De-volution

The Humans are Dead.



According to an an article on the Discovery Channel's website, human evolution is speeding up at a rate far faster than expected. The article states "Rapid population growth has been coupled with vast changes in cultures and ecology, creating new opportunities for adaptation. The past 10,000 years have seen rapid skeletal and dental evolution in human populations, as well as the appearance of many new genetic responses to diet and disease." Not only do I find this fascinating, but I also find it surprising. Vast advances in dental evolution? Have these people seen Kirsten Dunst's teeth?













Kirsten Dunst in Spiderman 3


You see, I've long had a theory that we are actually fucking up the evolutionary process. Have you ever stopped to consider this fact: millions of people breed each and every year that would not have reached breeding age 50-100 years ago.

Take myself for instance. I never knew it until fairly recently, but I have Celiac Sprue disease. An auto-immune disease whose unfortunate by-product is an inability to process gluten. All in all if I had to pick an auto-immune disease I'd probably pick Celiac. But for not being able to drink a Harp or eat soup in a bread bowl, it's bearable and if you follow a strict gluten free diet you'll live and long happy life. (Weird aside, I'm watching the Celtics right now and as I typed that Tommy Heinsohn asked Mike Gorman if he was a Harp or Guiness guy, to which Mike replied "Harp, but a little Guiness now and then". Screw you and your perfect digestive system Mike Gorman. Now can I get a damned Tommy Point??)

But even 100 years ago my life would have been shortened considerably due to my disease. For a couple of reasons. One is it weakens your immune system. I've had two serious infections in my leg (never go in a hot tub in Vegas). If not for todays powerful antibiotics I would probably be dead. And if that didn't get me the disease itself would have eventually stopped my body from absorbing nutrients and I would have either starved to death, gone mad, or developed cancer by the age of 50.

My point is that I'm going to produce offspring that probably wouldn't have existed generations ago and that's just from Celiacs. What about peanut allergies? Bee stings? Genetic defects that get fixed in childhood? So many more people these days get to pass on genes that long ago would have been trimmed off the genetic vine. So how could we possibly be evolving in a positive way? Shouldn't we be de-volving?

Fortunately, it looks like I'm wrong and we can all go on spreading our soiled seed without fear of pissing in our collective gene pool.

I've got creationitis

I'm not the first person to invent a word. President Bush. Jesse Jackson. Don King. Just a few of the legendary names in the word generation business. In fact most of us have come up with a word at some time or another that served a purpose of which no other word existed that would suffice. Some of these words stick and some don't. I'm guessing it ultimately depends on how likely you are to insert them in every day conversation. My friend Tyler made up the word "adjectifluous" meaning, "the process of using too many adjectives". It's a perfectly cromulent word. Only problem is, I can't remember the last time I was chatting on my shiny new cell phone and drinking a hot pumpkin spice coffee while driving my luxurious brown Honda and needed a word like that. Over adjectivizing is not a real problem as far as I can see.

My word is far more useful. Padiculous. Something that is both pathetic and ridiculous. As in,
I spend hours making my own detailed maps on Far Cry 2. Assembling bridges, erecting fences, building temples...right down to the bushes that encircle my sniper tower. That is both pathetic and ridiculous. It's padiculous.

Thank you big brother, for raising our children

“My parents beat the shit out of me and I’m looking forward to beating the shit out of my kids”-Dennis Leary

While eating lunch one day with a friend, we were subjected to an army of children running around the restaurant causing havoc while their parents watched silently from behind their steak and cheese. They yelled, they wrestled, and did everything they could to ensure no one in the pizzeria would enjoy themselves. Predictably, we got to talking about how our parents would have handled this situation because we all agreed, there was no way we ever would have gotten away with acting like such rotten little pricks. My friend offered this story which pretty much summarizes the philosophical shift over the last 20 years. “When I was a kid I threw a major tantrum at the mall. Without hesitation my mother grabbed me, pulled down my pants and spanked me right in the middle of the mall. I never threw a tantrum in public again” he said.

Great story, great results. Though I have to say, he is kind of a freak and part of me thinks he just liked being spanked. But could you imagine what would happen if she did that today? Some letter writing-stamp licking-busy body would inevitably call DYS and have the child put into foster care where they would proceed to be molested, lost for months, sold for slave labor, and then returned to the family a burgeoning serial killer. Why? Because some members of our society, specifically the “I know what’s best for you crowd” have determined that spanking is cruel and unusual punishment. Furthermore they have chosen my home state of Massachusetts as a launching pad for their crusade to make it an actual crime. Yes that’s right, if House Bill 3922 passes, you will now be brought up on criminal charges for physically disciplining your child. Who do we have to thank for this? The team of Arlington nurse Kathleen Wolf and Rep. Jay Kaufman (D-Lexington). Their intent is to stem the rising tide of abuse cases reported in the state each year.

While their intentions are admirable, their actions are foolish. Banning spanking to prevent child abuse is like banning communion wine to stop drunk driving. Or more appropriately, you could compare it to gun law. Our problems with guns aren’t a result of too few laws, they are a result of too few people abiding them. The laws we have currently would work just fine if we applied them properly and had judges that enforced proper sentences (hello Judge Kathe Tuttman). I’m all for keeping kids safe, but legislation like this won’t stop one child from being abused. It will just create turmoil in good families where the parents are actually trying to protect their children.

Sin City-UPDATED-X3!!

"This old town's filled with sin


It'll swallow you in"-Gram Parsons, Sin City








I'm headed to Vegas over the next few days with my buddy Pete for my last "guys trip" for the near future. I'm guessing Mrs. Herb won't let me get away with many of these after little Herbie arrives.

I will try to post a couple of times while I am out there on my activities.

Stay tuned.



UPDATE NUMBER 1-"How you know god hates you"


My buddy Pete works the night shift (he says he fixes trucks, but I'm pretty sure he's a hooker). The goal for him on a 6:45 AM flight would be to get as much sleep as possible since he only got out of work a few hours before and therefore hadn't slept in almost a day. Unfortunately, God hates Pete and he made that clear when he put in motion the events that started our Vegas trip.

At 5:00 AM we cleared security and made a bee line for the in-terminal restaurant for some breakfast. Though he protested vehemently, I finally convinced Pete it was a good idea to have one bloody mary before we got on the plane because it would help him sleep.


Three double bloody marys later we were shitfaced and playing NFL Blitz 2000 in the airport arcade. It's funny how time flies when you are loaded at 6AM playing video games of yesteryear. Frankly, I'm surprised we even heard the announcement over the loudspeaker "This is the final boarding call for Herb and Pete for flight 1297 to Last Vegas". The good news is, we did make it on the plane. The bad news is, the flight was full and we couldn't find two seats next to each other. I hate this scenario but with no options we settled for two open middle seats because they were in the first two rows. I figured hey, I might get stuck next to a man with avian flu and a woman selling avon, but at least I'll de-board quickly.

This philosphy worked out fine for me, but not so much for my sleep deprived friend. He got stuck next to a John Glover look alike and John Candy's character from "Planes Trains and Automobiles" who had both somehow managed to drink even more than we did at that early hour. Even better, they had no intention of letting Pete sleep. For the duration of the flight they argued over his head about who made more money, who owned more land and who fucked more flight attendants (that one went over almost as well as a bomb joke). But hey, at least they were nice enough to buy him about a dozen drinks which he reluctantly consumed to ease the pain.

















"Want a drink baby or should we skip it and move right to the forward lavatory loving? "



I don't know why, but I took some sick pleasure in watching them torture him. Every half hour or so he would turn to me and mouth the words "dude, I'm fucking annihilated. These guys are insane!! HELP". But I offered no such help. You see in my mind, you don't start a trip to vegas with nap time and cookies and a lovely bed time story from the stewardess. You start it by priming your liver for a weekend of debauchery!

Pete's only reprieve came when the crew shut them off. Apparently some of the other passengers were less than pleased when "Lionel Luther" started passing around his cell phone to show everyone pictures of his girlfriends Vagina (personally I felt it was very thoughtful of him to share. The man was beaming with pride).

When we landed the three of them stumbled off the plane and mumbled a goodbye. It's now 10:30AM Pacific time and I'm traveling with Dudley Moore from "Arthur". He can barely walk. His eyes are crossed. He is shouting obscenities in the airport like "Get me to the fucking casino" and "I wanna see some tits dammit!"

We haven't even gotten our rental car yet. This is going to be an interesting weekend.

Update 2-"Viva Las...something..what?...I'm hungry"

"Suddenly, everything has changed..."-Wayne Coyne "Death Anxiety Caused By Moments Of Boredom"

I have a theory for finding my namesake whenever I am in a foreign city. My theory is that if you ask a person for it that is currently performing a job function, i.e. a bartender, cabbie, or doorman, you know they aren't a cop. It's worked pretty well for me. In Aruba I actually wound up getting it off of my scuba instructor. All in all, the theory has served me well and I fully intended to apply it in Vegas as soon as I got to the hotel.

The first person we asked was the bartender at the Golden Nugget. After striking up a meaningless conversation I went for the kill. "Er, ahm, excuse me,....are you the type of bartender that can help a guy find things?". "Sure", he said "You're looking for hookers right?". Yeah pal. I'm looking for hookers. I didn't notice the 200 Mexicans handing me flyers along the strip, or the giant billboards that read "Direct to your room in 1 hour", or the trucks driving along Las Vegas Blvd with 20 foot photos of women in lingerie offering "the best parties in town. I really need your help on this one. Obviously this guy was no use to me. When I explained to him what I was really after he said "Geez , gosh, I'm not sure" and gave me a look of complete moral indignation. Hello, you work in a fucking casino!!

My next step was to try Freemont St. If you have never been to Vegas, Freemont st is the old downtown area. Everything has been kept in that vintage 1950's Rat Pack style. You can almost hear the sounds of legs breaking in the alleys and showgirls screaming for help from Sinatra's hotel room. Actually, it's pretty cool. They have light/laser show on a giant canopy over the street (which is blocked off) that really lends itself to pharmaceutical assistance. After striking out with a couple of street vendors and a concierge, we decided to break from routine and ask civilians. We tried a couple of young hippie types but they smelled us and said they "could smell capitalism on us" and therefore were un-trustworthy. Our next mark was a homeless guy with dreadlocks and no teeth.

our guide

He told us that regretably he didn't have it with him but that we should follow him down the street and he could help us out. Again, if you haven't been to Vegas, a walk down the street is a very risky endeavor. One block can mean the difference between Mandalay Bay and Manforcedtobe Gay so I was pretty nervous. Pete was still in a haze from the plane so he wasn't worried, but as the glitzy hotels vanished and the all-night-piercing-shops increased, I started to get concerned. I said to our escort, "excuse me sir, where exactly are we going". He pointed to a dark alley between a parking garage that had no cars and a row of dumpsters. I decided right then we should go but before I could dismiss him I noticed what I thought was a can't miss opportunity. A man was standing on the corner with a handwritten cardboard sign reading "Smoke Shop" and an arrow poining to the right. I figured this was my lucky break. So I dismissed our tour guide with a modest 5$ tip (a thank you for leaving us with our wallets and virginity) and approached the man with the sandwich board. "Do you know where I could find something to smoke?" I asked. "Like what he replied?". "A little green if you could" I said. "Geez" he said "that's really tough to come by here.... You want some crack?". I was stunned. This was officially the first time I had ever been offered crack. I puked in my mouth. Then I think I pissed myself a little. All I know is I started running and I didn't look back. Safe to say the lower depths of East Freemont are not a safe place for your average white bread tourist.

After changing my undies, we continued our pursuit and fortunately our luck changed quickly. And boy was I glad because I only brought 4 pairs of skivvies. We finally found our goods through a bartender with giant breasts outside of the Mermaids Casino on Freemont. The lady in question provided us with our wares and we were on our way, but not before this slutty siren of the strip gave us this cautionary bit of advice "go easy. that shit will fuck you up." I found that pretty laughable. How could I take that seriously? I've smoked just about everywhere in the Eastern Hemisphere and good is good. I can handle good. I can handle great. A dimebag of ragweed from Vegas was no match for Cheech and Chong. So we bought two.

Well, we couldn't handle it. For the next four hours my friend and I stumbled around old downtown without a clue as to what we were doing. We were in big trouble. Our conversations were limited to "dude...I'm fucked" and "where the hell are we" It took us an eternity but we found our way back to the Golden Nugget and the safety of our room where we both took turns having panic attacks and gorging on potato chips. Our trips' destiny had been forever changed. All on a half a "J".

Up next:Hoover Dam

Update 3: "Where can I get some Dam bait?"

Fueled by an hour at the all you can eat breakfast buffet, we headed out to Boulder city to see the 9th wonder of the world, The Hoover Dam. I've seen the Dam before when Mrs. Herb and I went to Vegas, but Pete wanted to check it out. Plus we had notions of finding peyote and going all "Lizard King" in the desert for a few hours. Problem was, we didn't have peyote. We just had that ridiculous angel-dust-laden weed we bought on the strip the night before. So we twisted one up and smoked on the way.

By the time we got to the Dam we must have looked like a couple Iraqi soccer players reporting to Uday Hussein after a loss. We were mute and terrified. This was some powerful shit and there were just way too many tourists around. Our entire trip to the dam lasted less than 30 minutes and at least two thirds of that I think I spent trying to park the car in the garage. The other 10 minutes consisted of us trying to purchase a water at the snack bar (complete failure) and a short walk across the Dam itself with Pete peering over the edges and me defecating in my pants (I'm terribly afraid of heights). Realizing we were outmatched we retreated for the relative safety of the Lake Mead Marina. We had the thought in our minds that we might rent jet skis and cruise around the lake. What we did instead was buy a bag of popcorn and feed the mutant carp that inhabit the marina. If you haven't seen it before, check out this youtube clip. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQlRjF6L8nY . Thousands of the largest goldfish you have ever seen swarm this dock looking for handouts like welfare recipients. It was enough to keep us mesmerized for a good hour.

And that was it. That foray sapped us of all our energy. We headed back to Freemont St and realized our visions of a trip filled with double downs and double D's had turned into a much more docile affair. The rest of our vacation went quite similarly. Sunday we spent 10 hours sitting in the same recliners (they were really comfy) inside "The Dome" which is a sports bar/sportsbook inside the old school "Plaza" hotel and casino.

We ended the vacation the same way we started it. Shit faced at an odd hour in a hotel bar. All in all we had a great time and looking back, the powerful weed may have robbed us of a few "Swingers" moments, but in all reality it probably saved us hundreds of dollars and quite possibly our marriages as well.

"Hey, it beats sucking dick!" or, "why I'm a salesman"

"Who was born in a house full of pain
Who was trained not to spit in the fan
Who was told what to do by the man
Who was broken by trained personnel
Who was fitted with collar and chain
Who was given a seat in the stand
Who was breaking away from the pack
Who was only a stranger at home
Who was ground down in the end
Who was found dead on the phone
Who was dragged down by the stone."- Roger Waters


I didn't become a salseman by choice. It's not something that you think about as a boy and say "mommy can you please buy me the Hasbro salesman starter kit with the briefcase and kneepads?". Sales is something you usually just end up in. Like my brother Les says I "Forrest Gumped" my way into it. Or maybe you've heard the expression "90% of life is just showing up". Well technically that's true, and in fact I'm living proof. But the reality is when you just show up for life and expect things to happen, you are just as likely to end up shoveling shit as you are to own Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. Actually,...the shit shoveling is far more likely.

The problem is I hate sales. I hate the type A personalities that permeate the industry. I hate the "ethical flexibility". I just flat out hate the fact that I'm a salesman, which is everything I never wanted to be. But, I have no one to blame but myself. I fucked off for the first 25 years of my life because I was pretty sure I'd be a rock star right now. I coasted through high school by covincing my teachers that if I got a bad grade it was somehow their fault for not challenging me. When that approach failed in college, I did the only thing I could. Drink. Heavily. I drank away my scholarship after one year and meandered through a number of dead end jobs until...I met Mrs. Herb. It didn't take me long to realize I was a much more attractive partner if I wasn't slinging burritos or selling weed out of the back of my pick up and having few other options, I went into sales. The one occupation where you need no degree, education, or previous experience. You just need a solid command of the English language. And even if you don't, you can probably get by.

I'm telling you this so when you hear stories about my work, you don't ask yourself "why the hell doesn't he just leave?". Well, I have the golden handcuffs on . I make good money and I have no transferrable job skills. The combination of the two forces me to deal with this zoo whether I like it or not. And now with little Herbie Jr. on the way, I'm definitely not going anywhere.

So what about this place? What makes it so crazy? Well let me just throw a few examples at you (Please understand I have changed names and combined some personalities in order to not get sued):

One week after I started, one of the principals of my company danced on a pool table shouting "Let's do some cocaine!!! Let's do some cocaine!!!!!". Followed by him molesting a female VP (which is odd, considering he's openly homosexual) and then firing me for suggesting that he probably shouldn't drive home. Needless to say I'm still here. Not the last time I was fired by the way.

A new employee came to a company sponsored luncheon (which of course was open bar) only to have a certain high level executive ask him "Have you ever had sex with a man before? No? Well would you like to have sex with a man?"

Just the other day, a high level executive took 1/3 of the company out to lunch and never came back. They just stayed out and drank all day while everyone else was instructed to "pick up the slack".

And my favorite. A manager took their employee out drinking on a two hour lunch. They both came back tanked. The employee was then expected to go into a previously scheduled sales review where the manager that took her out, proceeded to reprimand her for taking long lunches and drinking.

That should give you the gist of what I see on a day to day basis. Now I can tell you stories from here as they happen and you will have some idea of what I am talking about.

There's only one World Series! And if you aren't out of your mind on cocaine, you'll be asleep for most of it.

Here are the broadcast times for the World Series televised on FOX.

Gm 1: 8 pm
Gm 2: 8 pm
Gm 3: 8 pm
Gm 4: 8 pm

Now keep in mind that an "8PM" start actually means that the game will start somewhere after 8:30. That extra half hour is necessarry so we can get the always important "keys to victory" which usually contain such insightful nuggets as "the team that scores first is going to put themselves in a good position to win" or my other favorite "the key to the pitcher having a good game is throwing first pitch strikes". Really? It's important for pitchers to throw strikes? That's the kind of wisdom that makes it worth it for me to stay up until 1 in the morning and drool on my keyboard the next day at work.

Look, I understand that FOX has paid a king's ransom for the rights to televise the World Series and I understand they need to maximize their revenue. What I don't understand is how it makes sense to have the game ending after half the country is asleep. Is that what advertisers really want? Selling to people that are taking power naps during commercial breaks??

But there is another issue here. Call me sentimental if you want to, but what about the kids? The ones that Major League Baseball needs in order to keep their product viable for the next generation. So how does it make sense to start the game after the average 10 year old in Boston is already asleep? In an article in todays Boston Globe FOX Sports production administrator Anita Bartlett lets us know that it in her mind it does. "A 10-year-old in Boston needs to know that they are on just one spot on the planet. There are other time zones." Thank you so much Anita for putting our 10 year olds in their place. They get so out of line wanting to see the team they've been rooting for all year play in the world series. Don't they know there are corporate sponsors in California that need to be placated?

Two time zones have teams playing in the world series.

How about we worry about placating them.

Hitting me in waves

A few months ago I came home from work on one of those normally mundane Tuesdays where nothing happens. I expected the highlight of my night to be dinner with Mrs. Herb. When I got home she was laying on the couch with Angus watching television. I had no reason to believe my life was about to change forever.

Typically, I try to avoid burdening Mrs. Herb with stories about my job working as a salesman for a recruiting company. You see, I hate my job. It sucks the life out of me (I'm going to be talking a lot more about my job in future blogs I think). But this day I started in. It probably seemed really important at the time that a sales rep came back drunk from lunch and inadvertently flashed her crotch to the office. It probably seemed like that would be our conversation piece for the evening.

Until Mrs. Herb told me she was pregnant.

I was pretty surprised. We had pulled the goalie a few months earlier, but we heard that it takes a while once you're off the pill to get nice and fertile again. We obviously didn't consider the fact that I am one of eight, my mom is one of eight, and her mom was one of eight. I come from strong breeding stock. So yeah, I was pretty stunned,...but excited. Really excited. I felt a lot of things. I felt proud, manly, blessed, and happy. I felt a sense of amazement and wonder of what we had accomplished that I had never felt before.

Mrs. Herb was more pragmatic. Actually I think she was making pudding in her underpants that first night. she was truly petrified, which is understandable. I mean hey, it wasn't my body that was going to turn into Louie Anderson over the next 10 months (my body did that freshman year of college). Panic really set in for her. The next few months became a frenzied rush to dot every undotted "i" and uncrossed "t" in all aspects of our lives. Bills had to be paid. Renovations had to be completed. Changes were to be made dammit, and I was going to help do them or be crushed in her path.

Louie eating cake!

Fortunately, I have come to realize that this hits you in waves. As you'll see, when you are expecting your first child, you really do go through a whirlwind of emotions.

As time passed Mrs. Herb has calmed down a lot. Her personality has changed in ways I never saw coming. This weekend I actually saw her fall asleep with her cousins baby sleeping on her chest. This absolutely would not have happened 6 months ago. She looked at babies the same way I look at getting a prostate exam. I know it's going to happen eventually, but it's not something I want to practice. What's even better is that her body is actually looking more like Lonnie Anderson than Louie Anderson. I'm ready to start nursing!

feeding time!

Me on the other hand, I've actually started to get more nervous. At first the sheer joy of knowing I was going to be a Dad was all I could think about. Now I'm starting to worry a little bit. I watch everything she puts in her body and I'm petrified it's going to turn our kid into Joseph Merrick. I'm concerned about her sleep, her vitamins, and got forbid she pick up anything heavier than a number two pencil. What's worse, I'm starting to have nightmares about things going wrong. I need to chill out quickly.

What I am guessing though, is the next wave will hit me and carry me to wherever I need to be. Either that or it will suck me out with tide. Fortunately Mrs. Herb has some flotation devices for me to grab on to.

Dear Merrill Hoge, You are a horse's ass.

Dear Merrill Hoge,

You are a Horse's ass. On SportsCenter tonight, you were asked who you would rather have right now as your quarterback, Tom Brady or Peyton Manning. Despite Brady's superior statistics, you picked Manning. But that's not what makes you a horse's ass Merrill Hoge. No what makes you a horse's ass is when you said that Rob Bironas (8 Field Goals)had a better day yesterday than Tom Brady (21 for 25 for 354 yards 6 TD in 3 quarters of play).
That type of unabashed Patriots hating is usually reserved for Dan Marino, Peter King and other well known losers. Welcome to the club Merrill, you are a most deserving member.

Love,
Herb

P.S. I know Peter King is a self proclaimed Pats fan, but he loves the Pats like O.J. loved Nicole.

What the hell am I doing?

What the heck is this anyhow?

My buddy Pete told me the other day that I should start a blog. We were playing Madden and we were griping about one of the terrible decisions the design team made. If you haven't played it yet, instead of having an announcer we know...like for instance the one the freaking game is named after...we have a Mike Tirico sound alike. And instead of sounding like it's coming through my HDTV, it sounds like it's coming through a speaker with a hole in it . Are you kidding? 20 million dollars to develop a game and no one realized that was a terrible idea? Don't they have teams that actually play these games before they sell them? And here's the worst part. You can't shut the announcer off permanently. You can turn the setting down to zero, but every time you turn the game on, there he is like a drunk idiot at the bar offering unsolicited play by play. At this point you will have to pause the game and go into the volume control screen. You won't have to do anything once you are there because the announcer setting is already on zero, you just need to remind the game to turn the announcer off because apparently it was pot brownie day at EA sports when they were working out the audio.

Anyhow, it was that sort of inane banter coupled with a desire to get EA Sports, ESPN, Hugh Hefner, and George Bush to listen to my complaints and suggestions, that I decided to start this blog. More than likely, I will never make another post. It is however possible that I may just decide to come back here every week and offer my thoughts on a variety of trivial matters.

With that possibility in mind, I should lay out a few things in the beginning just so we have somewhere to work from.

I'm a dude.

I'm 3o.

I am a salesman, a musician, a couch potato, a husband, and a soon to be father.

I'm a horrible speller and I believe that the definition to any given word is relative. I also don't think it's wise of me to spend too much time editing this. It might look better but it will probably make me censor myself and what fun would that be. Which brings me to my next item.

I'm going to try and be as honest about things as possible here. Sorry if you get offended, I'm not trying to piss you off. Unless of course I'm trying to piss you off (like you nitwits at EA).

I'm really conservative, and I'm really liberal. In the end, I think that puts me smack dab in the middle. I think it also makes me opinionated.

I have a big dog named Angus. There's a good chance he'll weigh in here from time to time.

If I was forced to worship a deity, I'd probably pick Bob Dylan.

Well, I think that's a good start.

Til next time.