Incredible!

I identify with Mr. Incredible a little too well.

It's not just that I'm a tall, blond, ripped God of a man (featuring the voice of Craig T. Nelson, thankyouverymuch). Nor is it that I'm married to a redhead (who fortunately doesn't sound like she's got a mouth full of shit--no, I'm not a big fan of Holly Hunter, how did you guess?) who has a bit of junk in her trunk, and who can stretch to fit any situation...if you know what I mean.

It's the entire family structure that I identify with. Right now, I'm one mistimed early withdrawal and a dye-job from having the same family as the Incredibles...minus the super powers, of course (dammit). I think about this every time I watch the movie; big blond guy as the dad, redhaired wife, older daughter with the dyed hair, younger son who is fast, and then baby Jackjack (otherwise known as the mistimed pull-out).

Even though I'm happy with my current employment situation, I did used to work for an Oompla-Loompa with a high-pitched voice who I would have loved to have thrown through several walls at my old job. Just thought I'd add that to the mix.

Recently, too, I've been sitting around thinking about the good old days. Back when I was a carried a bit more of an athletic frame, when it wasn't so difficult for me to get back into my old costume. Whatever that means.

I'm also missing that best friend that I can hang with and reminisce, since all my "good old days" friends live in the midwest. I suppose there's my friend Joe, but when we hang together we "reminisce" about the various attractive women at the eating establishment we are currently visiting. And lawn care. We talk about that maybe too much...

And I think I'm going to start calling him "Joezone".

Damn, I'm clever.

With all that said...I'm now waiting for an invitation to zoom off to an exotic location--all expenses paid, of course--where I can enjoy fruity drinks, a tropical climate, scantily-dressed women and even fight some giant robots, if need be. If you need me, I'll be down at the yard lifting Pullman cars to get back into shape.

Or staring lasciviously at the younger waitresses down at the restaurant with my buddy Joezone. Either way, just leave the info an the plane tickets in a manila envelope on my desk, and I'll get around to it eventually.