Thursday, February 26, 2009

The Job of the Century!

As I pondered the meaning of life a few questions arose. Where I am going to be in a month, this summer, next year, next decade? Who will I be? What will I be?

I have all ready passed through one quarter life crisis and am not ready for another emotional roller coaster anytime soon. So what job would be best for me?
Some would shout, "Be a plumber! You have the crack for it!" And others would encourage me to explore the fields of engineering, finance or medicine. But to address that trio of careers I have a well constructed sentence: If I built a building the foundation would crumble shortly before my financing would go bankrupt due to my illegal doses of prescription medicine.

No, the professional world is not for me. I found my home at a place only few have ever had the opportunity to work. I spent three months of my life working at the Deseret Industries.
During that adventurous quarter of a year I met some of the most bizarrely delightful people in my life! I acquired an adoptive mother, an older lover, a gaggle of fans and a rather odd obsession with washing my hands.

I feared every day that I would contract some type of communicable disease. The things I saw come through that thrift store were both amazing and disturbing. Some of my favorite donations that came to that center of antique trash include: a bag of poop, a home enema kit (used), a golden size 68 Double E bra, a pair of doggy diapers labeled "For Bitches in Heat", and two pairs of breast implants. It was never a dull moment at the Brigham City D.I.!

As Libby Mae Brown said in the epic monologue from Waiting For Guffman, "I will always have have a home at the D.Q." I will always have a home at the D.I. I will always have a place to go if I can't become that engineer doctor money man thingy...

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Body Acceptance Fair

Utah State University held the annual Body Acceptance Fair today. Located on the lush foothills of the Rocky Mountains, USU Health and Wellness Center chose to focus on fad diets, eating disorders, fashion tips and stress management. These four areas, when focused on correctly, will force you to accept your body for what it is. Because of the USU Body Acceptance Fair, I, Lee Patrick Cannon, have accepted my body today for what it is: a pear.

The coveted V-shaped male body is overrated. What woman wants a man with hips smaller than hers? She would not have anything to grab onto! No, I say, give me a little junk in the trunk. I love my extra wide load. When I back up the semi-truck warning comes on, "beep" "beep". Just a little cushion for the pushin'!

Second of all, the stereotype that women must look like Barbie. Folks, she is not real. If somehow Barbie and her creepy-eyed love interest, Ken, were to be human sized she would be roughly 6'7 and weigh 94 lbs. The legs on that critter would be over 4 feet long! We must not let society tell us that our legs should be 4 feet long nor the circumference of our waist be 5 inches. Not only would she be a freak of nature in real life form, but she would look something like a bad combination of a pre-pubescent girl and a giraffe.

Let us stand tall, but not as tall as Barbie, for whatever shape our bodies are! Pear, pumpkin, squash or banana, we are beautiful! Accept that!

Saturday, February 21, 2009

The Thing That Should Have Ended With Puberty

Puberty is the most awkward stage of any organism's life. The body is growing at an extremely rapid rate and the raging hormones make us do outrageously stupid things. Taking this combination of lanky limbs and unbalanced chemical levels into consideration, it is a miracle that we have a growing global population.

Webster says puberty is a time when boys’ and girls’ bodies begin to develop and change. Well, Webster, when is this change going to end?!

Most aspects of my puberty have ended:

1) I have lost my desire to be part of a boy band, preferably N'SNYC.

2) I have pulled out of a fairly mild voice change without major social scaring.

3) My lithe lanky limbs have finally acquired enough muscle to pass for a man instead of a spider monkey.

Puberty vs. Post-Puberty

However, I still have one perplexing issue. Today, I woke to find Mount Tittycocka erupting from my left cheek. Definitely a zit of monumental size and girth, Mount Tittycocka cast a shadow on half of my face. I was told by Webster that puberty is a time for change and development, I am ready for the developing volcano upon my face to be done! Why is this pimple pest the perpetuating problem in the puberty process?!

As I walked through life on this sunny day with my swollen growth, women cringed, children screamed and small woodland critters ran away from my monstrous moist bulge. I pondered puberty and its proven problems, all the while thinking to myself, "Wow, I would give up this zit any day to be in a boy band ... I wonder if N'SYNC is looking for a back up singer."

Monday, February 16, 2009

Tribute to the Woman of My Life

Memories are the only reality to the past. Great nations of old were built upon the memories of their people, the dreams of their rulers. Memories mold the lives of individuals and form the culture of the populace. The power of recollection sheds light on the enigma of memory and the post requisite necessity of reflection.

One woman has given me more memories than the sands of the sea.

Native American legends have been passed down from generation to generation through the memories of the seasoned elders of the tribe. The culture of a tribe hangs on the hinge of memory. Each personal identity is formed through experiences that are continually being connected to throughout life. All people are different, but similar chords can be struck between them that have eternal resounding echoes.

I am who I am today because of one woman who plucked the chords of my heart. They say that you can tell a lot about a man by the kind of car he drives. I drive a 1989 Buick Park Avenue with maroon velvet seats. What does that say about me? Luxury.

The Dutchess is luxury, she is my woman.
She made me the man I am today.
I would never trade my Dutchess for any flashy sports car or mini van.

She is the Woman of My Life.

Lee in his Dutchess lovin' her strong.

Friday, February 13, 2009

The Most Influential Pigeon In My Life

Pigeons. Webster's Dictionary has the following definition for the pigeon: (n) flying international pest of the most evil type, known for rapid fire pooping. On an ecclesiastical adventure to Hungary, I came into contact with many of these predators. The following memory comes to us from my journal.

Sept. 17: It all began on Monday when the person next to me was pooped on by a pigeon. A little chunk splashed from off her hair and hit my shoulder. I had a terrible feeling that I was next.

I looked up just in time to see a rather plump pigeon deliver a deposit over the ledge directly above my head. I did what any sensible person would do: I calmly screamed bloody murder and ran away. Luckily, many years of practicing similar reactions saved my white shirt from spoilage.

My sudden vocal eruption and physical spazing caused many of the passerbyers to become onlookers. This was their fatal mistake! The pigeons took aim and acting as one deadly body fired at five old men who were laughing at me. Their joyful teasing was replaced by hoots of disgust as their bodies were pelted by pigeon poop.

On Wednesday, I stepped out onto my balcony to clip my fingernails in the mist of the morning. I looked over the enchanting inner court yard of my apartment and began the clipping process. I then noticed a large flock of pigeons gazing at me from the roof of the building across the way. To my utter horror and dismay they took flight and headed in my direction. I still had a whole hand of unclipped nails left, I clipped faster!

The pigeons saw the panic in my eyes and increased the speed of their attack. My fingers flew over the uncut nails as the sound of their winged devilry hit my ears. I did not think that I could escape their wrath, my time had come. The tiled balcony was completely smothered one second later as the pigeons reached their target. Of course I slipped inside and defied the raunchy birds once again from defecating on me.

I felt that the sudden attraction that pigeons possessed for me was wearing off after a two day cease fire. Oh how I was wrong! I was waiting in line for an ice cream cone when, without even the warning of fluttering wings, a 6-inch streak of white, black and green bird blah cascaded down the back of my hair.

Identifying the pigeon as a common grey foul, I followed him with my eyes for the next five minutes abandoning my desire for ice cream. When the criminal finally landed on the ground I stealthily approached from behind.

In a moment of brilliance, I made a swift appointment with the bird and my foot. In an equally quick manner I found out that pigeons are "protected wildlife" in Hungary. The police have a special unit of officers, whom it was my pleasure to meet, that patrol the streets to ensure the pigeons' safety.

After paying a several thousand Forint fine for not respecting the most influential pigeon in my life, I contemplated the story of the Three Little Pigs. I felt much like the Big Bad Wolf in the book he wrote about what really happened with those little porkers. But fear not, that pigeon will always remember that the score is tied...
Pigeon: 1 Lee:1

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Fat Pants

It is my social duty as a public servant to write this posting. The FDA (Federal Drug Administration) would have me write this as a warning on the label of all pants: jeans, slacks, running pants, sweats, etc. "Do not wear fat pants."

Fat Pants. Call it a fashion fiasco. Call it a social suicide. I call it a disease. The indecency of fat pants includes inflicting pain upon the eyes of society by wedging overly large bodies into pants that would only fit on 6 inch tall Barbie figurines.

In fact, many leading doctors in the United States and Sweden have diagnosed individuals with what is called TPS. TPS, Tight Pants Syndrome, is a leading cause of poor circulation, low sperm counts, allergic reactions to leather and an increase in public vomiting. Dr. Patrick Agyu, a noted Hungarian obstetrician and gynecologist, was recently quoted stating, "When pants are worn too tightly and the lower back is pushed upward in an uncomfortably awkward position, fat pants is my diagnosis."

There you have it, a professional's medical opinion. When you feel your butt creeping up your back, it is time to change your pants. Please check all of your current articles of clothing to ensure that you do not have the FDA recalled, fatal labelled pants known as: FAT PANTS.

Hannah My Asian

My dearest friend Hannah is currently living in England. She wrote a poem that was dedicated to me. I wish all to partake.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Jeremiah 4:19

Religion has brought about great things. Faith, hope, charity and the Crusades: The mainstays of religion. Today religion proved once again to motivate my emotions and change my life.

As I sat upon a padded chair pondering the great questions of life, I noticed a young couple sitting in front of me. Obviously infatuated with each other, the two giggled, cuddled and caressed the entire meeting.

The physical attention grew increasingly distracting and the young lady leaned forward in her seat. At that particular moment, straining her body in a forward motion, a rather large release of pressure occurred. The release was located near the south end of her body. It was not a petite fluff, nor was it a manly exhaust, but a clearly audible trumpeting toot.

A second eruption then pillaged the back row of the chapel, my uncontrollable laughter. Though silent, the rhythmic pulsing of my laughter caused me to bounce in a hyperventilating state for several minutes.

Having turned the color of a raspberry, I noticed the young couple had begun writing notes to each other. I quickly glanced over Spenc... I mean the young man's shoulder to read the note. It read as follows:

Man: This will go down in history as the most awkward Sacrament meeting ever.

Woman: Why? Because you think my farts are cute?

This set off my second volley of diaphramatic pain. A scripture quickly came to my head. I felt the need to share this Old Testament passage with the young lady who had fouled the air with her unexpected contribution of pollution. Writing upon a scrap of parchment from the ever lovely program, I shared with her Jeremiah 4:19, the scripture that changed my life:

"My bowels, my bowels! I am pained at my very heart; my heart maketh a noise in me; I cannot hold my peace, because thou hast heard, O my soul, the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war."

This woman maketh a noise, the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war. After depositing the note into the purse located to the left of the young man, I gained composure. My good deed for the day had been done. I was at peace once more, until I saw her rummage through a second purse on her right. The message of comfort had been planted in the wrong bag!

With the reaction speed of an awkward deacon, I quickly made an identical note. Waiting until the final prayer, I leaded forward to slip the newly forged note into the correct hand bag. As my hand entered the bag I glanced up to confirm the closure of her eye lids. I found a pair of very not closed, very open eyes. Uninhibited, I stowed the note and joined the prayer with a giggle.

Experiences such as this change lives. Religion changes lives. Jeremiah 4:19 has changed my life. I hope that both notes that were strategically placed today change lives. Anybody up for a crusade?

Friday, February 6, 2009

The Uncircumsized

Folded pleats of silken clothe,
Folded flap, away from moth.

The Uncircumsized

Tucked rows of wrinkled leather,
Tucked cap, away from weather.

The Uncircumsized

Fold upon fold, tuck upon tuck.
The fleshy fabric cascades down
to cover one's duck.
Crease upon crease, prune upon prune.

A comfort for its owner to clean
and to swoon.

Creased crevices of gentle form
Creased, Creased, Folded, Tucked.

The innocence of an uncircumsized shawl collar

Monday, February 2, 2009

My Anthem Problem

Everyday has an anthem. Today my anthem was Neil Diamond's immortal Forever in Blue Jeans. The sweet tune and medicinal lyrics of the song acted as a guide to my weary heart. Anthems enter our lives at very random moments much like Madonna songs or childhood memories of Sesame Street.

I feel that the popular Irish mega star rock band U2 created a few perfect anthem songs. Hold Me, Thrill Me, Touch Me, Kill Me is the anthem of choice after any and every relationship break up. The ever popular With or Without You will go down in history as the classic stalker's anthem. Written in D major, "Every move you make, every breath you take, very step you make, every vow you break... I'll be watching you!" should creep out any female ranging in age from 11 to 67. And who could forget the other 1987 Joshua Tree rock n' roll staple I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, wherein Bono teaches us all seek out the perfect mate and to never afraid to be picky. Perhaps pickier than President Barack Hussein Obama II was in picking Tom Daschle and his $134,000 in non-paid taxes to be our Secretary of Health and Human Services.

Another anthem that needs addressing in our Nation's anthem. The Star Spangled Banner is a brilliantly difficult piece of music. Despite the extreme skill level required to successfully sing our nation's memoir, individuals across this country feel it is their right to slaughter the song of our heritage. The runs, trills, hiccups, spastic pop screams and slides that have become the "norm" are nothing more than sloppy belches.

The following clip is a masterpiece dedicated to all of you who think you are the American Idol of your own world. After watching this clip you will lose all desires to ever perform in public. If that doesn't work maybe Bono could write you a song, an anthem of your own.