Earth to Dave! (E2D!)

Musings from a warped mind…

How Dave became…uh, “Dave”.

The truth revealed.

Filed under: Mindless Musings... — Earth to Dave! at 9:44 am on Thursday, July 1, 2010

Many people have asked me over the years “What happened to you?”  Initially I did not understand the question.  I would begin to relate what happened that day, beginning with waking up with my “Barney the Dinosaur” alarm clark ringing it’s “I love you, you love me…” song.  (How can you NOT be in a good mood when waking up that way?  Can life be better?  I submit that it CANNOT!)  Then, I’d relate every minute of that day to the questioner.  While I felt this might be somewhat tedious to listen to, I did not want to neglect missing the morsel of information that he or she was looking for.  I felt that it was, in essence, my duty to be specific.

More times than not, by the time I finished, I’d look up from my imaginary podium and see something like this:

My assumption is that somewhere between the “asking the question” and the “ending the answer”, they got the information they were looking for.  To me, it was a service to provide, and I did it well.  Besides, a lot of people don’t sleep enough these days.

Recently, however, someone interrupted me half way through my answer (granted, we started talking over breakfast and it was now lunch time.  Besides, I had to pee).  This person explained that when she asked me “what happened to you?”, she meant “what specific single event took place during your lifetime that has caused you, Dave Buck, to act like a complete imbecile and someone a fraction of your actual age, versus someone with even the slightest amount of maturity, as would be appropriate for a position of your age and title?”

I couldn’t believe that someone could ask me, Dave, such a question.  I mean, look at me.  I am often quite serious.  Especially when necessary, like before racing midget motocross:

But alas, being the introspective and mature person that I am, I began some deep inward soul-searching (versus “outward soul-searching” which has to do with foods such as country-fried steak, ham hocks, chitterlings, black-eyed peas, collard greens, corn bread and grits).  Plus, since my wife was the person who asked said question, I was pretty sure it was one I needed to think about.  (Granted, the appointment she made with the shrink added a bit of urgency to getting the answer, but I digress.)

With the help of “Doctor Phillip” (who is really a great guy but I wish he would…just once…raise his voice and get worked up over something), I was able to search the deep, dark recesses of my mind (that took all of 30 seconds) and find it. The event.  The deal.  The big boom.  The turning point.  The time everything changed.  The “X factor”.  The “WOW Moment”.  The time the earth stood still.  The time for all men to come to the aid of their country.  Old Time, that greatest and longest established spinner of all!  His factory is a secret place, his work is noiseless, and his hands are mutes. (I had to throw in some Charles Dickens for some dramatic effect.  Pretty impressive, huh?)

So, what was I talking about?  Someone help me out here.

OH YEAH!  The “WOW Moment”.

As “Doctor Phillip” (name has not been changed because he doesn’t know how to raise his voice or get upset at anything.  I’m thinking he liquored up before seeing me)  began to probe the deep, dark, recesses of my mind, he found something.  He exclaimed “AH HA!” and ran out of the room screaming.  Finally, he came back, even calmer and more subdued than before.  The nice guys in the white suits were with him.  They had this weird jacket thing that was not very comfortable at all, but hey, if it makes “Doctor Phillip” happy, whatever.

So what was this “AH HA!” moment?  It was an event that happened during my teen years.  My buddies and I were rather rebellious and it was during the time when I took up smoking, drinking, hanging out with the wrong crowd and riding playground merry-go-rounds.  Yes, that’s right, you heard me.  I’m not proud of it but…it’s what the real rebels do.  I know that sounds extreme, but I’m an EXTREME KIND OF GUY.  (Heck, I ride midget motocross.  Need I say more?  I didn’t think so).

So there we were…hanging out at the park, riding the…*gulp*…playground merry-go-round.  The neighbors were frightened, the neighborhood kids were all pulled inside their safe, comfortable, non-rebellious homes.  The shutters were closed and blinds drawn.  It was a dark and stormy day, and the sun turned blood red (except during the below video, as that would have made really poor video lighting conditions).  The rebels were in control of the neighborhood and there was NOTHING that would stop us.  Yeah, that’s right.  I was the ringleader, and PROUD OF IT!! There was NOTHING that was gonna get in my way of…mastering the playground merry-go-round.  Yeah, I was gonna teach it a lesson that day.  It was ME and my friend ZEKE versus…the merry-go-round.  It was a day of reckoning.  We had finally figured out how to take that merry-go-round riding to the next level. That thing didn’t know what we had in store for it but no longer would it master US.  No sir, we were going to master IT.  And it would never be the same.

These rebellious days are not days that I am proud of today.  No, I’m a better person now.  I have learned from my mistakes and turned from my rebellious days.  I’m a productive member of society and hope that, in some small way, I can repay society for all the damage and turmoil that I caused during those dark, sun-turned-to-blood days.  Yes, this is what drives me to write this column.  Perhaps, in some small way, the smiles that I generate can…perhaps…erase the many frowns that I caused that neighborhood…that merry-go-round (which I’m sure would have frowned if it could have and if it were alive and if it were a person).  I shall maintain this quest now that “Doctor Phillip” has helped me have a renewed awareness of that dark day.

I remembered that a fellow member of my rebellious gang (called the “Street Sweepers”, because we thought it’d be cool to carry brooms around.  Plus we all worked in a warehouse sweeping up rat droppings) taped this event.  I tracked him down and found him in the State Penn serving time for…yep, vandalizing a playground swing set.  I guess some people never really grew up but stayed in their rebellious ways.  Anyway, I got the video and here it is.

Before watching, I would ask that all young children, the elderly, and anyone with a weak heart please…leave the room.  This is much too graphic for you.  Again, I am not proud of these times when the Street Sweepers played havoc on the neighborhood.

Please do not try this at home. Pay special attention to me, in the red pants.

The head injury wasn’t too bad, although the doctor did tell me I have dain bramage.

So there you have it. The event.  The deal.  The big boom.  The turning point.  The time everything changed.  The “X factor”.  The “WOW Moment”.  The time the earth stood still.  The time for all men to come to the aid of their country.  Old Time, that greatest and longest established spinner of all!  His factory is a secret place, his work is noiseless, and his hands are mutes. (You can never have too much Charles Dickens, can you?)

Does everything now make more sense to you?  I thought it might.  So please, don’t wonder any more.  Just understand that I, Dave, am repaying society for my past and, in reading this article and subscribing to Earth to Dave! , you are contributing to my rehabilitation.  “Doctor Phillip” will thank you.   My wife will thank you.  Society thanks you.  (Did I mention that you can subscribe to Earth to Dave! ?  Just click the SUBSCRIBE TO E2D! button at the top of the page.  Doing so will help increase web traffic and thus my advertisers will thank you.  Just THINK about all the THANKS.  That’s, thankfully, alot of thinking about thanks, and while you might think about thanking me, think again.  Thanks comes from me for just getting you to think about thanking me for making you think.  And for that, I will be eternally thankful.)

I’d write more, but it’s time for me to put my (very uncomfortable) jacket back on.  The nice men are here waiting for me.

Signed,

(Ex-Leader of the famed “Street Sweepers”)

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HELLO??!
Is anyone home? Can Dave come out and play??

The Earth to Dave! posse comes home (or not).

Filed under: Mindless Musings... — Earth to Dave! at 7:17 pm on Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Hi, remember me?

Uh, you don’t? Okay, well, uh….

It’s me, Dave.

Goofy guy, wears a clown wig at times?

Married to the fabulous babe he doesn’t deserve?

Has the really cute dog?

Yeah, it’s me.

Well, you’ve probably been wondering what has happened to me. I’m guessing you have formed a posse. What’s a “posse”? You apparently never watched Bonanza or Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. A “posse” is formed when the men of the town, who never seem to have jobs (or at least jobs with the requirement to, you know, stay around and work) jump on their horses and chase after someone. They are always formed at the spur of the moment (get it? “SPUR” of the moment? A little “western humor” for all of my cowboy readers out there) and by people who have the need to carry torches, even if it’s daytime. The “posse” may last for days on end and often involves “tracking”. What is “tracking”? It’s, uh, you know, where you, uh…”track” someone.

Now I know where you NASCAR fans are going with this.

NO, this is not the kind of “track” I am referring to (sheesh, work with me here, people).  I must admit, though, that there are “horses” on this kind of track.  (A little more “western humor” for my cowboy readers out there.  My (very complex and impressive) website tracking program has shown that I have a large contingent of cowboy readers out there, so excuse me as I cater to my cowboy readership.  I cannot afford to lose them, as they’re used to a lot of bull poop.)

Anyway, posses (or is it “possies”? Could a cowboy please e-mail me and let me know?) are formed when someone goes missing or has robbed a bank.  After my last article, I took my son’s piggy bank and went missing.

After almost one (friggin’) year, the posse never showed up.

HELLO?  PEOPLE?  Throw me a friggin’ bone here!

After these many months, and endless sneezing due to the dust bunnies in my downstairs closet, I finally have come out of hiding.  I’m back.

Meanwhile, I’m sure the posse my friends have formed is still out there…somewhere.  I think.  I hope.

I’ve always been a “rough and tumble” kind of guy.  For some reason, cowboys and outlaws have been my friends.  I guess it’s just the rebel in me.  I mean, come on, look at me.  I’ve got “rebel” written all over me.

As such, it stands to reason why I’ve always run with the rough crowd.  Mama was always worried about me.  During my first stint in the slammer, I wrote a poem.  Please try to get a feeling for the raw emotion and heartache:

Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide,
No escape from reality
Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and see,
I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy,
Because I’m easy come, easy go, Little high, little low,
Any way the wind blows doesn’t really matter to me, to me
Mama I just killed a man,
Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he’s dead
Mama, life had just begun,
But now I’ve gone and thrown it all away
Mama, ooh, Didn’t mean to make you cry,
If I’m not back again this time tomorrow,
Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters
Too late, my time has come,
Sends shivers down my spine, body’s aching all the time
Goodbye, ev’rybody, I’ve got to go,
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth
Mama, ooh, I don’t want to die,
I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all
I see a little silhouetto of a man,
Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango
Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very fright’ning me
(Galileo) Galileo (Galileo) Galileo, Galileo figaro
Magnifico I’m just a poor boy and nobody loves me
He’s just a poor boy from a poor family,
Spare him his life from this monstrosity
Easy come, easy go, will you let me go
Bismillah! No, we will not let you go
(Let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go
(Let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go
(Let me go) Will not let you go
(Let me go) Will not let you go (Let me go) Ah
No, no, no, no, no, no, no

Perhaps now you understand. Perhaps now you can feel some of the pain that I felt, and why I reach out to my cowboy readers and understand why posses are formed to find me (altho the friends who formed said posse really suck at finding stuff).  Yes, there is alot more to “Dave” than the dork you’ve come to know.

Yes, as you can see, there is a rebel side to me.

Recently I received an e-mail which really summarizes the loyal Earth to Dave! fan base which missed me so badly.  Please allow me to share it with you:

======================================================

From: Citibank Online <online@citibank.com>
Subject: Citibank Online Security Message

Deer Citibank Customer,
It has ben a long time since you have sined on to Citibank Online. Reecently you or somebody else
make several login atempts and reach your daily atempt limit. As additional security measure your acess to Online Banking has is limited. This Web security measure does not afect your acess to fone banking or ATM banking.

Please sine on and verify your information here. You will be abil to atempt siging on to Citibank Online within 24 hours aftur you verify your information. (You do not have to change your Pasword at this time.)
Citibank Online Customer Service

======================================================

These people were so concerned about my absence that they e-mailed me instructions for resetting all of my online banking information.  They made it so easy, too.  All I had to do was click the little blue here link, and I was able to input all of my personal financial information.  What could be easier than that?  Man, someone is a genius!  I’m glad there are people like that in this world, because we geniuses need company.

I wonder if my posse had something to do with alerting my bank?  The only question I have is “why Citibank?” I don’t even bank there.  Oh well, I’m sure my posse can explain that, if they ever get back.

Meanwhile, I promise to keep the articles coming.  (I was going to update them from my closet but someone unplugged the extension cord running across the floor and I couldn’t blow my cover).

To all you cowboy fans out there, thanks for sticking with me.  I owe ya a debt of gratitude, pardner.

With my newfound freedom I have gotten a little more hitch in my giddyup, so expect more frequent writing on my part.  I’m sure you’re all waiting with baited breath (that one is for my fishermen readers, who rank #2 behind the cowboys.  I have a very far-reaching audience.)

To the rest of you, consider throwing a saddle in the car and mosey on out to the local stables.  If you hang around long enough, you might just end up like me, forming your own posse.  I’m not sure what we’re lookin’ fer, but we’re gonna find it (unlike my buddies who apparently couldn’t find their way out of a paper sack.)  I guess we’ll go looking for the posse that is undoubtedly still looking for me…or, not.

See ya soon, pardner!

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