'Scooter'

8:30am
B-Trip: Home

One of those mornings where I try to hold off the day as long as possible. Not ready to start prioritizing the to-do list in my brainium. Not interested just yet in getting worked up over the news.

So I started the crossword puzzle in front of me.

"Actress Davis: _ E _ _ _" I scribbled in 'Bette', throwing caution to the wind.

But now I realize it can't be Bette.

Dicked.


11:20am
B-Trip: Home

In much the same way it's difficult to imagine a person wearing a Bluetooth looking like anything other than a tool, it's impossible to think of someone named "Scooter" being anything but a complete douchebag. Or a Muppet. But that's it.

No Scooter should not be allowed to rise to positions of power. The career achievement ladder for Scooters should not extend beyond "AA shortstop". Why? Because they're bound to screw everything up. If they instilled confidence and poise, someone wouldn't have started calling them Scooter so many years ago.

Of course, if you're a malevolent cyborg hellbent on global annihilation then it probably helps to have a Scooter around. After all, there are a few things Scooter's excel at: Starbucks runs, scapegoating, getting the fantasy league set up....They live for that!

I. Lewis Libby, who ostensibly answered to his pejorative moniker after tiring of people pointing out that his initials spelled ILL ("Yo, dog....you illin'? Daaaaah!), is going to jail. He'll stay there until the last day of Bush's term, when a presidential pardon will enable him to take his rightful place as a lapdog in the private sector. That's pretty much it.

And yet I will continue to follow his trial....

3:33pm
B-Trip: Home

...Like now.

I'm currently reading about Judith Miller's testimony. I recall an anecdote from Maureen Dowd, Miller's co-worker at the NY Times, years ago that told me everything I needed to know about Judith Miller:

<< Once when I was covering the first Bush White House, I was in The Times' seat in the crowded White House press room, listening to an administration official's background briefing. Judy had moved on from her tempestuous tenure as a Washington editor to be a reporter based in New York, but she showed up at this national security affairs briefing.

At first she leaned against the wall near where I was sitting, but I noticed that she seemed agitated about something. Midway through the briefing, she came over and whispered to me, "I think I should be sitting in the Times seat."

It was such an outrageous move, I could only laugh. I got up and stood in the back of the room, while Judy claimed what she felt was her rightful power perch.>>

Judith Miller would dick me immensely. She needs to relax. You wonder if she's ever Taken D.


10:25pm
B-Trip: Home

Aha! It's GEENA DAVIS!!

I went back to the crossword puzzle and NAILED IT! "Love Triangle", "Gooiest", "Dem"....I got 'em all.

You can't stump me, Donna S. Levin!

Until tomorrow. From Wednesday on, they get too hard.

Comeuppance

12:12am
B-Trip: Home

Do I take too many D's? How many is too many?

And is too many preferable to too few?

Seems it would be better to keep things moving than to be backed up for a few days. That is, as long as there's a B-Trip readily available.

So I'm sitting here contemplating my personal D pattern. The past several weeks have me averaging about three-D's-a-day. Before I started keeping track, I would have pegged myself for a two-D-a-day individual.

And if I'm averaging three, why just the solo D yesterday? I didn't make any special effort NOT to go, nor was I away from home for any appreciable length of time. (I firmly believe, btw, that the human stomach has a homing device that knows when an acceptable B-Trip is near. Ever notice that? When I'm out & about, the urge rarely strikes. But when I get about 3-5 miles from home, the assembly line kicks into high gear in a hurry. Unexpected traffic or difficulty finding a parking space, and I'll be crowning by the time I walk through my front door!)

And why 4-D days sometimes? That must have to do with dietary choices. To that end, I'll be shocked if today doesn't turn out to be a 4-D day. Stay tuned to find out!

So while I'm not sure what the proper amount of daily D's might be, I will continue clinging to this unwavering truth:

'The longer you wait to Take your D, the stinkier thoust D shall be.'
-Jane Austin


8:10am
B-Trip: Home

I got worried yesterday. I admit that. While making dinner, I became aware I'd only taken one D.

So I did what any sane individual would do....I loaded my half of our made-from-scratch pizza with jalapenos!

Per usual, they 'sped-the-plow'.

No need for a long good-bye here. I'll be back soon.

10:50am
B-Trip: Home

Jalapenos 2: Ye Best Not Stray.

And how.

I've returned to the "How To Be A Gentleman" book. I see that this book was published in March 2001. In other words, the Old Normal. We'll have to see which (if any) of these guidelines still apply to our post-9/11 reality.

Take this suggestion, for example: "A gentleman knows how to use a dictionary."

Suuuure he does. Maybe as a weapon to throw at evil-doers so freedom doesn't scuff her marching boots, but a gentleman certainly doesn't need one to "look stuff up". In the New Normal, we only need about three dozen words (values, surge, embolden, etc.) . And spell-check has all of those under control.

"A gentleman gives direct answers, especially to controversial questions."

Perhaps. Let's look at this recent exchange between two consummate gentlemen:

<<BLITZER: Here's what Jim Webb, senator from Virginia said in the Democratic response last night -- he said, "The president took us into this war recklessly. We are now, as a nation, held hostage to the predictable and predicted disarray that has followed."

And it's not just Jim Webb; it's some of your good Republican friends in the Senate and the House are now seriously questioning your credibility, because of the blunders and the failures. Gordon Smith...

CHENEY: Wolf, Wolf, I simply don't accept the premise of your question. I just think it's hogwash.>>

At first glance it may seem that our VP was, in fact, avoiding a controversial question. However, that's tough to verify since Wolf was cut off before posing his question. If we assume he was leading up to "Do you accept the premise of my question? And, as a followup, do you think this question is asinine or merely hogwash?" then it becomes clear that this tenet of gentleman-liness is alive & well.

"A gentleman does not make idle threats."

Wait one second, you say. Whatever happened to Osama bin Laden? Weren't we going to "smoke him out"?

Now before you go questioning the 'gentleman credentials' of our beloved leader, consider this..."One of these days." Bush never said when we'd smoke him out. He might even go ahead and leave the smoking process for his dad (who, I believe, will be elected in a landslide in '08. After all, cleaning up his son's mess is a role to which he's surely accustomed. And he must be pretty good at it considering his complete f*ck-up of a child became a two-term president.)

So we'll smoke Osama out one of these days. There's a lot of caves in Afghanistan. It's hard to find enough smoke. I don't know much about foreign policy, but I suspect one day we'll learn the real reason we lit Iraq on fire and also took zero steps to reduce carbon emissions was because we needed more smoke for the bin Laden hunt. A pretty brilliant strategy, but per usual the President gets no credit.

11:03pm
B-Trip: Home

Joel Stein is one of about a half-dozen reasons I keep my La Times subscription active. (The other reasons, you nosy bastards, are Tim Rutten, Steve Lopez, Patrick Goldstein, Rex Morgan, M.D., and Bill Plaschke....though the latter, as far as I'm concerned, is still digging himself out of a hole after brazenly dissing the 2006 World Series.)


Go ahead. Click on it. I'll wait....

Plaschke's unwarranted, above-the-fold negativity deflates this otherwise frame-worthy sports page. It had been 24 years since the Cardinals last won. He couldn't have waited 24 hours to whine about the Series?

Bill, you're lucky I enjoyed your Sean Avery story and Olympic coverage last year. Otherwise we'd have serious issues. But, moving forward, let's try to keep the dick moves to a minimum.

Anyway, Joel Stein's column was not one of his best so I moved on to an op/ed piece entitled "Never Too Late", detailing the myriad accomplishments of people such as Clint Eastwood, Mark Twain, and Robert Frost who did not produce their finest work until middle age and beyond.

This article spoke to my very core. After all, most poop journals are kept by newborns. I've often thought:

"Am I too late?"

By waiting 'til I'm thirty-two to track my poo, does that mean I'll never be thought of as a defecating wunderkind? The boy wonder of the B-Trip?

Some twelve month-old in Chattanooga could do exactly what I'm doing and become the Stinky Sensation while I'd be dismissed as the other guy, the grownup. People would wince, admitting in hushed tones that my online journal, my d'log, is kind of sad.

But this article urges experimental innovators everywhere not to give up! I'm not sure what an 'experimental innovator' is but, like me, I imagine they Take D. The piece seems to say if you're thinking about Taking D: TAKE THAT D. And if you think there's some chance the rest of the world would like to hear all about it: SHARE THAT D! After all, I have over three decades of D'ing experience from which to draw. What's that superstar in Chattanooga got? For all we know, he still wears diapers.

(Memo to self: Taking D in diaper could make for fascinating d'log post. Do it soon to scoop kid in Tennessee. T-Tennessee? Tennessee...T-Tennessee?)

Ahhh...Arrested Development. I think I've finally stumbled upon this d'log's theme.

The Tao of D

8:08am
B-Trip: Home

At times, D's can be spent in deep concentration. In today's hectic world, where else does one find the opportunity to reflect upon and ponder life's philosophical mysteries?

Yoga class?

Too much activity.

Church?

Too many old people.

Camping?

Now you're just being silly...how would I charge my iPod?

Traffic may be your best bet, but achieving a Zen-like serenity can be difficult when THE BLUE-TOOTH MORON IN FRONT OF YOU WON'T MERGE OR TURN OFF HIS BLINKER!!

So in addition to the obvious physical comfort Taking D provides, there is a mental (and some might even say 'spiritual') component. In truth, what other daily routine virtually guarantees a few moments of uninterrupted silence during the day? There are no ads (save the easily-ignored "For a Good Time, Call...." campaign). And any distractions (newspaper, cell phone, etc.) are on your own terms since you must bring them in with you. Best of all, everyone vying for your attention at home or in the office typically has the good sense to wait until you emerge: More centered, more focused...and no longer enveloped in an unholy fetor. In effect, one's D creates a force field, keeping the rest of the world at bay. For those few moments, you can be alone with your thoughts. Or, if your thoughts scare the crap out of you (figuratively), you can always do a Sudoku. Either way, it's just you being you.

But Kenny...you say, breathless...this is a 24/7 world! There's a heavy price to be paid for tuning out, even if it's just for a couple minutes. I understand that concern. However, I disagree. It's why our forefathers created the 'Taking D Exception' which, admittedly, is one of their lesser-revered accomplishments compared to, say, the 21st Amendment (which, of course, repealed the 18th Amendment, thus allowing us all to get wasted again! Mmmm...sweet, sweet ratification.), but it dates back to the Magna Carta.

Surely you've noticed that negligence due to smoke break, doctor's visit, or even jury duty is often treated with scorn, while Taking D seems an acceptable excuse for any absence:

"Where were you?!! We're been looking all over. Mrs. Cubbison went into cardiac arrest!"

"I was in the bathroom."

"Oh, okay. Well...help me wheel her downstairs."

No D but 2D

12:14am
B-Trip: Home

The ever-mysterious Late Night D. Always dropping in when you least expect it. Like that racist on 'Seinfeld'.

But this after-hours moment has given me a chance to reflect on the lovely evening Elle & I just spent at the Stroosvini residence. If you're looking for a remarkable dining experience in a warm, cordial setting you'd be hard-pressed to top the Stroosvini's....where conversations flow as effortlessly as the wine, and canine flatulence reigns supreme.

The meal was delightful....A Feast with Seven Forks! (More specific info coming soon! Kindly click on my 'fingerling potatoes'.) It's hard to believe it had already been a few months since we'd seen each other. Being in their Venice home, you couldn't help but feel like we were all old friends. And though that may have something to do with the fact that we've known each other for many, many years, it could just as easily be attributable to the braised cabbage, which was so delicious Elle & I found ourselves praising it the entire 30-min drive home. So alls I'm sayin' is...don't go judging everything on first impressions, yo. Dig below the surface. Dig down deep and see if maybe cabbage is involved. Cause that's probably your answer.

It certainly explains why I'm Taking D right now.

7:35am
B-Trip: Home

A recalcitrant Morning D. Took a while to get going. Perhaps an episode of 30 Rock was on in my large intestine and the D wanted to wait til it was over. (I've been meaning to shove a TiVo up my bunghole to accelerate the viewing process by skipping the commercials, but I keep forgetting.)

10:30am
B-Trip: Home

Reading sports page. Also, an article in today's Current section questioning if the War on Terror might be an insane overreaction. Certainly from a historical perspective, this warrants discussion. Though Bush may often repeat that terrorists want to destroy our way of life, they scarcely have the capacity to do so. So blowing everything out of proportion (i.e., comparing Osama bin Laden to Hitler, equating Iraq to a struggle for our very existence, etc.) is little more than a great recruiting tool for more terrorists.

Makes sense. Would be nice for cooler heads to prevail for once. Everyone just needs to stop what they're doing, Take D, and look for constructive ways to move forward. And it goes without saying that everyone needs to flush. Only terrorists would dream of doing otherwise.

6:33pm
B-Trip: Home

Reading about military slang. Some favorites:

Geardo - Derogatory term for the guy who has to have all the latest and greatest gear on his uniform, even though he does not know how to use it.

Mookie - Muqtada Al Sadr. He's 'Al' to me because there's only room for one Mookie in my life.

O Dark 30 - A very early hour. ("We got up at oh-dark-thirty.") In my experience, it's never good when the urge to Take immediate D forces you up at O Dark 30. Hopefully that won't happen to any of our boys in combat.

Semper I - Pejorative Marine lingo for being overly concerned with one's own personal interests. Dah.

and of course...

Blue Canoe - Slang for a portable toilet. I'll let you know if I ever Take D in one of these.

Poetry in Motion

9:06am
B-Trip: Home

'Ode to Mediocrit-D'

Just a regular poo
Whatcha gonna do?
Can't make no big todo
'Bout no regular poo.


12:10pm
B-Trip: Home

If you felt a tear in the gossamer fabric of society today a little after noon, a palpable trace of sadness knowing that somewhere out there your fellow man had been deeply wronged, then allow me to explain what that was all about.

As I prepared for this Followup D, I grabbed a section of the newspaper I thought contained a Sudoku. But upon commencement of the aforementioned movement, I realized I'd been had. This Calendar section, though teeming with movie times, reviews, and picture of a pomegranate juice mogul, contained no Sudoku.

A case could be made that I erroneously grabbed the wrong section. But that would imply that I'm the one at fault. So no thanks. I prefer to think the LA Times intentionally and perniciously led me astray by placing the Sudoku elsewhere. Look no further when pondering the declining fortunes of the once venerable newspaper industry.

But my fortunes took a turn for the better as this D, thanks in part to last night's veggie-loaded stir fry, was easy like a Sunday morning. Thus, I didn't spend too long fretting.

6:01pm
B-Trip: Home

Southern California is a desert. A pleasant one, but a desert nonetheless. Given our enormous population and arid climate, it's remarkable to me that there is always H2O available to flush the toilet and take a shower, much less to water your driveway - a seemingly ubiquitous ritual that never ceases to baffle. Since it only rains here a handful of times each year, obviously we're stealing clean water from somebody. So whomever/wherever that is...thanks!

I got water on the brain because, as I sit here reading an article about people who are trying to go three weeks without whining, I can hear raindrops falling outside!

I love the rain. In this part of the world, it instantly turns the mountains green and somehow dissipates the smog. Never is Los Angeles more beautiful than the day or two after it rains, when the haze customarily enveloping the city is still attempting to resurrect istelf, leaving the air crystal clear. For those few days, it's like living in HD. All the colors are brighter, more crisp. And best of all, it seems to buy us a couple days between wild fires.

So as long as I live through the day - never a sure thing considering the standard SoCal response to wet driving conditions is to SPEED UP (ostensibly to spend less time on the road), there's much to look forward to tomorrow.

Scruff

8:01am
B-Trip: Home

The best things in life are free. That's why I don't get too excited over new products. Things like the iPhone or Wii seem very cool but I've found if you have a little patience, sooner or later the parent company will mistake your wife for a transvestite and send her a complimentary version of their product.

That's how I came across this Gillette Fusion. It arrived yesterday for Mr. Elle Pice. (And not a moment too soon. When her whiskers get too long, it really takes away from her goatee.)

The six-bladed Fusion seemed all the rage a few years ago, but I couldn't be bothered. The Mach 3 handled my facial hair with aplomb. Six blades seemed, to use dictionary.com's Word of the Day, overweening. I promised myself I'd never move on from the Mach 3 until something truly revolutionary came along: A thirteen-bladed picture phone razor, for example, that when used diligently helps manage the scourge of AIDS in Zimbabwe.

Still waiting for that one, Remington. Tick tock.

But how easily my opinion can be swayed. I'll surely use this razor. It also comes with a coupon for replacement blades. If that makes them cheaper than Mach 3 replacements, I guess Gillette's "Send A Razor To The Tranny Wife" promotion can be considered a rousing success.

That is, assuming the half-dozen blades don't slice off my cheeks. I'll let you know.

12:05pm
B-Trip: Home

It's not often I feel like royalty. I mean, I may occasionally experience a vicarious thrill when knighting someone or hurling a crumpet at one of my scores of attendants...but by and large my existence seems to have more in common with a commoner. Except, perhaps, this one.

But one occasion that consistently provides the unexpected pleasure and indulgence fitting of a king, queen, or, at the very least, an alderman has to be when the heater kicks on while I'm Taking D. It's Winter's solemn promise.

And it's rare in Southern California. Our heater is only turned on a few weeks each year. And like every Blue-Stater, it doesn't work very hard so the odds of receiving a blast from our furnace are long.

But when you do......mmm, mmm......

And that's exactly what happened during this D. I've often been told I was born under a lucky star and this proves it. (On a related note: I'm also confident that Madonna was singing about me in "Lucky Star", though that's been somewhat difficult to certify. And though I continue to shine on her wherever I am, the restraining order has complicated my dogged research.)

But I digress...my old apartment had a vent right beside the toilet. It was nice because it served to warm the seat in advance of my arrival. But if the heater fired up while you were Taking D, things got uncomfortable (singeing leg hair, forsaking dreams, etc.).

Our current B-Trip, however, provides the best possible vent placement. The heat comes from the wall directly across from the toilet, enabling a pleasant warm breeze. Like shitting in the Maldives, I imagine. It wouldn't surprise me if people wanted to Take D here on their honeymoon. That's how luxurious it is. (Elle & I are still trying to determine if we will open our home for such a purpose, but keep those requests coming in!)

Torpor

7:56am
B-Trip: Home

Good morning. Reading LA Times article about a combative interview Wolf Blitzer had with Dick Cheney. Why do I care about this garbage?

As a warm-blooded mammal with at least passing concern for humanity, I've never really had much in common with our Vice-President. However, that all changed with this D. It appears that both he and I are not too keen on Hillary Clinton becoming President. Cheney doesn't like that she's a "Democrat", a term he artfully infuses with the same contemptous inflexion more routinely associated with words like "rapist", "pedophile", or "Pat O'Brien".

Of course to me, 'Democrat' is just another jolly D-word. However, I simply refuse to believe that there's only two families capable of running our country. And with Jeb Bush in the offing, we need to break the cycle. Therefore, if Hillary wants my vote she needs to change her last name. "Jenkins" would do the trick. I'd also accept "Baxter Birney".

12:30pm
B-Trip: Home

It's go time. In a little while, we're heading down to the Volvo dealership.

Right now I'm poring through materials to sharpen my negotiating tactics.

8:25pm
B-Trip: Home

Guess what we did? I'll give you a hint: I'm currently thumbing through the S40 owner's manual.

Very good experience. Good deal. Etc. Etc.

But something was brought to my attention today that anyone considering getting a Volvo must be aware of. It's the Overseas Delivery Program. Volvo will give you roundtrip airfare to Europe where you can pick up your custom-designed car right off the line in Sweden. Then you can drive it around for up to two weeks before flying home and thinking: "Man...I sure wish the car I just bought was in America where I could use it."

Alright. I'm kidding. Obviously they ship it (at no cost to you). So it's basically like throwing in a free European vacation with your car purchase.

The only downside is that Volvo only pays for one night of accomodations, but who doesn't love sleeping in their new car? That's what Elle and I are doing tonight!

In fact, by picking it up in Europe, I could have saved 8.25% CA sales tax (the savings of which could have paid for several nights in a hotel).

And in case Sweden dicks you, I understand you can pretty much go to any port city in Europe. Our salespersom said one lady picked her car up in Paris, a city that seems rather land-locked to me. Thus, there appears to be some leeway.

My lease is up in September. I wasn't planning to make Elle & I a two-Volvo family, but for a highly-subsidized European vacation I might just consider it.

Oh, also....this D was loud and splashy. Must've been those delicious Milky Way Lattes at the dealership.

Two-A-Days

8:33am
B-Trip: Home

Reading LA Times article about DREAMGIRLS' 'shocking' omission from the Best Picture category. Haven't seen Iwo Jima, but the other four seem worthy candidates. Especially LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE. What a wonderful movie!

Is there anything better than the hour or so after you Take D? At any point in the day do you feel more fresh? Free? Ready to take on the world? That's why one D per day is simply not enough.

3:10pm
B-Trip: Home

Elle's lease is up so it's time for a new automobile. I tried to get something in a D-Class, but she don't listen.

Studying the Volvo S40 brochure, since that appears to be the frontrunner. If the price is right, that will be the one.

8:02pm
B-Trip: Home

Leaving soon for dinner. No D required so....here I am.

I received a book entitled "How To Be A Gentleman" by John Bridges for Christmas. As the subtitle declares, it's a 'contemporary guide to common courtesy'.

I'll let you know if/when I get to the section on Taking D.

Movie Rights Available!

7:55am
B-Trip: Home

Morning D. I'm reading an article in today's LA Times describing how the internet is enabling, to an unprecedented extent, John Q. Public to call the shots in today's Hollywood. We're wresting control of the reins!

It got me thinking about the movie version of this online journal. Just imagine...

...two blissful hours...

...Paul Rudd...

...or possibly Chiwetel Ejiofor....

....taking all manner of craps.

I smell Oscar!

Oh, wait. I take that back. That's not Oscar I smell. It's D.


12:44pm
B-Trip: Home

Followup D.

It occurred to me I should address the 'time stamp' I've been using to categorize these D's. It is not meant to imply that all my D's last one minute. They typically fall in the 5-7 minute range, a bit longer if I'm trying to finish something I'm reading.

There also may be rare occasions in which they last less than five minutes. For example, if someone lobbed a grenade through the b-trip window while I was sitting there.

It seems obsessive to bring a stopwatch into the b-trip with you, so unless noted otherwise, assume the D lasted somewhere between 5-7 minutes. The time listed, of course, falls within that range. Maybe it's when I started. Perhaps it's when I wiped. Maybe it's when I thought I was done, but it turned out I wasn't. One thing is clear: We've already spent way too much time discussing it.


5:01pm
B-Trip: Home

I had three-day old Thai leftovers for lunch. I admit it. What can I say? I don't like wasting food...and everyone knows a liberal coating of soy sauce heals all wounds.

But that doesn't mean the crab noodles enjoyed my gastro-intestinal accommodations. In fact, it seems they only wanted to hang around for a few hours. Maybe if I offered a free continental breakfast they wouldn't be in such a hurry. Regardless, so long!

January 1-7

I got a late jump on this journal, so here's what went down the first week of '07. That is, before I went live...

January 1, 2007

1:32am
B-Trip: Hotel President (Room 722), Kansas City

Happy New Year!!

Didn't take long to break the seal. Guess that means I'll be Taking D a lot this year. And I'll be bringing each and every one to you.

Well...the details of each. Don't worry. You won't be receiving any Special D-liveries.

10:18am
B-Trip: Hotel President (Room 722) , KC

Good morning. Elle, my wife, is still asleep. Through the walls I hear the covers rustle gently.

Reading David Rakoff's book "Don't Get Too Comfortable". Much like BORAT, it has an insanely long secondary title that I suppose I should list for the sake of thoroughness. But I'm not going to. So if you care, I urge you to look it up. I'm reading the Martha Stewart chapter at the moment.

Perhaps I should explain the term "B-Trip". Quite simply, it's my word for 'restroom', 'bathroom', 'loo', 'john', 'shitter', etc. I don't quite recall where it came from or what it stands for (A trip to the bathroom???), but I like it. So if you care to join me on this adventure, I urge you to accept my terminology (I'll get to "Taking D" soon). Hopefully it doesn't dick you too terribly much.

5:52pm
B-Trip: Basement of Father-in-Law's house, Lenexa, KS

I took this D out of boredom and slight urge to feel productive. I wanted to finish the chapter I started earlier, and Taking D seemed like a good excuse to do so. Didn't produce much "blogging content", if you will, but I managed to plow ahead in my book.

The best part of Taking D down here is when the heater kicks in. Makes the B-Trip warm & toasty.


January 2, 2007

8:16am
B-Trip: Basement of Father-in-Law's house, Lenexa, KS

A D that was doomed from the start.

I fancy myself an enviro-friendly individual. As such, I look for ways to conserve a little water here, a couple volts of electricity there. Before settling into my Morning D, I noticed what appeared to be a jellyfish of toilet paper floating the water. Elle has a microscopic bladder so when peeing in the middle of the night, she has been avoiding flushing so as not to wake me. Though the water in the bowl appears clean, I assume this is the case. So I had the option of either flushing the toilet paper or Taking D on it. I chose the road less traveled...and it was a dickover.

The Charmin lily pad effectively stalled my D like a putrid Hacky Sack. Though the odor was not terribly offensive to me (after all, who doesn't revel at least somewhat in the aroma of their own bm's?), Elle would be waking soon and this windowless basement B-Trip does not allow for the infusion of fresh air. A bonafide thank you was waiting for her.

Worse, I experienced one of the more solemn wiping predicaments. Inattentive 'balling' on my part enabled a paper tail to dip into the bowl and whip a little nasty water from the bowl back up onto me. Mercifully, I'm about to take a shower. Still...it's gross.

And, insult to injury, the toilet backed up due to the preponderance of toilet paper. Not my day.

5:05pm
B-Trip: Southwest Airlines, somewhere over California

Dropping D at 37,000 feet. Never a terribly pleasant experience to Take D on an airplane, but this online journal needs variet-D.

This particular closet, just behind the cockpit (SO NO GATHERING OUTSIDE THE DOOR, DAMMIT!), is not in great shape. Not sure anyone's been in here to clean or restock since the 70's. Out of kleenex, water splashed everywhere, the basin full of foam. But the most serious offense resulted from the woman in here before me.

Yeah, I'm talking to you 4-E!

I'm the guy who had to wallow in your nastiness.

This blond lady, pushing 50, sprinkled when she tinkled. But she was anything but a 'sweetie'...leaving golden drops of urine all over the seat.

I realize certain situations call for a Hover D or, I suppose on occasion for the ladies, a Hover P. I've never engaged in the practice since I'm confident that, when required, a layer of toilet paper ringed around the seat provides adequate protection. (And for the record, I don't do toilet seat covers, either. Too tricky. What are you supposed to do with that middle section? Let it drape down into the water?)

I admit it's kind of gross in here, so I don't begrudge the lady for hovering. However, her lack of common decency is appalling. If you're going to hover in a B-Trip bouncing through the air at hundreds of miles and hour, you're bound to make a mess. And when you do, WIPE IT UP! What's wrong with people?

The captain just reported we're starting our initial descent forty-five minutes early. Gotta love that! I really should get going.


11:30pm
B-trip: HOME SWEET HOME!

This is my throne. Where the vast majority of my D's will take place.

Right now, I'm completing the D I started on the plane. Then it's bedtime.


January 3, 2007

7:20am
B-Trip: Home

I was at a Super 8 in Wichita, Kansas when Saddam Hussein was hung. Where were you?

A comprehensive Morning D under way, I'm reading the Letters to the Editor in the LA Times regarding Saddam's execution. You're not going to believe this. Everyone's glad he's gone, but some criticize the execution's lynch mob atmosphere. Oh snap.

I'm just glad to be Taking D.

10:14am
B-Trip: Home

The coffee-induced Followup. The much anticipated sequel! Last night's salad bids my colon an accelerated adieu. Movin' on.

While all that fanfare takes place below me, I'm still plugging my way through David Rakoff's book. Bite-size chapters...splendid D reading.

6:05pm
B-Trip: Home

Now that we're back home, it's time for Elle & I to resume our rigorous jogging schedule. And by 'rigorous', I'm talking once around the block...a distance approaching a mile. And we do this twice a week. It's not easy being hard-core, but we do our best.

I'm feeling very much out of shape after a few weeks of Midwest gorging, so I'm trying to 'clear some space' to ensure my legs are carrying as light a load as possible.

11:51pm
B-Trip: Home

Back for more! My goodness, lots of D today. I'm reading Rakoff and, for reasons I won't get into, my tongue is blue.


January 4, 2007

7:31am
B-Trip: Home

Morning D. Reading Business page about ICM agents defecting. That venerable institution seems to be crumbling.

Guess Woody Allen needs to make more films.

10:58am
B-Trip: Home

I have a serious situation here. My tongue is still blue, resulting from a Sweet Tart candy cane I ate last night. It was not the of the 'hardened powder' consistency one typically equates with Sweet Tarts. It resembled a regular candy cane, but tasted 'tart' instead of pepperminty, and was evidently 95% food coloring.

The trouble here is that, as I flushed, I noticed the water in the bowl had a bluish hue. In other words, my entire digestive tract has been stained by that damn thing. I'm tossing the rest and urge all to avoid them next December.

11:50pm
B-Trip: Home

Elle is not feeling well so she's already in bed. I wanted to read another Rakoff chapter before turning in, so why not multi-task?


January 5, 2007

8:04am
B-Trip: Home

Morning D. Close to finishing the Rakoff book. Current chapter revolves around fasting. I've never tried it, though I know several people who have. They've gone weeks without eating.

My question: Does that mean you go weeks without D-ing? No thanks.


12:17pm
B-Trip: Home

Elle and her business partner, May, are in the living room putting together an album of a recent wedding they shot.

While I've been sitting here Taking D, I've heard footsteps. Somebody else has to go. You know what that means. Upon completion of this D, I have to shave....effectively muddying the waters as to why I've been in the B-Trip so long. It also buys me a few minutes to let the room air out, covering my tracks. The perfect subterfuge!

One could argue that a man doesn't need to apologize for Taking D in his own home. I can't dispute that. But if one also hopes to maintain a certain standard of hospitality, shouldn't he/she make best efforts to hold it in until the guests depart? Failing that, you duck and cover.

For the record I would never begrudge anyone who, upon inviting me into their home, opted to step away for a little while to go Take D. In fact, if another B-Trip was available I'd probably do the same.


7:20pm
B-Trip: Home

Pre-jogging D. I'm headed up to Vons. Still feeling out of shape so I'm making myself as light as possible.

11:41pm
B-Trip: Home

Like last night...Elle's asleep, but I'm not quite ready for bed. You got a better idea for moments like these?


January 6, 2007

8:55am
B-Trip: Home

Morning D. Finishing Rakoff. An entertaining book, though perhaps inappropriately positioned. The cover and quotes seem to suggest a skewering of the upper crust. Though this is sometimes the case, the book as a whole is more random than that, dealing with far-reaching issues such as the author's own U.S. Naturalization, cryogenics, and a class demonstrating how to forage for edible wildflowers in Prospect Park. I enjoyed the writing very much, but the content was less
'on point' than I expected.

12:20pm
B-Trip: Home

Reading front page of LA Times. Democrats have passed earmark reform, hoping that in the future earmarks will be more transparent.


Not to be outdone, minority whip Trent Lott spent the holidays stretching his lobes to a 00G, bolstering his claim that Republican earmarks are the most transparent in the Beltway.


January 7, 2007

9:16am
B-Trip: Home

Morning D. Time for a sports update!

Much-ballyhooed QB Tony Romo's costly 'bobble' led to the demise of the Dallas Cowboys SuperBowl dreams.

And the USC kicker was found dead below some cliffs south of LA. Huh?

12:34pm
B-Trip: Home

Reading the Current section of the Times. Black and Latinos apparently can't get along. Everyone's best hope for easing tensions, a Diddy/J.Lo lovechild, now seems highly unlikely, the frustration of which only makes matters worse.

D, Interrupted

8:30am
B-Trip: Home

Settled down for Morning D with the Health section of the LA Times. Article about procrastination. The tranquility is shattered moments later when a guy starts trimming the neighbors' hedges right outside our bedroom window. Elle, a wedding photographer whose primary motivation of starting her own business was the desire to sleep in on Mondays, is still asleep. Long story short....this isn't going to end well for any of us.

We have just one B-trip in our home, so every once in a while we have a 'situation'. For example, now. I hear the bedroom door open and a tired "Babe, are you almost done?" I was, at best, approaching done. But I quickly tidied up so as to minimize her wait outside the door. Accelerating one's D completion when called upon is surely one facet of maintaining a happy marriage. Had we written our own vows, I definitely would have included that.


10:55am
B-Trip: Home

I seriously could have taken this D in under a minute. Neat, tidy, and swift. A working man's D. But I lingered for a few moments to read an article about spontaneous combustion in the Health section.

Spicy & Insistent

9:03am
B-Trip: Home

D waits for no man. Certain D's, at least. This morning, my bowels had no patience for the leisure of a Morning D. They were ready to leave their mark on the day..and I had no choice but to obey.

The likely culprits were the jalapenos in the enchiladas my wife whipped up for a late dinner last night after we got home from Pan's Labyrinth. (Great movie, btw...though less 'fantastical' than the trailers lead you to believe. At least 85% of the movie takes place in the real world. David Bowie's Labyrinth this is not. Now your expectations have been properly set. Oh, and it's in Espanol so bring your reading glasses).


4:40pm
B-Trip: Home

As aromatic as D's get. Because I take several D's-a-day, they often aren't too terribly foul. (I'm no scientist, but I assume keeping D's backed up causes them to ferment and reek.)

But this time was indecent.

In our house, an offense this grave requires both B-Trip windows to be opened and a dash of the peony-scented spray sitting amicably on the back of the toilet to be administered. This is particularly the case when my wife is sitting in the office (aka, within breathing distance). Since we live in Southern California, I try to be gentlemanly and remember to open the window each time to let some fresh air in. A D like this makes such a step mandatory.


8:25pm
B-Trip: Home

I play ice hockey on Sunday evenings. Taking D before gamer gives you that extra pep in your step. So that's exactly what I'm doing right now. Encouraging pep.

My Date with D-estiny

1:20am
B-Trip: Home

Felt like 'leaving word' before bed. Some conservative columnist in LA Times writes about Iraq: "The U.S. offers the only force that can stop the country's descent into all out warfare." Hmmm....as I sit here, poop dropping out me bum, it seems to me ALMOST ANYONE ELSE stands a better chance of cooling things down over there. Perhaps we need to swallow our pride and accept that we may not be able to handle the situation ourselves. I believe the the past several years stand as evidence. Why not try eating a little crow to see if we can get the entire planet on board with fixing Iraq?

And I don't worry much about that making us appear weak. We've already established we're crazy enough to trump up charges against countries that pose no realistic threat and then conquer them. If anyone calls the U.S. a bunch of pussies, they run the risk of us doing it to them. We're kind of insane like that.

9:40am
B-Trip: Home

Morning D. Reading about the O'Reilly/Colbert swap. Colbert's best line to Bill: "A lot of people criticize the things you say, but they don't give you credit for how loud you say them."

4:27pm
B-Trip: Men's Room, Pizzeria Mozza

My wife strongly encouraged me to Take D here so that I would be forced to relay a story from a few years ago. So although D was not on my agenda, I spent our meal trying to attain the Zen-like state where D flows freely in public places.

Here's the story: Several years ago, when we were still dating, Elle and I would occasionally walk from her apartment to Trader Joe's and back. The round trip was 4.4 miles. One night, on the walk back to her place, grocery bags in each arm, I was overcome by a rumbling down below. I ignored it initially, but moments later the rumbling proved itself a force to be reckoned with. As I tried to play it cool my mind raced...judging my reality, desperate for options:

1) We were still about a mile from Elle's place.
2) We were in the middle of a neighborhood and, like Marsellus Wallace in 818, I didn't have any friendly doors to knock upon.

The first order of business was clear. I needed silence. Only then could I channel all my energy into NOT exploding out the back of my shorts.

Confused, Elle obliged. But soon, even peace and quiet wasn't enough. I was forced to explain my situation. Elle (remember: still my girlfriend at the time) laughed at first, but soon quickly became aware of just how dire my situation had become.

Meanwhile I had my second moment of clarity, and it wasn't good: There was no way I could make it home. Our only hope was an upscale pizza place on the corner or, as a last resort, a gas station a little further down. And the way things were going, even that seemed wildly optimistic.

Almost 9pm on a weeknight, it was anybody's guess as to whether or not the restaurant would be open. Still about a quarter mile away, moving as fast as my tightly-clenched buttcheeks would allow, I begged my wife to run ahead to see if the pizzeria was open. If not, I was prepared to take a crap in someone's front lawn. I had come to terms with that.

I was only about thirty yards behind her when she opened the door and gave me the thumb's up. We barged inside with our grocery bags. The hostess hadn't even finished "Table for two?" before I interjected, a wafer-thin air of informality not even remotely disguising my desperation: "Do you happen to have a restroom?" Well past the point of waiting for her answer, I dropped my grocery bags at Elle's feet and scurried in the direction in which the hostess's arm was about to raise.

The restroom was a spacious, one-person-at-a-time outfit with a toilet and a urinal. Had the door been locked, I would have barged into the women's. Had that also been occupied, the smattering of diners and weeknight staff would have witnessed a man taking a shit in the middle of the restaurant.

I was no longer calling the shots.

Mercifully, the B-trip was occupied. I yanked down my shorts and, for the next twenty-five minutes, desecrated that place. In fact, I'm quite certain I felt the room shudder as I entered today because years ago, on this same patch of Planet Earth, Mount Vesuvius had nothing on me.

As I sat here, my stomach churning and spinning and rolling vigorously enough to medal in a gymnastics competition, I cursed the decision I'd made at work earlier that day: no time for lunch, the day-old supermarket sushi in the fridge will have to do. I wouldn't need Columbo figure out what got me here.

Meanwhile the future Mrs. Pice sat at the bar, nursing a glass of Cabernet, vamping for the bartender and all else in the nearly-empty establishment who were quite aware of what was taking place.

Today's D is the polar opposite in many respects. The restaurant is packed, allowing me to slip in here undetected. The D is belligerent, digging its heels in. The effort I have to extend just to produce some "bloggable content" seems to fly in the face of what it means to Take D. D's, after all, should be easy. I manage what can only be referred to as a dainty plopner in order to take you on this walk down memory lane.

6:20pm
B-Trip: Home

This concludes the D forcibly started at the pizza place.

#2

8:35am
B-Trip: Home

Morning D. Now what, you ask, is this 'Morning D'? Though Funk and/or Wagnall may disagree, as far as I'm concerned it's the D that's ready to go moments after you wake up. You know the one. My current schedule is not complete without one. Personally, I like to grab the newspaper, feed the cats, maybe wash a few dishes, or take care of other business before settling down. Of course things are different when I'm waking up with only enough time to get ready and race out the door to work. Those D's wait until I'm at work because, as anyone knows, the only thing better than Taking D is getting paid to Take D.

At the moment, however, I'm working from home so I have to luxury of Taking D instead of sitting in rush hour traffic. This morning I'm reading about last night's Blues/Kings game, one I attended. Not only was I delighted by the Blues 3-1 victory, I also learned that USC and UCLA apparently have hockey teams. Who knew?

5:30pm
B-Trip: Home

There we go. I'd been wondering when the second D of the day might rear its misbegotten head. I suppose the salad I had for lunch yesterday contributed to a comprehensive Morning D, rendering a Followup unnecessary.

Oh, sorry....is that T.M.I.? Well, I got news for you. That's what this online journal is about. Kindly move along if you're one of those holier-than-thou candyasses who even use the phrase "T.M.I." This isn't the place for you. There will simply be too much information for your sensitive soul. And while you're at it....eat a dick straight up.

Anyway...sorry 'bout that...I got issues with the TMI crowd. Live and let D, I always say.

I'm just skimming the front page of the LA Times, settling on nothing in particular.

It goes without saying that in America today, no D is complete without the requisite wiping. Other cultures have various methods of swabbing the deck, but t-pape is the only way I roll. My newlywed status has brought some change to this ritual. For example, my wife prefers a thinner toilet paper. Before she came along, I was accustomed to toilet paper that now seems the equivalent of wiping with a fresh tube sock. That's not to say I enjoyed using the microscope lens paper she stocked her apartment with. That stuff's no match for one of my D's. It leads to smearing and the potential for 'D on hand' syndrome, one which I wish to avoid.

Elle and I were at loggerheads, each convinced that the other's preferred paper was an affront to our respective buttholes. So we split the difference. Thus, to this day, our B-Trip is stocked with Scott Extra Soft. And I have no complaints. It's thick enough for my needs, and thin enough to garner Elle's satisfaction. Experience the difference for yourself!

Day 1

Alright....I've made up my mind to go through with this. I've been tracking my 2007 D's and I'm ready to start posting. Unfortunately I can't go back in time so we'll call this Day 1.

I'll back-date my prior 2007 D's like stock options soon. Here's a look at today's action:

8:40am
B-Trip: Home

Morning D. Read LA Times article about mother of three in Sacramento who participated in a radio statioin contest a few weeks ago called "No Wee for a Wii". Twenty people were handed bottle after bottle of water to drink. Whoever could hold it the longest won. Well, this mother unfortunately finished in second place. And then died a few hours later because her insides exploded after being forced to retain 2 gallons of water. Surely there's a lawsuit brewing. I hope the radio station, at the very least, gave a Wii to her children. After all, their mother gave her life for it.

11:50am
B-trip: Home

This would be the Followup D. After my Morning D, there's almost always a coffee-induced followup a few hours later. I stuck with the LA Times, this time reading about Bush's plummeting approval rating. Apparently squandering the public trust, over time, comes back to bite you. And Hillary, freshly back from Iraq, decided she no longer supports the 'surge'. I say we send Bush and Hillary over...and then secretly bring everyone else home so they're stranded. Man, they'd be so pissed.

4:45pm
B-trip: Home

I have a wife. Her name is Elle. Wives, I've learned, have the ability to stink up the b-trip with the rest of them. Girlfriends don't appear to be capable of this. Fiancees might accidentally do it once, but wives throw caution/modesty/whathaveyou to the wind. And when they do, the wind don't smell so nice.

For this particular D, I unwittingly went in just moments after she took care of some business of her own. But to her credit, I experienced no ill effects. The only evidence that she'd been there was the open windows and a hint, in the air, of the spray she'll often use to cover things up. I love this woman.