Finally . . . a Post About Cell Phones

Here's one for ya . . .

Given the choice, would you rather have a cellular phone receiver surgically implanted in your skull or a dollar bill changer attached to the small of your back? Take a wild guess what slot all of those shiny new Statehood Quarters are gonna come flying out of.

Clearly this Star Trek-run-amok scenario is a tad on the preposterous side, but sadly an entire Airport Mariot full of more-than-willing teenage guinea pigs would have each undergone a similar type of surgery had the Nebraska authorities not been alerted in time. I believe that the sign outside Banquet Hall "B" read "Alien's are trying to communicate with you . . . are you properly equipped yet?"

Yikes! The last time I looked, those implants did NOT come with extra brain cells . . . unfortunately.

I'm no expert, but doesn't it seem like a fairly decent idea to at least consider prying that cell phone away from your ear before the calcification starts to solidify and permanence sets in? If I've seen it once, I've seen it a thousand times. Just about the time the emergency personnel are finished with the table saw and have to get out the jaws of life, the poor victim usually breaks down and finally decides to hang up. "Bye Johnny, I'll see you in 5 minutes." I don't know about you all, but I think I'm going to start carrying around a small towel so that I can sop up all that nasty ear-sweat that magically coalesces after about an hour on the phone.

The good news is that cell phones are cheaper and more readily available than they have ever been in history. The bad news is that now you can be reached any time, anywhere and by anyone - there simply is no escape. A few years ago, if you wanted to disappear off of the face of the Earth you either had to move to a tiny cabin in northwestern Alaska or sing backup vocals on a Michael Bolton Christmas album. Unfortunately, that won't work anymore. Thanks alot Motorola.

I can't even keep track of the number of times that I've been 2o minutes into an intriguing conversation with some guy in the movie theatre restroom only to discover that he was actually talking to his personal trainer on one of those "ultra-cool" miniature earpiece receivers. That one usually stings a lil' bit.

And what about the all-too-familiar and considerably less-than-cool ringtones? (No . . . maybe we should hold off on that. I feel an entire post waiting to be written on that one.)

It's not that I want to erect a giant cell phone bonfire and swiftly and decisively eradicate this annoying little plague from our society once and for all. Really, I don't. Maybe I just need to give the tiny devices another chance and learn to embrace all of the wonderful technology they possess. At least I'll finally be able to take a 0.5 megapixel photograph of my Rootie-Tootie-Fresh-And-Fruity Pancake Platter at IHOP and email it out to everyone I know. That's something.

Excuse me - I really should get this.

Ben O.

Clean Up In Aisle Seventeen

Here's one for ya . . .

So I'm at the local grocery store this afternoon and somewhere between the beef jerky and the spray deodorant . . . I spazzed. I just lost it and totally flipped out. One minute I was pushing my three-wheeled cart calmly and patiently through the never-ending rows of generic-brand breakfast cereal, and the next minute I was totally covered in crunchy peanut butter and trying to convince the checkout ladies to join my conga line. This happens to everyone eventually, right?

Now, I love a 5 lb. package of freeze-dried garbonzo beans just like the next guy, but why is it that every time I get within 300 yards of a grocery store I start to fantasize about waiting in the "No Registration Papers" line at the Department of Motor Vehicles? I'm pretty sure that I saw a news story last week about some new scientific link between those eerie bright lights and a very rare type of tumor.

This is your brain on bulk coffee sweetener.

Maybe the key to having a fuller, richer grocery store experience is to open your mind and completely embrace the reality that no matter how slow all of those other check-out lines are moving before you make your choice, once you commit, every other line but yours will suddenly shift into overdrive and start moving faster than Michael Jackson under subpoena. "Hey wait - that old lady has 16 items!" I believe Murphy said it best when he so eloquently explained that "It ain't the size of the line that gets 'em, but the sheer number of price-checks on Diet Spam."

Utter Poetry.

Now, before we go too far in indicting the noble grocery store, let us remember that eventually we're all gonna need a couple of sheets of toilet paper and then all bets are off. Try as I might, I have yet to figure out that last mysterious ingredient in the secret formula for Coke. (And please don't email - I already know that it isn't oregano) Darn soda addiction. They have it - I want it. I guess when you get down to it . . . it's as simple as that.

So, for now the grocery store remains a necessary evil. Sort of like paying taxes or getting your emissions tested. We have to drive, just like we have to eat.

Maybe I should become a farmer.

Ben O.

Reality Bites

Here's one for ya . . .

The brand new Guinness Book of World Records just came out and I almost fell out of my chair when I noticed that they finally added the category I have been yearning for - "Longest time spent without becoming hopelessly addicted to a TV Reality Show". They must have gotten all of my letters. It turns out that some blind, deaf and mute guy in the Cashmere region of India actually made it a full two weeks. My hat's off to ya, Punjab. That takes some serious will-power, bro!

Now I don't want to ruffle any feathers here, but what the heck is going on with the current state of so-called Reality Television these days? You can't fling a sedated cat around anymore without knocking over a ten-foot high stack of Reality TV Show proposal scripts. Apparently, DeVry's new course in Reality Television Show Production has a three year waiting list . . . at least that's what the message said when I called to register.

As we head into the new Fall TV Season, I'm personally looking forward to "Survivor - Streets of LA" . This time around they are just going to film the people standing in line for the Survivor tryouts and whoever makes it the full 29 days without getting mugged, arrested or "voted off" by one of the local gangs . . . wins the million dollars.

Hey, pass the rice!

For my money, nothing beats sitting at home on the couch in your underwear with a king-size bag of cheetos and some malt-liquor watching a bunch of dudes sitting on a couch in an over-sized, over-stocked apartment in their underwear with their own king-sized bag of cheetos and malt-liquor. Just about the time I start to complain about how boring my own life has become, another hotly anticipated season of "Obnoxious Idiots in an Apartment" premieres and order is restored to the Universe. Isn't life just so ironical?

How come they don't send out questionnaires to the American Public asking for our input? Just the other day I had the perfect idea for a Reality Show. It's called "The Coolest Show Ever". The premise is simple - Tommy Lee and Donald Trump show up at my apartment and promptly deliver a large box containing 3 million dollars and a case of Cuban cigars. That's it. That's the show. Pretty cool, huh?

Okay, I guess I couldn't do any better than the people currently making Reality TV Shows. At least in my version of reality, when you turn it off . . . it stays off.

It's good to be back -

Ben O.

Feedback Friday (But It's Only Thursday, Dork!)

On a lighter note -

I'm not feeling very creative today, so I figured it was a perfect time to try something new. I'm going to need some feedback on this one, so all you non-posting lurkers out there get ready to leave some comments. (Does this idiot actually think there are more than 15-20 people reading this crapola each day? He really is loco.) I've decided that about once a week I'm going to devote one post entirely to catching up on what everyone out there is into - Funny Websites you may have visited lately, good books that kept you up into the wee-small hours anxiously turning pages, awesome (do the young people still use that word?) music that simply must be checked out, a movie that caused you to leave the theatre thinking out loud, or even crazy elements of our society that you feel might make for entertaining future posts.

To steal a line from the colorfully-coiffed, angst-ridden musician Pink, I'll get this party started -

1. Funniest Website Found Lately -

http://www.thesun.co.uk/article/0,,5-2005380599,00.html

(Thanks to my brother for providing that one. Hey, watch where you swing that gospel axe, Mister!)

2. Best Book I've Read Lately -

"From a Buick 8" by Stephen King. Admittedly, it wasn't his best - but I found it compelling how an entire story could be centered around a car that has special powers. Mr. King is maturing as an author in some noticeable and fascinating ways. He has been writing for so long, that you can essentially watch him grow in the craft as you read his books through the years.

3. Music That I've Been Listening to Lately -

I don't know why, but recently I have really been into soundtrack music from the "Blacksploitation" Films of the 70's. Curtis Mayfield's Superfly is just an amazingly cool song. Great beat and a whole lot of funk slathered on top. Theme from Shaft is pretty good too - I am pretty sure that it won the Oscar that year for best song from a movie. Way to go Bro!

4. Best Movie I've Seen Lately -

Got to be Insomnia - now I know this one is a couple of years old by now, but they played it on TV the other day and I was reminded how fearlessly intense it is. I love the location shots and the ever-tightening layers of plot. If you agree with me on this film, do yourself a huge favor and rent the Swedish (original) version. I think Blockbuster carries it.


Okay - get out there and tell everyone you know to check out the blog and leave a comment. I am really hoping that we can establish this as a weekly opportunity to chime in on what each of us happens to be enjoying. I know that I am looking forward to reading all about what everyone out there has been watching and reading and laughing at.

So, thanks for making the Procrastination Station one of your daily stops . . .

--The Management--

Ben O.

On The Road Again . . . Again

Here's another one for ya . . .

Would you rather have your teeth drilled without any anesthesia or sit in traffic for 15 minutes? This very question was posed to the entire lunchtime crowd at Furr's Cafeteria in downtown Kansas City and surprisingly some guy actually picked the traffic.

The problem, as I see it, is that we all have to use the very same roads to get where we happen to be going. It's a little bit like trying to squeeze a week's worth of toothpaste through one of those novelty loopty-loop straws in 30 seconds or less. At first it's sort of fun, but after awhile it just gets sticky and messy. (Where was I going with this visual?)

I'm no expert, but seeing as how we are able to spend millions and millions of dollars on things like relocating the endangered Purple Dung Beetle to more suitable wetland habitat and the impending designation of Nevada's Giant Ball of Twine as an official National Treasure, couldn't we please throw a couple of bucks at the current traffic problem? I'm not proposing anything radical, just a Nationwide Traffic Police Force that has the unfettered authority to quickly and efficiently remove any and all automobiles that happen to be inexplicably stopped directly in front of me. Is that asking too much?

Maybe the answer is none other than the newly invented and yet-to-be-thoroughly-tested "Traffic-alizer". This tiny contraption promises to not only rid our city streets of the irritation of traffic forever, but according to the owner's manual it can also store and play up to 3,000 of your favorite MP3s. And the nice thing is that it only costs $750. Picture this - you get in your car and start to turn the key, when all of a sudden a mechanical, programmed voice asks you where you think you're going. Failure to immediately provide a convincing reason for why you think you should be allowed out on the road, and the car won't start. I can see the highways clearing up already.

The truth is that unless everyone suddenly packs up and moves to Brazil, we're probably going to be stuck with some degree of traffic for the time being, so the best approach, I guess, is to make as wise a use of all that extra time as you can. For my money, you just can't beat a nice relaxing session of in-car yoga to put everything back in perfect, harmonious balance and to ease the stress of sitting in the exact same place for 3 & 1/2 hours. Let's begin. First, place your hands on the dash and extend each of your legs straight out the window in either direction. This position is called the "Downward Facing Driver". Good . . . now remain prone and arch your back until your head hits the windshield or you hear a loud cracking sound .

I think I need a medic.

Or at least a new steering wheel.

Ben O.

On The Road Again

Here's one for ya . . .

If a tree falls in the forest and lands on a shiny new BMW with vanity plates that read "more-$", does it make a sound? Much like the answer to "What is the meaning of life?" or "What is actually in the secret formula for Coke?", we may never know. At least we can find some solace in the fact that the poor little tree had something soft to break it's fall.

Now I don't want to ruffle any feathers here, but couldn't the money spent upgrading to a personalized license plate be more judiciously spent on something like a one-way Greyhound ticket to Toledo for twelve of your best friends; a really, really big vat of cookie-dough ice cream ; or even one of those funky little garden gnomes . . . covered in 18k gold? I don't know, I'm just askin'.

Does it really improve society to have every third car on the road plastered with so many bumper stickers that you inevitably get into an accident because you were too busy trying to read about all the things they want to save and all the causes they support? How about a sticker that says "My Other Car is a Billboard"? My favorites are the less-than-completely-thought-out groupings. Everyone reading this has probably been idling behind a truck with a proudly displayed "United We Stand" sticker located right next to a cartoon of a mischievous little boy peeing on the logo of the other truck company. Did I miss something? I like to think that I am as patriotic as the next guy, but could we have separated those two just a tad? For future reference, I need a buffer between my sentiments. Okay, fella. Thanks for caring, though.

And sometimes it's easier to just ram the car in front of you and get it all over with than to try and figure out what their vanity plate actually means. I went to college, but I don't even think Dan Brown could decipher some of the archaic, symbolized lil' sayings out there wizzing by at 90 MPH. The problem is that there are only so many letters and/or numbers that the hard working inmates at your local state prison can possibly cram on the standard state license plate. The result is practically a brand-new language - complete with intricate and bizarre rules of letter placement and verbage. I'm pretty sure they performed a scientific test last year and discovered that it is easier for the average American driver to master Swedish in a week than to accurately read 90% of the personalized license plates out there.

I guess the only thing that goes from 0-60 in 5.4 seconds around here is your bloodpressure as you sit in traffic behind yet another be-stickered 1975 Chevy Nova with the incredibly cute, if not entirely accurate license plate "2fst-4u".

Ben O.

And Now a Word From Our Sponser

Here's one for ya . . .

Has anyone seen a TV commercial within the past five years? I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that the answer is yes. Aren't they just like lil' presents sent down from heaven for each and every one of us to simply enjoy in wonder and amazement? Actually, I believe the word we are all trying to remember but systematically used up during the boyband craze of the late '90s is . . . turdburger. Grade A prime, double-stacked patties slow-cooked to perfection in their very own juices.

The most impressive thing about the modern television commercial is how they have taken what used to be a short, almost cheerful reminder to buy X product or Y product and turned it into the longest 2 minutes and 45 seconds of your entire life. I'm not kidding, if I see that weasle Jared dancing around on my screen one more time I'm gonna order a couple of his supreme BLT super subs with extra mayo and then calmly and maturely proceed to show him exactly where he can insert them. I have a set of detailed blueprints right here.

The true masters of the craft, however, are the dudes that figured out how to not only make you dry heave every time you get within 1 mile of a shopping mall, but also managed to turn all of your favorite songs into endlessly looping sales jingles that will still be bouncing around inside your head when the sun flares out. I can't even begin to thank the people at a certain perky clothing chain that shall remain nameless (and soul-less coincidentally) for taking one of the best songs ever written and converting it into something I most certainly would have stepped over had I only been paying closer attention. That smell ain't gonna come out, Bro.

Now, before we go too far in blindly bashing all TV commercials . . . I would like to point out that once every year for about 4 hours the quality of your average television spot gets ratcheted up a few notches and some of the stops are not-so-subtly yanked out. I'm talkin' about the Super Bowl of course. That promised land of multi-million dollar spectacles of psuedo-art that combine intense visual stimulation with the slickest sales pitches on the planet. Who doesn't love watching an 8 minute mini-movie where the entire cast of "Full House" gets together with the remaining members of Menudo to perform a multi-cultural song and dance number with a digitally created "Fat" Elvis? It brings tears to my eyes the way those beautiful images tug at your heart strings. When that little orphan boy finally finds his long lost father, you almost forget that it is a commercial for malt-liquor.

There is no escape, though. I'm pretty sure that they are going to keep trying to sell us stuff. And I'm also pretty sure that we will keep watching television . . . and occasionally buying stuff. So what's the answer?

Dude - I wish I knew. It probably couldn't hurt to have a few shares of Tivo stock in your portfolio, though.

Ben O.

What's With All The Crap?

Here's one for ya . . .

In the immortal words of President James K. Polk as he first entered the newly vacated oval office and almost tripped over all the stuff laying around, "Hey, what's with all the crap?" Sometimes the problem is simply not enough room for all those things that we live to accumulate. Collections are great and just about everyone has something that they are dorked out enough over to want every single one that was ever made. I remember scribbling my initials on the bottom of the feet of my Star Wars figures so that none of my so-called friends could try and make off with Walrus Man or any of the Jawas. How was I supposed to know that they would be considerably less valuable on eBay with sharpie markings all over their feet. You can take a man's food and his clothing, but Mister, you better leave those Star Wars action figures right where you found 'em.

The best thing to collect of course is money. I don't mean rare nickels with buffaloes on them, I'm talking about actual, spendable dollars. The problem is that most of us (me included) usually decide to collect something much less efficient and practical like antique washing machines. Okay, I admit it. I have been known to cruise the "useless appliance" section of eBay from time to time. I don't even care to mention how often I've stayed up into the wee hours fretting over a down-to-the-wire online auction, only to fall asleep seconds before it closes. Nothing like waking up in your underwear in front of the still flickering computer screen to find out that you lost the only remaining "Spin-o-Matic 2300" in existence to an elderly woman named Pearl in Saskatchewan.

Let us refrain from knocking eBay too harshly, though. This grand website has certainly done more to enable the freakiest among us to achieve, horde and amass in a few sleepless nights what only a couple of years before would have taken multiple lifetimes. It's like crack cocaine for collectors. The last time I was on there "browsing", I actually saw someone who was auctioning off their friendship. Did I miss something? How about I just paypal you a $20 and you promise to shut your noisehole for a month and refrain from ever, ever, ever playing with daddy's computer again?

"Nurse, more pills!"

At least it is nice to know that actual, breathing people are out there with more time on their hands, less money in their wallets and way fewer brain cells bouncing off of each other than even I have.

Excuse me while I go rearrange my collection of rare civil war general bobble-head dolls.

Ben O.

Last Call

Here's one for ya . . .

How come we can we plant people on the moon, travel underneath the English Channel, and create a formula for baby shampoo that is Pooh's Corner fresh, but we can't devise a healthy soft drink that is even remotely good tasting? I'm just asking, because I am pretty sure that who ever provides the planet with that overdue service will not only get my vote for Man (or Woman - we don't want to discriminate here on the PS) of the Year, but will also secure their place on the short list of true modern visionaries. We can sandwich the lucky person in right between Albert Einstein and that dude that had the courage to ask "Hey, shouldn't we slice it before we sell it?"

I'm no expert, but I do think that it would be pretty darn cool if french fries were good for you. Imagine this - scientists everywhere declaring that the deeper you fry those tasty lil' suckers and the more grease that you use, the smoother your skin will be and the faster that you will see those positive results on standardized IQ exams. There would be charts and graphs illustrating the direct relationship between the amount of one's ice cream intake and the quality of their social life. Wait, that sort of already happens . . . doesn't it?

It probably wouldn't be the utopia that I have dancing around my head, though. Eventually some guy would have to ruin it all by suing McDonald's for making him too popular with the ladies in his bowling club or for making him too qualified for his current position at the tire factory. Just when everything is starting to come together you can always count on Murphy and his succinct little set of laws to suddenly kick in.

Oh well . . . all is not lost. I guess they would have to charge more for Coke if it whitened your teeth and made your armpits smell minty-fresh.

Ben O.

Dive right in

Okay, here's one for ya . . .

Have you ever noticed that outside of Michael Jackson and that dude called "the gimp" on Pulp Fiction, there is nothing quite as creepy or unsettling as an empty swimming pool? With the current gesture my hand is locked in, I simply don't have enough fingers to count the number of times that I've seen the same darkened gym and eerily empty swimming pool as the setting for yet another thrillingly climactic if somehow not convincingly acted ending of a Friday the 13th movie.

"Hey 73% naked lady with absolutely no reason whatsoever to be walking around a deserted warehouse that neighbors the underfunded and corrupt mental institute at night . . . what the hey are you thinking? If I was you, I would consider running away immediately. Oops! Too late."

Now, don't get me wrong. I love a good scary movie just like the next guy. There's nothing quite like waiting in line to sit in the dark with a bunch of other questionable-at-best suspects, all of which knowingly signed up to be seperated from their money and subsequently frightened out of their skin right along with you. Sounds like a hoot. The only problem is that while you and the other exceptions to the rule are staring at the screen through your slightly parted and raisenette-sticky fingers, the people we should all truly be afraid of are already hard at work concocting the plot for Friday the 13th (part 29) "Freddy Frees Willy . . . Again!" I don't remember getting my invitation to that particular meeting of the Hollywood branch of Mensa.

They say that the water in the fountain of youth doesn't even taste all that great. I think I'll just have another Coke, thank you. Pass the popcorn and shut up. The credits are already starting to roll.


On a lighter note - I am making an official plea to the reading public out there to leave some freakin' comments. Please. I am pretty sure that exactly 3 people are reading this crapola each day . . . and actually taking the time to comment. One is my Mom (I love you Mom), the other is my Sister-In-Law (one of the coolest people I know) and I am pretty sure that the 3rd is some sort of deranged porn-lord. Now, as much as I want to support the 1st amendment, I am not overwhelmingly encouraged by these numbers. Frankly, it is eerily similar to the crowd that would occasionally show up to watch my swim meets back in High School.

Please chime in if ya feel the spirit movin' ya . . .

Ben O.

BTW - I hope I didn't just inadvertently alienate the two fans I actually care about out of the reading trifecta. Hang in there people.

The hammer or the nail

Okay, I've got Bryan Ferry's "More Than This" on the MP3 player, the ice is just starting to melt down into a tall glass of Coke, some dude is mowing the lawn directly outside the window and according to my watch it's time to write again. Everyone got their couches covered in plastic?

Would you rather burn to death or freeze to death? Everyone living has been asked this less-than-cheery question at least once. For some reason, your answer can tell some deep, dark truth about you or something like that. I guess. I myself am more of a "prefers the cold" kind of person, but that does not (repeat - DOES NOT) mean that I would check box B on a "Pick your method of demise" quiz. It just doesn't work that way. Maybe it's one of those situations where too much of a good thing is actually bad. In my case the good thing would be cooler temperatures and Winter weather. Sounds primo, right? Wax up those skis and we'll hit the slopes. But . . . take it to the max and it kind of ruins the whole experience. Polar Fleece can only do so much. Maybe we have a lifetime average temperature quotient and when we spend too much time frolicking around in one extreme, we have to pay up and do the time wallowing around in the other.

Where was I going with this?

I just finished a pretty good book this morning. I want to avoid turning this into a "buy this, read this, think the same way I do about everything" cookie-cutter type blog, but I will occasionally include some info about music, movies and books that I may or may not have enjoyed. (It's my blog and so I can do those sorts of things. Hey, I like music darn-it-all!) It can be hard to find things to listen to and watch and read. I'll be the first to admit that I certainly get stuck in my own predictable patterns - sometimes longing for a friend to mention a song or book that they really got their money's worth out of. So, if you are doing fine with your current Summer book-club reading selections and don't need some "Hey everyone, I just got myself a Blog and now I'm gonna tell everyone how I feel" doofus mentioning yet another book . . . then you will kindly save us all some additional grief and ignore the next 24 words. Within the past couple of weeks I just finished "Can a Smart Person Believe in God?" by Michael Guillen and "Bias" by Bernard Goldberg. I'll leave it at that for now.


Give it time . . . it'll grow on you.

Ben O.

Full Moon Fever

According to the lil' digital clock at the bottom of my sleek new flatscreen monitor it is 11:48 PM. This might be a good time to lay a few things out on the table. I'm a nightowl of the worst order and even though I hope to convince myself to write some entries during the day, I must confess that most of the material will undoubtedly float the surly bonds after the kids have all gone to sleep.

What am I worried about . . . nobody is reading this crapola anyway.

Just in case you mistyped "Dominoespizza.com" and landed here by accident, I will try to have you back on the road faster than you can say "Hold the anchovies!"

Why are there so many big-budget Hollywood remakes hitting the theatres this summer? Look, I love Enus and Cletus just like the next guy, but do we really need another movie where Stiffler and his fun-lovin' cousin commit a bunch of redneck shenanigans while Burt Reynolds gets even stranger looking? I humbly submit that we do not. Okay, to be perfectly honest . . . I'm actually looking forward to seeing "The Dukes of Hazard". I would pay the complete discounted matinee price of a ticket just to see the General Lee. Let's face it, the car is the star. I guess what I'm trying to get at is the total lack of any stand-out original movie on the schedule this summer.

And for that matter, if we are so dead-set on remaking old TV shows into movies, then where is the "Simon & Simon" movie? Anyone? Or what about a James Bondish never-ending saga of movies focusing on the wacky adventures of Jessica Fletcher in "Murder, She Wrote"? I'm sure that Angelina Jolie or possibly even Halle Berry would jump at the chance to play the crime-fighting super-sleuth. Such good material wasting away before our very eyes. What a pity.

That's it for now . . .

Ben O.

Why don't they make the entire plane out of the stuff they make the little black box out of? 

In the beginning

Well, I guess everything must have a starting point. Even Ishmael had to let us know what we could call him.

So this is the very first post on what I have decided to name "Procrastination Station". I just like the sound of it. Strangely enough, so did someone else. There must be a lot of bloggers out there. It took at least 40 tries to come up with a URL name. Everything I could think of was already taken.

I am very, very new at this and I know that I am not going to compete for the much coveted "Blog of the Week" award until at least September. (I wonder if I will still be interested in even doing this when September roles around?) I promise to make earnest attempts at getting better at this if you promise not to laugh too hard at any blatant uncoolnesses I might inadvertently commit along the way.

Now that all of the legal mumbo-jumbo has been taken care of, let's get this thing rolling. I envision Procrastination Station as the premiere outlet for wit, intellect and self-promotion on the Internet. What the heck, if we are going to do this we might as well do it right. Please feel free to send any complaints to the home office. Simply write your beef out on a crisp $100 bill and post it priority mail to yours truly.

Actually, I would be happy if this little blog does nothing more than inspire a little bit of creativity from myself as the source of its content. It's really nothing more than a place for me to write and you to read. Contrary to popular public opinion, I'm not crazy enough yet to think that what I have to say is always going to be interesting. I'm hoping for about 40%-50%. Let's just pray that this Blog sharpens some skills, gets an already too untechno-saavy dude caught up with the whole blog-thing and most of all - entertains.

Ben O.