Rosco's Modern Life

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

The Relationship Voice

Oy vey!

Let me tell you something about the relationship voice (or relati sote voce in latin):

Everyone has one.

If you are in any sort of dating relationship, you have a relationship voice.

There just happen to be varying degrees of relationship voices. Some are waaaaaaay out there, some are subtle inflections of the person's natural voice. But, even when subtle, they send off electromagnetic radar beams out to all in earshot.

And here's the thing with men versus women with their relationship voices: Men do everything they can to mask their voice, women unabashedly and freely pour out with their relationship voice. Who's right? Neither - because relationship voices suck.

The number one fear guys have, besides having their manhood forcedly removed, is for their pals, compadres, and peers hear their relationship voice. This means:

(1) Closed doors when speaking on the phone.
(2) Quiet, "I can't talk right now" attitudes when in public places.
(3) Forced "macho" talk in response to the girlfriend's relationship voice. In this case, the addition of "manly" words usually applies - like V-8, Hardtop, and Pussywillow.

Basically, having other guys hear their "softened" tone, for all intents and purposes, forcedly removes their manhood - see number one fear.

Now, I am not claiming that I know women (most women don't understand women*), but that won't stop me from making some dumbass claims about their rationale or why they smell good (pine tar). So let me get their reason for the relationship voice, and why they display it so proudly, our of the way: Dominance. That and so that they can embarrass the living shit out of us.

They know that men can't cop any sort of attitude, especially in public, so why not do something to torture us to near death. Seems like a good enough reason, if you ask me. Why do snot-nosed little brats fry ants with magnifying glasses (besides it looking cool)?

This is the female form of blood lust. It's not happening to them, no one is looking down on them - everyone is making fun of the doofus calling his sweetums, "smurfette" (or some facsmilie thereof).

So that gets us to the origin of "The Relationship Voice." How did it start? Well, didn't you just read up to this point? Women are vindictive, and they created this whole ploy eons ago when they didn't have the vote and they were pissed about it (who the hell voted for Chester A. Arthur?). So they did something they knew men couldn't pass an amendment against - and we men have been paying for it ever since.

Just to amplify the whole ordeal, women invented cell phones too. Now they have us right by the goobs and they're just slowly twisting.

Those evil beings.

But, then again, they do smell good, pookies.

*this is another assumption made by me, which means it's probably false, because I don't know women

Painting by Ray McCarthy

posted by Ross Conkey @ 9:15 PM 0 comments

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

The Middle Foam Finger

Hello everyone. Just wanted to drop a quick note to let you know that a new site is up. I am one of a few contributing writers on The Middle Foam Finger, an irreverent (we hope) look at the sports world. Mainly, it's just a way for us to bitch and gripe about sports.

Check it out. I hope to be back to my blogging ways here at RML soon.

posted by Ross Conkey @ 1:35 PM 0 comments

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Saved by the Wedding Bells: The Honeymoon Years

I am currently at that age where I am attending a lot, I mean a lot, of weddings. Too many weddings, in my opinion.*

I am also at the age where looking back retrospectively at the pop culture I grew up with is an adventure in self-torture. Not the least of which was a little show called, Saved by the Bell. If you haven't seen it, or haven't in a while, check out TBS - you'll get a buttload of reruns for reasons unexplained.

(It is at this point that I should mention that G.I. Joes are NOT self-torture - those things still f'in' rock.)

Looking back at SBTB, one can't help but foresee the future of the series, most importantly, the marriage of Zack and Kelly (finally!). It is in my opinion that such a union is undeniably tumultuous, and most likely completely kaput.

Another tragic Hollywood romance.

Watching the two newlyweds throughout their courting, from doughy-eyed post-pubescents through their college careers has cemented this relationship as a rocky, untrusting partnership. Let's go to the tape:

Both have histories of cheating on one another, not to mention cheating on others. Remember Kelly and her boss at the Max? Her boss? You remember, that college dude who looked like a used car salesman? Statutory anyone? (Statutory, for the record was not in the SBTB vocabulary, more on this later.) Remember Zack and the new nurse? This was a relationship that was never based on trust.
Both love the older companions (does the law even apply?). As in above, college dudes for Kelly that looked more like they were in their thirties. Zack dated a single mother in high school (of course, this is a little more common nowadays, but, in this case, this was a single working career mom), college girls (exceptionally hot college girls). He also had a thing for aerobic instructers and nurses. What about the college professor that tuned Kelly's heartstrings, or the lawyer who wooed her out of high school.
How many times did they break up? I couldn't even count, all I can say is that they got back together once more than they broke up (although, in my crystal ball, that score is evened). Out of the times they broke up, how many times was it because one, or both, cheated? Take the leftovers, how many times did they break up because they lied? The remaining times were summed up as Kelly "just wanting to be friends," which in her code means, "you're ten years too young."

Their parents were right (at first) to protest the wedding - this thing was a sham from the get go. Not to mention that Kelly is a princess (in all the negative conotations) and Zack is a schemer, trying too hard to get something for nothing. Any astrologer worth their weight in stardust could tell you that this is not a helpful relationship.

(I haven't even mentioned the class project where they were husband and wife! They got an A?!? How the f*$# did that happen?!)

So, what do I think happened, well, here you go:

The first year went well, they were still at the gaga stage. After that, eyes started to wander, and as soon as he felt the urge, Zack called a timeout and engaged in one, two, maybe twenty extra-marital affairs. When he returned, he had several illegitamite children. At some point, Kelly breaks down into tears and confesses her "side projects."

Zack, schemer that he is, is arrested, charged, and convicted of embezzlement. He spends the next twenty years in prison fighting off advances from Kelly's ex-boyfriends, namely that douchebag Jeff from the Max. Kelly and Zack get a divorce while he remains incarcerated, and Kelly remarries a sugardaddy in his 60s. She's only in her mid-20s.

Trust me, it's better off this way.

Oh, and Kelly, if you are out there, sugardaddy-less... ahem eh? Eh?

(This sadly will probably not be the last SBTB post. We haven't even talked about the SBTB: The College Years theme song - worst of all time? Or A.C.'s homoerotic tendencies?)

See you in another four months.

*This says more about me than it does the newlyweds.

posted by Ross Conkey @ 3:52 PM 1 comments

Monday, November 21, 2005

Karma Be Damned

Yesterday I found myself in a precarious situation, which turned out to be quite the tale of good versus evil - you know, the type of story that all good stories long to be. This story is about a bug - a big bug - and its fight for survival.

To let you know, I am not a bug guy, but neither am I a mass murderer of bugs. But, should the bugs prove to be especially nasty, or stand between me and any feeling of unickiness - I will provide them their ultimate fate. Most of the time, I try and do it as humanely as possible. This was not one of those times.

I had come home yesterday dripping of sweat after returning from a basketball game. I jumped into the bathroom and readied myself for a shower. Everything was hunky dory - the water was warming up and I had stripped myself. I pulled back the shower curtain and felt the water - it was to my liking. Then, out of the corner of my eye I noticed something quite horrific. It was a big enough object to steal my gaze from my peripheral - it was enormous.

This bug, I have no idea what the hell it was, might have been the largest bug I have ever seen - and I have been to musuems and zoos that contain bugs. It's body alone was the size of my forefinger (length and width), with 2 inch legs spanning outward from it. Its head was the size of an almond. I felt like if I reached down and picked it up, it may defend itself my biting my little finger off.

So now, I am staring down this bug, two naked creatures sizing each other up. I had no idea what I was going to do with this thing.

My first reaction was to let the water pull it into the drain, as was the demise of so many bugs that dared enter my tub, but this bug would not budge, it's branch-like legs kept it at the far end of the tub, unable to gain ground, but not failing to keep its place. I used the drain cover to flick it down the tub, encouraging it toward the drain - I did this with much trepidation, but eventually it found itself in the drain, fighting to get out.

This is when I realized that the bug would not be able to fit through the small holes in the drain - I would have to force it. The thought disgusted me; but, I figured, it had to be done. I stared at it for a second - how was I supposed to force this thing through one of the holes. I decided that I would use the Cheerio method (so named for that misfit Cheerio that would have to be washed down the drain and forced through with a fork). But, with what implement would I force this fellow to his ride to the long goodbye? Being naked and in a bathroom, I had few options.

I searched through the drawers under the sink when I found something - a thin metal cylinder. I have no idea its purpose, perhaps its one's average metal pole the average American keeps in their bathroom.

Once I decided this was the weapon of choice, the violence began (for those readers that do not have strong constitutions, I advise to to skip forward).

I blindly poked the pole into the drain holes, hoping not to see the carnage, hoping that when i opened my eyes the drain would be clear.

It wasn't.

The bug was still there, but surely dead. I realized there was no way to force it down any of teh drain holes. The bug, in a last, and pretty ingenious, attempt at life, had flung one of its legs over the divider into another drain hole, its head in another, while its butt sat in a third. So, to force it into any hole would be near impossible, I would have to remove any two of the three appendages from their respective drain hole and into the remaining one. I decided I would have to remove the bug entirely from the tub.

I reached for the bathroom tissue, I pulled off reems of sheets. To give you a point of reference, we had about a half a roll when I went to grab the needed amount, the next morning, I replaced the roll. So I had a clump of toilet paper in my hand ready to fish out the little demon. I moved the shower head and reached into the drain, paper first. I was pinching and groping everywhere, but with that much toilet paper you have no idea if you have grabbed anything or not. I hadn't after multiple attempts. I gave myself a deep breath and gave it one more attempt, I pinched hard and grabbed what felt like a hard pea. I clenched hard, when the pea seemed to burst....

I nearly stopped right there, it was so gross.

I pulled the thing out, the poor little thing, and I flung it into the toilet and flushed it to bug heaven - which I imagine has cow dung next to potato salad on a huge buffet line of bug delecatbles.

I am pretty sure that I owe Karma something good - or maybe, some bug might smite me... soon.

posted by Ross Conkey @ 7:59 PM 0 comments

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Jarome Iginla, Sea God

We're blogging fast and furious over here at Rosco's. It appears I am trying to get you guys to understand my psyche toot sweet. This time I guess I am giving you guys a taste of the Drlog (or dream blog). Bear with me, as my dreams have a tendency for the surreal.

The dream started pretty normally. I was walking down the street in San Francisco to meet a friend of mine, Kelly. Unfortunately, I was in dire need to relieve myself and couldn't find the proper facilities, so I ducked into a corner, between two stores, and did my needed business in the little alcove. One of the stores was a boutique, at which, in my dream, Kelly worked. The other adjacent wall had a handwritten sign clearly pointing out bathrooms in the vicinity (apparently, I missed that).

Well, after finishing my business, I notice that some of the employees at the botique noticed me trying not to be noticed peeing on their wall. I scampered out of there and found my friend. We hung out for awhile, when she is informed by her employer, that nosy boutique, that her job for the rest of the day is to figure out who "vandalized" their wall. Of course, I couldn't flat out tell her it was me, lest she think I was some sort of wall-pee'er with a penchant for wanted voyeurism. So, I played it cool, and tried to help her in her investigation, looking at books of known criminals in the act of lewd, public behavior, all the while keeping my dark secret.

A while later, it seemed like the investigation came to a close, and either Kelly or the boutique gave up on the fruitless task. So we went for some rides on the famed San Francisco cable cars, which were surprisingly empty. No bother, we got on and hung onto the edge, and went up and down the street. I suppose there was some sort of unwritten, unsaid competition for who could hang on the side the longest. At this point, there were three people hanging off the edge of the trolley, and halfway up the hill it was just the two of us - Kelly and myself. We were about to reach the end when I gave up and conceeded to Kelly her victory for hanging on the longest - I hopped off.

Things started getting blurry then as the two of us found ourselves on the top of this hill (presumably the same hill we went up on the cable car). Waves started crashing in and the hill became a sort of beach-style resort. All of the sudden more friends arrived, my friends Vivek, Vilas, and Gaurav were all there splashing into the waves. We were having a ball when the waves dispersed, and things got real quiet - too quiet. Vilas and I were immediately concerned as a faint rumbling noise began to amplify. Vilas and I ran around some of the buildings to a different spot to see where the noise was coming from.

In the distance we saw the water swirling in air as if some unseen force was controlling it. Then - SPLASH! The water was sent everywhere and then recoiled in its hurricane-like form, and we saw the force controlling it - the Sea God - Jarome Iginla (of the Calgary Flames). He continued to send the water crashing through the buildings then would bring it back - his own natural yoyo. Vilas and I were watching from afar, outside of the dangers of the water.

Then, Jarome turned and saw the two of us. He wasn't so interested in Vilas, focusing mostly on me. Then, as if I were his personal doll, he forced me into the air with water or by moving the street below me. Constantly, I was thrown into the air returning with a splash into the water.

The last thing I remember was seeing Mr. Iginla, looking at me, a glint in his eye and a smirk on his face.

Then, I woke up and watched a little "Three Stooges" before packing up for work.

posted by Ross Conkey @ 1:28 PM 0 comments

Monday, October 17, 2005

Real Amercian Hero

Go Joe!

So as you may come to realize, should you continue to read my unending rants, is that I really am a child at heart. I love to relive my childhood, which for me was primarily about two things: (1) how many toys I could accumulate and (2) how cool and popular I could become with my collection of toys... or my tree-climbing ability... or my trashing-talking opponents on the four square court.

By far, my favorite toys growing up were G.I. Joes (beating out Legos). Nothing said "death and destruction" like a bunch of wild vigilante militants (with morals), who may or may not work for the government, killing off some evil "terrorist" group like COBRA (I cannot recall any of their terrorist actions). Nothing made me happier than gathering up all those little plastic men and killing them off one by one in hails of imaginary gunfire.

Often times, these battles resulted in actual toy destruction. Sometimes Joe would lose his "Kung Fu Grip" with the loss of a finger or two. Or, worse yet, the malady most feared by Joe owners - a rupture of the "O-Ring," that all too powerful rubberband that doubled as Joe's intestines, backbone, hip, muscles, and ligaments. There was almost no cure for lost fingers, but that wouldn't stop the brave soldier from firing his weapon, even if it was straight at the ground. The only cure for broken O-Rings, was, well, check out the supply in the junk drawer, find a new rubberband and affix it into Joe's mid-section. This usually led to "Limp Joe," who could never regain the posture he once had.

The other fatal G.I. Joe affliction was losing the figure, plain and simple. Being an outdoorsy sort-of kid with a love for toys, I would often bring my toys outside and play with them in the mud, trees, dirt, flowerbed, beehive, and what have you. Once, I suffered a loss so great that one might compare it to the grief of losing a loved one - I lost Roadblock. I had been playing in the dirt, and there was a lot of G.I. Joe carnage left in one area in the yard. I had been called into dinner, and before you know it, the Joes were roughing it. The next morning, I went down to retrieve my Joes, only one was missing, and was nowhere to be found. "Roadblock!" I screamed. "Noooo! Roadblock, no!!"

Roadblock was AWOL, and he was never seen of nor heard of again.

You would have thought I would have more of an allegiance to Dialtone, as he was from my hometown of Eugene, Oregon, but he had that porn star moustache. That was kind of off-putting.

posted by Ross Conkey @ 12:20 PM 0 comments

Thursday, October 13, 2005

My Decent Into Blogdom

So, here it is, my first blog post. Blogging in the World of Rosco is relatively knew, and has swept me up in the last few months. Whether I am immersed in a writer's blog, detailing how the government is making him have writer's block, or a sports blog, talking about the playoff chances for a perennial loser. Whatever the blog, it's usually interesting, mainly because they represent individual voices and individual worlds.

So, I present to you, my world - the World of Rosco. I'll probably use it as a vent for my frustrations in life - so think bad movies, douche-tastic sports stars, or lemon butter. Praise is not out of the question, but you must admit, in today's world praise hasn't really been earned lately.

Feel free to bombard me with hate mail. I am actually kind of looking forward to it. Or, better yet, start your own awesome blog with your own niche - custom, hand-sewn sweaters made from bacon, or some such - that is, if I don't cover it first.

posted by Ross Conkey @ 8:10 PM 0 comments

About Me

Name: Rosco
Home: Bay Area, California