely curves in all the right places, which I guess is a matter of opinion. But I am also of the school of thought that believes that wherever your curves lie there should be enough material to cover them. There are women who try to get into elastic outfits that did not fit three years ago when they were ten pounds lighter and two sizes smaller. Stop trying to delude yourself into thinking that you are the same size you were in high school (bull-sh*t.) Dress for your size, not the size you want to be. You might find this hard to believe, but the stretch of an elastic waist band does have its limits. Tease me with a little flesh, and save some for the imagination. Trust me women, seepage of ass and tits, rolls of fat bubbling from under tops and bottoms, and textile jammed in the crevices of your body is not sexy at all. The only things you will attract with this look are maladjusted idiots, perverts, and yeast infections.

Give your little sister back her clothes.

To avoid social embarrassment, ridicule, finger pointing, and disgusted looks, here is a list of ten gym fashion faux pas.

1. If you decide to go commando (under-wear free) underneath your bottoms, make sure there are no peek-a-boo gaps that will allow everyone to see your secret garden. Once or twice I suffered the fate of Oedipus as the retinas of my eyes were seared by the sight of the one-eyed snake frolicking in the grass. It was far more tragic than being turned into stone by Medusa. Thanks to eye surgery and five years of therapy I have been able to slowly assimilate back into a normal life style.
2. If you're a full-figured woman or a husky man stay away from horizontal stripes across your body. It gives the visual perception of making you look bigger in addition to looking like a prison escapee. Or if the lines are multi-colored, you windup looking like a roll of fruit flavored Life Savers Candy.
3. If you have to get a running start and jump into a pair of shorts or pants to get them on, they are too small for you. You probably have not fit those bottoms since the third grade. Likewise, if putting on your top feels like a wrestling match, it is too small for you.
4. Yes, there is a casual atmosphere at the gym, but not so casual that you can start wearing your under-wear as outer-wear. Perhaps, people who spend a lot of money on their under-wear might do this, so that attention to their bloomers is not limited to themselves. Or maybe, there is nothing more comfortable than running on the treadmill in a thong or brief.
5. Unless you are doing karaoke night at the local pub singing, "I Wear My Sun Glasses At Night" wearing shades inside the gym makes you look either blind or stupid. The eighties are gone, get over it.
6. Women tying your sweat shirt or jacket around your waist only serves to draw more attention to your ass. It is like trying to throw a napkin over an elephant to disguise the fact that it is there. It only makes sense that if you add layers to an area that is already pronounced, it is just going to appear even bigger.
7. Let us all wear gender appropriate clothing. Guys wearing crushed velvet scooped neck tank-tops is a no-no. Only Prince can pull off some fashion discord like that. So unless you start singing and become famous, stay out of the Miss Teen section at Bloomingdales. Women, do not try to play the role of the stud. There is nothing less attractive than to see a woman wearing over-sized men's clothing draped all over her body. The end of the sleeves on the shirt are five inches past the tip of her longest finger, and the inseam on the crotch is just twelve inches from the ground, so that she looks like M.C. Hammer.
8. Unless you're part of a construction crew on stand-by, the cut-off flannel shirt, jeans and boots are not quite what you want to wear to a spin class. Oddly enough, a pair of Timberland boots will not lock into the foot pedals of a spin bike. Which is sort of a discrimination against the blue collar worker by the fitness industry. Somebody needs to call the union.
9. If you work out five days a week in the same outfit, but only wash it once a week, then you are both stinky and unfashionable. You might want to think about adjusting your wash-to-wear-ratio. But if the weave at the armpit of a t-shirt is embedded with the color of golden-brown bio-hazardous sweat to the point that the bleach you use ignores and refuses to clean it, then it is definitely time for a change of wardrobe.
10. Unless you're wearing leg warmers with the anticipation that Hollywood producers will make Flash Dance II, let us leave that fashion statement in the past along with parachute pants with asymmetrical zippers, Member's Only Jackets, coats from Sears with the fake fur around the hood and pencil holders on the sleeve, mood rings, and leisure suits.

One more note before I end this post. Just in case I go senile in my older age and I am unable to make this plea, if anyone out there ever sees me walking around wearing a tank-top, suspenders, plaid Bermuda shorts hiked up to my chest, long dress socks to my knees, and sandals while I am either cutting the lawn or barbecuing with a apron on that says, "Kiss the chef", do be kind and shoot me.