"I'm An Idea Man Chuck."

I've decided to add a new feature to The Phil Factor. I'm sure that many of you who have spent over a year observing my dull, never-changing template are saying, "It's about time Phil!" To those people, I say, "Don't get your hopes up." My new idea is my way of dealing with those little bits of ideas I have that are endless flowing through my mind. All day every day I have ideas or thoughts that while being possibly interesting or amusing never grow enough to become a full-fledged blog post. Like that game at the carnival where you pick a little plastic duck out of the tub of water to look on the bottom and see if you've won a prize, sometimes I pluck these thoughts out of my head. Just like at the carnival, when you look on the bottom of the duck and hand it to the carni, your prize is rarely as large as you wanted. Occasionally, in place of a real post, or just because I thought it, I'll be posting those here as "A Random Phil Thought." They'll be like M&M's (Smarties) for your mind. Here's today's Random Phil Thought:

The Leave A Bite Diet: For those of you who hate the low-fat, bland diets you read about, here's my idea. Eat what you normally eat, but make a point of leaving the last bite on your plate and walking away. It may be slow, but over time those last bites will add up. After a week you've probably eliminated one meal. Over a year you've eliminated the equivalent of 52 meals.

By the way, if anyone reading this can tell me the movie where I got the quote I used in the title you'll receive 10,000 Phil Points, which are redeemable at the gift shop, and you'll be my new best friend.

Dr. Doolittle

Some of you may be familiar with my dog, Robin, from her previous post. Yesterday I had to take her to the vet. Here are some of the things I saw and thought while I was there:

1. There was a vet assistant with a feret tattooed on her forearm. My thought: Sometimes tattoos can be very sexy on women. This was not one of those times.

2. There was a woman in a Tommy Hilfiger shirt who brought her dog, named Gucci, in because the dog had eaten one of her shoes. The women was tearful. I'm not sure if it was because of the dog or the shoe.

3. There was a slightly odd looking man pacing the waiting room with a windbreaker jacket draped over his arm and something he was carrying. After he was invited into the exam room he came out carrying an empty hamster ball. My thought: If your pet is small enough to flush, then don't waste your time bringing it to the vet. If it costs more in gas to drive your pet to the vet than it cost to actually purchase the pet, then you should probably just flush the aforementioned pet. Before you all accuse me of being insensitive, the flat fee for an emergency exam on a Sunday is $90, (which is equal to $472 Canadian). This gentleman brought his hamster in on a Sunday for an emergency exam. What the hell could possibly constitute a hamster medical emergency?

4. Why was my Usufruct You post below this the least commented upon post I've had in over a year? It may not be related to my vet visit, but I was wondering about it while I was there.

Usufruct You!

u‧su‧fruct (yoo-zoo-fruhkt)
n.
The right to use and enjoy the profits and advantages of something belonging to another as long as the property is not damaged or altered in any way.

A legal term describing a situation wherein a person or company has a temporary right to use and derive income from someone else's property (provided that it isn't damaged).

Investopedia Commentary:
Usufruct is recognized only in a few jurisdictions in North America.

Wow! Is it just me, or does everyone think that is an awesome idea? Well, with a few stipulations. It's a great idea as long as anyone doesn't try to use my stuff. Usufruct sounds like a concept Kramer, of Seinfeld fame, would have created or at least fully embraced as an excuse for his unsupervised forays into Jerry's apartment.

Occasionally I do a little research for some of my more...ahem... educational posts. This is one of those times obviously. I did say a little though. I'd love to know where those jurisdictions are in which usufruct is legal, but I wasn't motivated enough to actually look that up. I wonder if the people living there know they're in a usufruct zone? I imagine all sorts of chaos could occur if all the residents of a particular jurisdiction were aware of the usufruct law. People could just walk into stores and homes borrowing things without fear of legal retribution as long as they returned them unharmed. Men would take large screen t.v's home every weekend to watch football, returning them on Tuesdays. Women would always have the right shoes and purse to match their outfit. I want to move to a usufruct zone. "Yes your honor. I did take his car, but I returned a week later fully gassed up. I plead the usufruct defense." Right now I'm usufructing the picture of Kramer. It is undamaged or altered in any way. I defy NBC to sue me for copyright infringement.

I have to thank my friend Erin from work for this idea. Every day she sends out a "Word of The Day" through e-mail. What would you do if your town was a Usufruct Zone?

What If....

Of all the words of tongue or pen
The saddest are "what might have been..."--William Shakespeare

If a magic genie named Phil came to you and offered you the opportunity to go back in time and reverse only one decision you made, what would it be?

No News is Good News!

The title should have been, "There's No Good News." I no longer get a newspaper, so I usually read my news online. I have CNN.com as my homepage. Yesterday I woke up, got out of bed, dragged a comb across my head. On my way downstairs I get my morning coffee, sit down at my computer and click the little blue e on my desktop. The first, big, top of the page headline that appears is "Children Die in Fiery Crash." What the hell is wrong with people?!!? Do the people who decide what story to lead the CNN page with think that a headline like that will actually get us to want to read? I think I could probably sue for the P.T.S.D. I developed from reading that headline. There wasn't even a warning stating that "this news page may contain content disturbing to younger viewers or Phil." Who in their right mind reads an article like that? I don't want to know about innocent children perishing in a fiery plane crash. Then in the sidebar where they have headlines for other articles I see a headline that says "Two cops die in motorcycle parade honoring widows." (I'm paraphrasing here because I don't remember it exactly, but that's pretty damn close) This was followed today by the news story reporting that "Aztecs Butchered, Ate Spanish Invaders." Apparently there wasn't enough bad news today, so they dug up a story from 500 hundred years ago just to remind us that the world has always sucked. As you can imagine, the joy filling my heart was overwhelming. Is it possible that news stories like this are why the Iraqis keep kidnapping and threatening to kill journalists? Apparently I'm not the only person unhappy with the news.

When I become President or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, I'm passing a law requiring that every news organization in the world, including Aljazeera, begin their news (broadcast, print, or online) with a happy story. I want to read stories about a family nearly bankrupt and about to be homeless winning the lottery, or people with handicaps being miraculously cured or witty, well written bloggers being discovered by powerful editors who give them their own weekly syndicated humor column. That's the kind of news I want to start my day with.

When I win the lottery, which probably won't even be mentioned on CNN, I'm going to start my own "Happy News" station. With all the crap channels on cable and satellite t.v. I find it hard to believe that there isn't a place for "Happy News." Or do you think I should call it Phil's Happy News?

Now That Is One Delicious Deity!

I've got to start eating better. Not because I'm in particularly poor shape, or because my cholesterol is out of control. Apparently some people find religious deities in their food. I've eaten a lot of food in my life, but not once have I ever found the face of Jesus Christ, Buddha, Mohammed or Elvis in my pancakes. In a chocolate factory in Fountain Valley, California this week workers found what they believe is a holy representation of the Virgin Mary in chocolate.

I believe the people who feel that these food faces are holy signs are completely off their rockers. No offense if you're one of them, and good luck with your e-bay auction of that St. Francis of Assisi potato chip. Think about it; if you are an omnipotent deity with cosmic powers, are you going to screw around putting your likeness on something that by chance could fall into the hands, and then mouth of an atheist at a pub who looks at his cheese doodle and says, "Oh look Ted, it looks like a face in my cheese doodle, crunch, crunch, crunch. Hey bartender, we're out of cheese doodles over here."

When I'm a deity I'm not going to waste my time putting my face in snack foods. People will wake up one day and suddenly there will be an extra head on Mt. Rushmore, or the Eiffel Tower will be bent into the shape of my profile. That's how you get the word out that you're the guy to worship. Either these snack food Gods aren't very bright, or the people who see them are just seeing what they want to see. And if putting your face in people's food is the way Gods go about getting publicity, why doesn't anyone claim to see Satan in their Corn Flakes? If Coke is running a big add campaign you can bet Pepsi will counter it. Satan needs to get off his fiery, red ass and get to work. He's losing customers. Then again, how many of you women have eaten a pint of Haagen Dazs while watching a Lifetime movie on a lonely Saturday night and said, "The devil made me do it"?

The Best Band Ever? Obviously.

This is an update to my previous post on Aug. 9th, A Very Funny Band, A Very Funny Song. On a whim I e-mailed the link to that post to the "contact us" e-mail address on the bands website. A day later I received an e-mail which simply said, "Thanks for that you fabulous tastemaker." So I e-mailed back, "Thanks for your sarcasm. It was so sharp I nearly cut myself." I then received another e-mail from the bands contact person who claimed to be sincere. I got curious as to who affiliated with the band would spend the time to exchange sarcastic e-mails with me. I went to their website and looked in the "bio" section. It turns out that the person e-mailing me appears to be the lead singer. In a couple more e-mails that were exchanged she explained that this is their first CD and that they do all their own publicity, scheduling of shows etc. I hooked her up with the contact info for the programming director of my cities best independent radio station in hopes of bringing them here for a show or at least getting them a little more well-deserved exposure. Needless to say, if a band is nice enough to e-mail me more than once, then they deserve the official designation of Official Band of The Phil Factor. It's a very prestigious title that was not even granted to The Beatles,WHAM!, or David Hasselhoff. I'm sure they're busy inscribing that on their resume right now. As I previously said, they appear to be good people with my sense of humor, so they deserve all the support I can give them. Their website is now at the bottom of my link list and if any of you can tell me how to make a special titled category for the link I'll do that next. BTW, they have MP3 downloads of their songs on their website.

Highway To Hell: A Golden Boy Road Trip

Yes, the Golden Boys do occasionally leave New York to wreak havoc upon the unsuspecting denizens of other locales. A few brief, but memorable, moments occurred during just such a road trip when we set sail for Golden Boy Tom's nuptials in the windy city of Chicago.

Tom was already in Chicago with his betrothed, while Gooby, Chuck, myself, and auxiliary Golden Boy Ozzy packed ourselves into a Ford Probe for the 12 hour drive. First off, let me say that there should be a Golden Boys soundtrack because so many songs are associated with specific moments that we all remember. Those of you on the wrong side of 30 would enjoy our music. One such musical moment occurred spontaneously during the trip to Chicago. As we all cruised along, mocking me for not driving fast enough, the 1980's mega-hit "The Safety Dance" by Men Without Hats, came on the radio. Without a word, our bodies began to bob back and forth in uncanny unison to the music as we all spontaneously burst into singing the words loudly together.("You can dance if you want to. You can leave your friends behind, 'cuz your friends don't dance and if they don't dance then they're no friends of mine") The passengers in other cars going by us laughed and pointed.

Shortly after that we stopped at a rest stop in Ohio. Two things happened in fairly quick succession shortly after we sat down to eat. Auxiliary Golden Boy Ozzy inadvertently introduced a full-fledged, habit wearing nun to the phrase "knob job" and Chuck was filmed sitting helplessly on the commode. That's one thing about being a Golden Boy. You're guard has to be up at all times. Especially if you're naked. Whether it be showering, sleeping, or using the toilet, there is always an excellent chance another Golden Boy will film or photograph you and then send it by e-mail to everyone he knows. This is the post I wish I had the ability to add video to. We still have clips of us singing in the car as well as of Chuck on the toilet.

Phil Regurgitated

To be perfectly honest with everyone I've had a lousy week, I don't feel all that well. I wrote a post earlier today, but instead of funny it sounded mean. Like leftover pizza, some things are better the second time. Here's a classic that I enjoyed the first time I posted it and hopefully my new blog friends will enjoy it as much as my old blog friends did. Please enjoy the post below with my apologies if you've already read it.

Send In The Clowns

I'd like to address a very serious subject. A malady if you will, that afflicts thousands, maybe millions, of people each and every day. It is a subject of such horror, such an abomination, that those who suffer from this disorder hide it, even from their loved ones. I am, of course, speaking of Coulrophobia. No, Coulrophobia is not the fear of Dave Coulier. If it were, that would be my problem. Coulrophobia is "the irrational and persistent fear of clowns." Yes, it is so prevalent it has been given a scientific name by psychologists. Apparently this is a very serious subject because there are hundreds of websites dedicated to discussing and curing this fear. I don't get it!!!! What the hell is so scary about a guy in makeup, big pants, and floppy red shoes? You know what they say, big feet big... I suppose that's why they have to wear the big pants. Do you Coulrophobes think that the squirting flower they wear is symbolic of what's going on in the big pants perhaps? Is it the swollen red nose that suggests alcoholism? C'mon, we all have a lovable, old drunk somewhere in our family tree! And yes, I intentionally put that big clown picture at the top of the article just to freak out the clown-o-phobes. Aside from John Wayne Gacy, can anyone else name a clown that has ever done anyone any harm? (No, Michael Jackson doesn't count!) If you weren't creeped out by clowns before, I'll bet you are now, but in a different way. Enjoy the circus this year everyone!

Germs of Endearment

Honey, Sweetie, Dear, I love you. All are very nice things to hear someone say to you, and if you feel affection towards the person with whom you are speaking these are all very socially acceptable ways to let the other person know they are special to you. We all use terms of endearment with family, friends, loved ones, and pets. None of these recipients are at all shocked or offended to hear them said. Some of us say them so often that it becomes a habit to slip them into our conversations, and that's where the trouble starts.

The worst situation is when you’re having a telephone conversation with a business associate of the opposite sex with whom you are friendly and you accidentally conclude it with, “Talk to you later honey,” or worse yet, “I love you.” How do you squirm your way gracefully out of that? “Ummm..uh, no, I didn’t mean it! I was thinking of my wife! I don’t love you! Uh, I like you, but not in that way. I mean uh..I love you as I love all other human beings, but I’m not IN love with you. Uh….click.” There’s just no good way out of that unless you get a surprisingly warm response to your faux pas.

I'm never sure how to react when someone uses one of these terms of endearment with me in an unexpected context. Often I'll be in line at the supermarket and perhaps an older cashier will say, "Your change is $4.32. You have a nice day hun." How do you respond? Should I shout out in righteous indignation, "I am not your hun. I have never been your hun. And I never will be your hun! You wish grandma. Why don't you get your pruney, old ass back to the nursing home and hope they're playing Cocoon again! Stella, you ain't never gettin' your groove back with this piece of man-meat. And yes, I did just buy EXTRA LARGE condoms but they are definitely not ribbed for YOUR pleasure! Security!Security!"

Or should I return the compliment in kind? I could say, “You have a nice day too honey. Or maybe a nice night. And honey? Hmmm…..there’s a nice idea. I prefer a little whipped cream now and then if you know what I mean. Mmmm… and baby, that little line running up the back or your orthopedic stockings just does it for me. Does it go all the way up? That subtle blue tint in your hair really brings out your eye shadow. Is it natural? Does the carpet match the drapes? (wink, wink)”

You Get What You Pay For

The rising cost of gas got me to thinking. That’s right; if gas prices had stayed stable I’d still be sitting here with an empty head. With gasoline, or petrol for all my international friends, costing more per gallon than human blood I started thinking that I should look at ways to save a little money every day. No, I didn’t actually price a gallon of human blood, but if I could get away with trading a gallon of my blood for gasoline I might do it.

What always amazes me is how many people pay ridiculous amounts of money for things you can get for free. For instance, when I go to work I see many co-workers carrying store bought bottles of this cool, clear liquid they seem to like drinking. I got curious about this phenomenon, so I did some research. What I discovered is that my kitchen and bathrooms all have this sort of long, narrow thing that sticks out of a counter-top usually right over a sink. When I turn the handle next to it, what looks like the same cool, clear liquid comes rushing out of it. Yeah, I get a bill for it, but that’s almost a negligible amount. Furthermore, what I also discovered is that the same clear liquid that is also available free from the faucets and water fountains in our building. This is where I’m especially shrewd. I bring an empty container to work, fill it up with the free liquid they have there, and here’s the clever part, I drink it. All day long. For free.

I have two female co-workers who have told me about this place they go where they pay money to lay down in what sounds like a combination of an extremely well lit coffin and a microwave oven until their skin turns brown. They seem to like the idea of cooking their skin. Who wouldn’t? Doesn’t hamburger, chicken, or any other meat look better cooked? This past weekend I was outdoors quite a bit and I discovered that that big, yellow-orange glowy thing up in the sky does the same thing to my skin, for free! Man, have I got a sweet deal. I’m not telling anyone about this, or they might start charging me money to use it.

I’ve always wanted to take up smoking. I’ve always been envious of the cool, aloof attitude smokers portray as they exhale smoke. And damn, if I could blow a smoke ring the chicks would totally dig me. With that refreshing smell clinging to my hair, skin, breath, and clothes I’d never need cologne again! I set a New Year’s resolution to start smoking this year, but with all my disposable income going to fuel my car, I just don’t have the extra money to buy cigarettes. What to do? I’ve found my answer. I’m going to be a second-hand smoker. It has all the benefits of smoking at a fraction of the price! Smokers seem to exhale an awful lot of the smoke they take in. If they’re not going to use it all, why shouldn’t I use the extra? During my lunch and break times at work I can join the smokers as they stand outside. Just a few deep breaths in close proximity and Voila! I’ll have myself a cool, new habit. For free! If I happen to get hooked on second-hand smoking and want to quit later on I’ll just find a smoker who is quitting and I’ll chew their Nicorette gum after they’re done with it.

The Rules of Childhood

“I called it first!” “No fair. Do-over.” “Ghost runner.” “Not it!” These are all phrases we’re familiar with as the rules of childhood. Childhood rules made life so much more enjoyable. No litigation or arguments. The rules were simple, fair, and everyone knew and respected them. Most of us at one time or another yearns for the days of our youth when life seemed simpler. We only had to worry about school, homework, and if our friend had gotten out of their punishment so they could play after school.

Adults often say things like “youth is wasted on the young” and bemoan the fact that children don’t seem to appreciate how good they have it. I believe that children are far wiser than we give them credit for and in some ways, far more wise than we are. I bemoan the fact that too many adults have grown up too completely. The lessons of our childhood would serve us well if only we knew how to apply them later in life.

Imagine if we could use the age old rules of childhood in adult situations. For instance, if you find yourself in a meeting at work and the boss says, “I have a very important project with a lot of paperwork and long hours that I need to assign to someone.” By childhood rules you instinctively yell out, “Not it!” Everyone else in turn follows your lead. Boom. Done deal. Problem solved. Because co-worker Bob had a doughnut in his mouth at the wrong moment and couldn’t yell out “Not it!” he gets the job.

And who here wouldn’t want to yell out, “Do over!” and get a free second chance at a situation you’ve screwed up? You’re out on a date, you have a few too many drinks, your lips get loose and you spill some horrific personal information upon your new romantic interest. Why can’t you call the person up the next day and demand a do-over? You get a new date, and a second chance at a making a good impression. Or how about in bed? Who hasn’t wanted a do-over at least once after something you’ve said or done? (Of course this doesn’t apply to me)

Children are blessed with graciously short memories and tons of forgiveness. Why do adults have to be so uptight in this regard? Adults hold grudges sometimes for the rest of their lives over perceived personal slights. I think little boys handle these situations with a maturity adults can only aspire to achieve. “Eddie told me that you said my bike was a piece of crap.” “Yeah, so what if I did? What are you gonna do about it?” Pow! Bam! Slam! Kerplooie! Fight over and they’re best friends later that afternoon. Nothing brings two people closer than a little fisticuffs.

What about the ghost runner? That wonderful childhood concept to replace an absent player. Wouldn’t that be a great concept for adulthood? Don’t call in sick when you don’t want to go to work. Send a ghost runner! "I'm sorry I can't make it boss, but don't worry. I'll have a ghost runner at my desk today." Rather be out with friends than with your significant other? Send your ghost runner! “Yeah, honey, I’m really sorry I can’t make it to your cousins wedding. I’ve got a ghost runner though!” Or for the ladies how about, “Oh, I’m sorry honey, I’ve got a headache. Why don’t you go have sex with my ghost runner. Again.”

"If I Were Evil...."

"I have discovered that all human evil comes from this, man's being unable to sit still in a room."--Blaise Pascal



I’m going out on a limb here with this post, possibly revealing things about my innermost thoughts that could be disturbing to younger viewers. Look at the title of this post. How many of you have said that at some point in their lives? How often have you thought of crimes you could get away with, if you were an evil person?

Is it just me, or does everyone “case the joint” when you go into a bank or convenience store? I have no plans to turn to a life of crime, but I always take mental notes about how someone could get away with a robbery. I notice the security cameras and which one is pointing at me. I notice the guards and whether or not they’re armed. I plan to duck low as I exit so that they couldn’t get a good read on my height by that measuring tape on the door jam. I don’t own a gun and I never intend to brandish one towards another person, so why would I even entertain the idea of robbing a place? Could this be a sign of some type of mental disturbance? I’m sure most of you are thinking, “Of course you’re insane Phil. We knew that the first time we read your blog.”

My favorite “If I were evil…” fantasy is how I would go on the run from the law. Perhaps this would occur as it does in the movies with me accused of a crime I didn’t commit and I have to stay free until I can prove my innocence and capture the real culprit. I know how I would change vehicles, where I would hide during the day, staying on the move at night. How I’d cover my tracks in the event the police used dogs to track me. I’ve got it all figured out. Is this a sign of insanity, or just good planning in the event something in my life goes awry? Am I just crazy, or crazy like a fox? You all think like this right? Right?

The Office Gods Part I: Some Like It Hot

What is an Office God you ask? The Office Gods are those people who for a variety of reasons hold certain powers within the politics of an office or workplace setting. The Office Gods aren't necessarily a boss or supervisor, though they can be. Sometimes it's the person with the right set of keys, connections, or acquaintances. We all know that often the most important person in an office is one of the clerical or reception staff who knows everything and thanklessly keeps the place running. They are undoubtedly one of The Office Gods, but there are others who have gained their powers by hook or by crook as the saying goes. During this past week I became an Office God. Here is my story.

During the past week my suite of offices moved into a new wing of the building into offices that were specially made just for us. I was given a very nice office, one of the best of course, because I'm Phil. Included in my luxurious office is the thermostat for my side of the hall. And it's not locked! HA HA HA HA HA (maniacal laughter. What other kind would I have?) For those of you who have never worked in a suite of offices, having control of the thermostat is the office politics equivalent of being God. No matter where I've worked, nothing has garnered more complaints from co-workers than the temperature of the office. The problem is that no two people like things exactly the same temperature. "I'd rather it was warm. If I dress in layers I can always take something off." Or "I like it cold. It keeps me alert in the afternoon. Plus, you can always put on a sweater if it's too cold."

I once worked with a psychiatrist who didn't want to be cold. She went to the trouble to cut up pieces of that flexible, vinyl-like material with the magnetic backing so she could cover the vents in her office to keep the cool air out. Unfortunately she had the thermostat. Since her office was warm due to the blocked vents, the thermostat kept the air conditioning on 24/7 resulting in the rest of the offices on her side of the hall being cold enough to keep meat in. It's because of this that I once got my tongue stuck frozen to my door knob. Why did I touch my tongue to the door knob? Why not? Who can resist the seductive lure of cold metal against a bare tongue?

So now, I'm one of the Office Gods. How shall I use my new power? Do I charge money or demand favors for a certain temperature setting? Should I just set it where I like it regardless of my co-workers discomfort? Or do I keep my mouth shut and gradually raise or lower the temperature to see what the limits of human endurance are? Do I monkey with the temperature to determine how it affects my co-workers moods? Do I want to be remembered as a kind and benevolent Office God, or do I give in to the lure of evil?