Monday, September 25, 2006

Ex-Studio Guitarist

Be Careful What You Wish For

When I was around 14 years old I decided I wanted to be a rock guitarist. From April, 1978, and through the summer my fantasy life revolved around being a rock guitar god. I’d listen to my records and imagine that I was the guy on stage playing that great music. Then in September of that year I started my freshman year of high school, which started off bad because my fifth and sixth period classes were lagging because I was simply cutting them. I’d just take off at lunch and goof off. So they moved one of those classes to fourth period (English) and they moved a fun class to fifth and that left me with an elective for sixth period. My councilor rattled off a long list of electives: fishing, photography, pottery etc. One class caught my ear – GUITAR – and as soon as he said it bells went off in my head and I actually saw sparks. I told him to sign me up for guitar on the spot. I went home and dusted off my brother’s classical guitar and then the next day I brought it to school and put it in the special locker in the music room. Then when sixth period rolled around I walked into the classroom and met with the teacher, Mr. Henry Avila, who was the music teacher for the high school. I had some music books that were of KISS ALIVE II. I said I wanted to be able to play this stuff. He looked at the music and then started playing “God of Thunder” on his guitar. I was stunned, this old dude was playing KISS just by reading the music, and this was a kind of witchcraft to me. He said that I could learn my music but I also had to learn the class material too. So he handed me a sheet of paper with a bunch of chords diagramed on it and then he handed me the music to Glenn Campbell’s “Gentle on My Mind” and said I had to learn the chords and the song by Friday. I looked at the sheet of chords and molded my fingers on the fret board and played an “F”, sound came out of the guitar. I worked my way down the sheet and backwards back up. I was playing chords with no problem, this was weird because I have mild Cerebral Palsy which slows me down anytime I try to learn something physical. I then turned my attention to “Gentle on My Mind”, which was still one the radio so I knew it. I looked at the music and the chords printed about the clef and I started playing and off I went. About the fourth time through I flagged Mr. Avila down and played the song for him. He asked me how long I’d been playing and I looked at the clock over the chalkboard and said “About 20 minutes!” I don’t think he completely believed me. Yet it was true. Somehow I’d naturally taken to the guitar, a gift from God, who was making up for the short end of the stick I seemed to continually get.

I practiced day and night. I played at lunch and during P.E. since I never dressed out. Then I’d go home and play, and play and play. I got a part time job and saved up some money and then about a year from that day in September I walked into the music store in Monterey and put a down payment on an Ibanez Iceman. It was Paul Stanley’s kind of guitar with sleek lines and smooth action. It took me three months to pay off and my brother actually made the final payment because he was as excited as I was. I then bought a crappy Ampeg 1x 10 30 watt amp and I was on my way. Around this time I was working at a pizza parlor with a guy who was from Los Angeles, CA, which was my Mecca. He was a drummer in a local band that had moved up to Carmel because it couldn’t hack it in the LA music scene. His name was Dan and he taught me all the ins and outs of the music scene and being in a band. Dan had a friend named Curtis Coleman, who was a studio/session guitarist. His claim to fame was playing on Louise Goffen’s album. Curtis had flaming red hair and was the embodiment of the LA-cool look for 1980. Curtis also had worked with Steve Lukether, who most people know from Toto. Dan had made a point of making me listen to Steve’s playing “Break Down” by --- , which isn’t technically hard but the guy had the rhythm locked and that left a huge impression on me. The other thing it did was give me the idea that I could make a living playing guitar on other people’s albums. Steve Lukether had already played on a ton of records by this time and would continue this even to this day. I started to read the backs of records more closely and started to learn names of the session guys and the studio guys [ A studio player plays only in the studio, a session player will also go out on tour with an artist]. I started to admire and read about guys like Waddy Watchell, Lee Ritenour, Larry Carlton, Stanley Clark, Russ Kunkle, Steve Gadd, Don Airy, Gary Moore and Tommy Tedesco. Most of these guys had a column in Guitar Player magazine and they gave great tips. I learned a little jazz playing, a little country and western playing and lots of rock moves. I was in a band that was a poor man’s Grateful Dead and my playing improved on a weekly basis as I was pushed to play better by myself and the band.

Around 1986 I had met a drummer named Chris, who was doing studio work up in San Jose and Cotati and he started hooking me up on minor session gigs here and there. My first one was up in Cotati and was great. The producer was a pro bassist who was just back from a tour with the Ice Capades and the music I was there to play was cool. It was down hill from there. It’s hard to break into the studio scene and there’s a pecking order and I was the lowest pecker on the list. That meant that I was going to garage studios to play for some guy who thought he was the next Max Norman. I’d play for some guy’s cousin’s jewelry store commercial or some kind of experimental shit. The worst thing was that by 1988 the common garage/crap studio gig was a 13 year old girl who thought she was the next Madonna. It sucked hind tit to the max. There I was, this over-trained guitarist playing seventh-fiddle to a 13 year old girl who’d mommy was sure she was the next big thing. I had to take a break because since these were crappy paying gigs I was still working my day job and commuting up to the South Bay at night. Chris didn’t mind because he was also a Coke-head. It dawned on me that the way things were going I was going to end up being a coke-head too if things didn’t change. The kicker came one night when this shithead plumber/ producing genius decided to tell me how to play my guitar. He was bitching that it didn’t sound right, after a 15 minutes of getting nowhere with Bozo, I suggested that maybe it was my amp. So I twisted the knobs a couple of times and then played the part again and he was happy. I hadn’t changed the settings at all. That was it for me. I was already seeing a therapist about being stressed out and I’d already said I wasn’t enjoying guitar as much as I used to. She looked at me and said that guitar playing had become a job, not a passion and that I should treat it like any other job that people don’t like. I should just quit.

So I did.

The last time I played professionally was in March, 1989 and I’ve never looked back. Or at least I didn’t until a few years ago after I wrecked my back in 2001 and found myself with a lot of free time and started playing again just for fun. Guitar playing makes me feel good, which it didn’t in my studio monkey days. I left the studio around the right time. Digital tracks and sampling and synthesizers were putting guitarists out of work. There was an even smaller entry window in the LA and New York scenes because there were fewer jobs and all the big names got them. In the 1990s guitar playing suffered under Grunge and then Pop music. At night clubs across the country, bands were replaced by canned, digital music and today when you walk into music stores you’ll find turn-tables because DJ-ing is considered equal to actually playing an instrument. I beat the trend.

Today I wonder about getting back into the game again . I look around today at teenagers who are listening to the same music I listened to when I was their age. When I ask them why they’re not into the contemporary music they say that their’s no good guitar and that the guys back in the 80s had it going on. The music industry is drifting from trend to trend with no direction and history says that there is great opportunity at a time like today. I’m a good guitar player. I don’t say this in a bragging way, it’s simply the truth.

I wonder what I could get done today?

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

So Your Favorite Celeb/TV Personality/Rock Star's A Dick? Boo Hoo For You, Puss Nuts

Oh for Christ's sakes! I often read on various message boards about some person's encounter with someone famous and how said person was a total asshole. These posts almost always go on and on about how disapointed they are and how so & so was their favorite person and boo-hoo snivel-snivel. First off, I could see if you were a fucking four-year old how you could justify your childish rant, I mean after all your testicles haven't dropped and your skull isn't completely fused. If you're an adult, however, you've got no excuse. First off , all celebrities are narcisists, it's all about them, they're special and they're needy. Normal people are few and far between in the Entertainment industry and those who are on the stage, in front of the cameras or behind the microphone are the least normal. It's a historical fact. Not every one of them is a nice person or even demonstrates behavior consistent with being a human for that matter. Not every one of them is a jerk/asshole/bitch either although on the day you met them they might have well been so.

First off, imagine that everywhere you go people know your name and want to talk to you. Maybe they want a picture or an autograph or a couple of minutes of your time, hey it's no big deal right? Try multiplying that by a couple hundred times each day. Then imagine being watched by strangers as you try to go about your day, say shopping or picking up stuff from the cleaners. I know it's the price you pay for being a celebrity and most of them know it too. However, it's got to wear on a person and even Ghandi told people to fuck off once in a while and the Dhali Llama has body gaurds to keep the faithful at a distance. So it's possible that that asshole celeb you met was just having a bad day. It's also possible that the asshole is YOU.

See, starting somewhere in the mid-90s, people's expectations and boundries changed. It wasn't enough for a quick handshake or autograph, today it's become an ordeal where celebs are asked to sign an inventory of junk, pose for a picture and leave a message on an answering machine. Often the people who call a celeb a jerk was completely out of line all the way. I had to listen to some redneck go on and on about some action hero who was a total asshole because he didn't wait around while said redneck went back to his car to get more stuff to sign. People would interrupt me at work to ask me if I knew where Clint Eastwood's house is located. I did but I wasn't going to tell them where it was. It was none of their business and I told them so, often they'd tell me I was being rude and then I'd ask them if Clint was expecting them to drop by and when they said no I'd ask them why I should tell them? Being a huge Eastwood fan does not give you the right to drop by his house. So often I read where people feel that a star "Owes" them so much more than a reasonable person should ever expect.

What do I mean? Let me explain...

When you buy an artist's new album, you pay your money and you get the CD with the music. Transaction is finished you cannot expect any more from the artist any more than they can call you up and ask you for more money. When this artist goes on tour you can buy a ticket to their show and then you can go see them perform. Again, you paid for your ticket and they came and played a show for you, transaction is completed. When you buy a ticket for a movie, rent a DVD or buy one you have gotten what you have paid for and the artist doesn't owe you anything more. Most celebrities are greatful to their fans and most do not mind the attention that they have to endure, the few that have a problem tend to stay away from places that "Regular People" go anyway. The problem is that today people are unreasonable in the things that they expect from celebs. They are the ones with the problems, not the star. Eddie Van Halen is a prime example of this. Here's a simple guy who happened to be a talented guitarist in a great band who's sort of vanished from the face of the Earth. He fought cancer, divorced his wife and lost his mother last year, this is a lot to go through in the last six years. Being old-school, Eddie's not the kind of celeb who bloggs daily drivel on his website and this drives a vocal minority of his fans crazy for some reason. Most of these fans are under thirty years of age and rage on and on about what a dick Eddie is because he doesn't talk to his fans online and "Share" his feelings or clue them in. They'll demand all kinds of stuff from him because they say he owes them. Then last week Eddie popped up on Howard Stern and filled everyone in on what he's been up to and his plans for the future. Did this satusfy the negatoids? No. They went on and on about Eddie has betrayed them and so on. Eddie hasn't betrayed anyone. Van Halen has been over since 1997 and it's exisited only in the mind of wishful thinkers ever since. That's not the point though.

The issue is that Eddie Van Halen , and every other celebrity for that matter, isn't a real person to these people. He's a puppet, a manequin, raif or a will O' the wisp. The anthrapramorphisize him, Eddie isn't Eddie, Eddie is whoever the fan wants him to be. They fantasize about being Eddie to the point where a part of them believes that they are Eddie or that they understand him because they feel close to him. It's worse for TV stars because they come into our living rooms every week (or if in re-runs, two or three times a day). Jennifer Aniston is a prime example of someone that we think we all know. Guess what? We don't know shit about her. First off, we only know her charactor, Rachel Green, whom Aniston brought to life every week for 10 years. We loved Rachel but would we really love Aniston if we saw the real person each week? Maybe, maybe not, real people a re much more complex than TV charactors. Real people fart, have bad breath and have bad moods, would Aniston be as loved if she ripped a tomato fart and cleared out a room? Here's a woman who's had to live in a walled compound for the last decade and will have to continue living in bejewel fortress for some time to come. All because everyone thinks they think know her and worse, feel that she owes them something.

I met Eddie Van Halen about 20 years ago, he was nice, polite and funny. I didn't get his autograph, I got to joke with him instead and that meant more to me anyway. I have a memory and it's something that nobody else has. I've never met Ms. Aniston and while I hope that she's a nice person if she turns out to be some kind of monster I won't take it personally. See, I don't know her and for all I know she's always been a monster and since I don't know her I also can't tell if she's just having an off day either. And that's the key, we really don't know those celebrities any more than they know us. They've worked hard and gotten lucky to get where they are and we like them because they've entertained us. They've made us laugh, cry and shout. They've song/written songs that we loved enough to play at our weddings. However most of us don't understand that the talent behind that often pollutes other aspects their personality.

If you live your own life, instead of living though other people's, then you won't care about celebrities anyway. You'll watch TV, go to the movies and listen to the Top 40 and enjoy yourself. You won't obsess about the private lives of people you've never met or fret over the lack of personal information on "Official Webpages". It's a kind of freedom that people should strive for in today's world. Who want's to be a slave to a fantasy world anyway?

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Confessions From A One-Time Hardcore Football Junkie

"Are you ready for some football?!!"

Oh man, there was a time when those words made my heart race, armpits shower sweat and my testicles withdraw up into my chest cavity in prepairation for battle. I had the beer chilling in the fridge and two large pizzas on standbye. I was ready, I'd read all of the pre-season football mags, the LA Times and SF Chronicle (back when they had a green sports section) and I monitered ESPN (back when there was only one) for every scrap of information. Not just for my team, the Raiders, but for every other team in the NFL. There was a heirarchy, I updated my knowledge of the rest of the AFC West, then the NFC West (cuz I liked the 49ers too) and then the rest of the best. If the NY Giants lost to the Saints, I wanted to know why? If Atlanta's running back had a 100+ yard game, I looked at the highlights and studied the Offensive Line and how they blocked a better defense.

I was all over it.

I used to pile into the car with friends at 4:00am so we could drive 476 miles down to Los Angeles to watch the Raiders play. There is nothing like an NFL game, even in LA, which is nothing like Oakland. A Pro-Football player is HUGE, they are also FAST and the combination is awe-inspiring. The First game I ever saw in person was the Chicago Bears vs the Raiders in LA. It was Walter Payton's last regular season game and we had Marcus Allen and both put on a clinic for the fans. The the thing I'll aways remember is Howie Long breaking through the Bears Offernsive Line and chasing down Mike Tomzak (QB) for a sack, it was something out of a wildlife film where a Lion chases down a Gazzelle. I was already a football nut but this day sealed the deal. By 1989 I owned a number pro-jerseys and my room was a shrine to the Raiders. I had been given one of those special books they give the press for the Raiders that had all of the stats for the team going back to 1960 and the AFL days. I memorized everything, I could recount stats from games played in the 1970s. Every year around Super Bowl time, I cleaned up on radio-station trivia and took home crap I didn't care about. You should know that I never played football, in highschool I was a music geek and not a jock. Back then I liked the Raiders but I wasn't INTO football, I was a guitar player and I was on my way to our version of the big-leagues, the studio session player. The problem was that once I became a studio guy I hated it and I had spent 12 years of my life working hard to be one. I ended up sitting in a theropist's office one day and she suggested that I spend one day doing something else, and then she asked my what else I liked to do. I said I like to watch football and she said I should endulge myself in it. So I did, and it changed my life. Sunday I was up at 8:00am to watch ESPN's Gameday, then the network pre-game shows and this became my routine for the next 12 years. Football got me out of the house and down to the bar, not to drink but to socialize with out football-heads. I was happy and I was having fun.

Then somewhere in the late 1990s I lost stopped caring about Football.

I can't put my finger on it but I think the main reason was the salery-cap that I lost interest in the game. I can't get attached to a player because I never know if he's going to be wearing Silver and Black the next season. Back in the day, I could count on Howie Long, Bill Pickel and Matt Millon lining up for the Raiders defense, Ted Hendricks and John Matuzak before them. Those guys gave fans great football - every game. I can't name anyone on the Raiders Defense except for Warren Sapp and that's because of his great years in Tampa Bay. The guy I have to cheer for was the guy I had to hate last year. I mean I had to be flying drunk before I could root for Elway and the Broncos in that Super Bowl against Green Bay (I hate the Broncos, they're the only reason I can relate to suicide bombers, remotely that is), I would have had a stroke if Elway put on a Raiders uniform. The other thing is that when one of those star athleats gets a zillion dollar contract my cable bill goes up. Each year the NFL bids for TV contracts and then that money is charged to cable providers who have to carry ESPN 1 through 50. Then there's the ever changing network shuffle, NBC looses it's NFL contract to CBS, who'd lost theirs to FOX and now NBC has Sunday Night Football that's crewed by the old ABC Monday Night Football staff because ESPN won the Monday Night rights.

NBC does football the best, even before they did the Sunday Night thing. NBC sports has always had a great group of people. CBS has problems, they once were the NFC venue on television and then lost that contract to FOX. Then NBC lost it's AFC contract to CBS. Instead of covering the AFC, CBS goes back to covering the NFC. Half of each Sunday morning pre-show is devoted to an NFC story. The problem is that FOX is already covering the same story - BETTER. So by the time my Raiders take the field I have no idea what's going on with them. I don't know who runs things at CBS but they're promoting games played on FOX, maybe he should get a paycheck from FOX too.

So between the players shuttling between teams and CBS doing FOX's work for them I just stopped getting excited about football. I'm watching the Cowboys and the Redskins right now. While I enjoy the mechanics of the game I just don't care. In a few minutes I will switch over to Ebert & Roper to watch them review a movie I've already seen and then it's 60 Minutes. I understand that nothing lasts forever but I never thought I'd fall out of love with the game. I still love the old guys and I've found myself watching classic games on the NFL channel. I'll still make a point of watching the Super Bowl and I'll get to at least one Raiders game this season, even though they suck.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

9/23/2006 - A Possible Nightmare

Nightmare Scenario

There has been a lot of hype and vitriol surrounding Iran and its nuclear aims. Clearly most of it is actually coming from Iran, but the western press is taking the bait for some unknown and unwise reason. There have been columns and cable-news talk shows dedicated to “What we have to do about Iran” ; at first they trotted out “Experts” (usually ex-CIA, ex-State Department or officials from former administrations – most of whom are responsible for Iran becoming what it is today) who extolled their wisdoms upon the viewers. It was actually sad to watch Admiral Stansfield Turner criticize the Bush administration over the way it’s handling Iran. It was Turner’s CIA that failed to see the coming Iranian revolution and head it off. That lead to the fall of the Shah and the rise of Shiite fundamentalism in Iran, which lead to the Iran/Iraq war, which lead to Desert Storm, which lead to 9/11 and that lead to us being in Iraq today. The only thing more sad has been watching Democrats jump into the fray and criticize Bush on Iran, even though his handling of the situation has been above average and wise. However, the morons on both sides of the isle are beginning to push Bush into a corner, demanding some kind of action and tougher talk towards Iran and this is dangerous.
Most people have forgotten that Iran is the primary exporter of Islamic terror around the world. They have a global reach that extends to Argentina, Peru, Norway, Moscow, the South Pacific and even the United States. Terrorist groups with ties to Iran have killed people in all of those countries. Iran also has missiles that can hit Saudi and other oil fields in the Middle East that we rely upon for importing. People rant about a first-strike on Iran like it’s going to be a cake walk. They don’t think about what happens the next day. Iran invented the suicide bomber in Lebanon and they have recruited THOUSANDS more over the years. It’s the most effective tactic against the United States; it’s worked against us from the Plains Indian Wars to the Kamikazes of WWII. I want to reveal to you Iran’s perfect “Kill Shot” against the U.S., one that could bring us down in multiple ways and destroy huge sectors of our economy and our society. A simple shot that will isolate us from even our closest allies and make us the target of universal world hate for years to come.


It’s a Saturday, Americans are watching college football, mowing the lawn or out and about on this weekend day. Suddenly T.V. sets go silent, followed by the words “Breaking News” and then respective anchor people appear on the screen at their desks with people running around in the background behind them. They begin to report that Tehran has been destroyed by a nuclear explosion and that the expected loss of life will be devastating. The White House has no comment and the Pentagon is scrambling for information as well. Within hours the streets of the western world become empty as people who heard the news raced home to sit in front of their televisions. As the sun rises in Europe, leaders there demand an explanation from the United States government. As the sun sets in the United States, an emergency session of Congress continues even though none of them know what’s going on. The White House then releases a statement of condolence to the people of Iran, offering aid of any kind. It also says that the event is still under investigation and that the cause of the blast is unknown. In Iran, the emergency government thinks it knows where the bomb came from and on a live broadcast that is carried world wide they blame the United States and Israel. “Who else has this capability?” they ask. “Who else has been threatened by us and in turn threatened Iran?”
The diplomatic phone calls from Europe flood the embassies of the U.S. demanding answers and then demanding an apology. Israel issues an angry statement denying any attack upon Iran. The United States also denies any such action, at first from the Pentagon, the State Department and then finally in a speech from the President himself. He states that specialized US Air Force planes are sampling the fallout cloud that is now over Afghanistan and should be able to determine the source of the Plutonium and therefore the culprit. Iranian officials are on the air immediately to denounce the President. They then run footage of a number of Iranians who claim to have seen a cruise missile streaking low through the mountains, low enough to see the American flag on the tail. The Pentagon is quick to deny this, stating that all of the nuclear warheads in the US arsenal are accounted for and that the UN and the Russian governments are welcome to re-inspect and confirm this at any time.

However, the world doesn’t believe the United States anymore.

In the following weeks, sanctions are put on the United States to demand its total disarmament. Europe cuts off all imports from and exports to the US in support of these sanctions, as does Japan and China and Central American countries. Shelves in department stores across the nation empty as items are sold out that cannot be restocked because they are made over seas. Wal Marts , Target, Macy’s, Circuit City and eventually every major retailer is forced to close the doors of many of it’s stores or cut their staff dramatically because it can find only a few products made in the US. As the United States holds fast, proclaiming its innocence, the sanctions continue to eat away at the American fabric. Computers and other electronic devices begin to fail and cannot be replaced because their components are come from overseas; this affects hospitals, airports, electric companies and water plants. Even though the United States has proof that the nuclear weapon was not American, these claims are followed by footage of desolation in Tehran along with the melted survivors of the outlying city on European and Asian television. They are always keen to show the kids with the melted faces too. The world is deaf to our pleas and the sanctions continue. Within a year, half of the American workforce is unemployed and the other half has had its wages slashed to the bone. Gas is rationed and many small towns have been abandoned by their citizens who’ve been forced to large cities for any kind of assistance.
The 2008 elections are divided along two lines: Disarmament and Standing Tall. The people who want us to disarm believe that the Government is lying about its innocence and that did in fact strike Iran. The folks who want the US to stand tall (alone) ask the question “What if you’re wrong and we disarm? Someone out there used a nuke on a city without provocation, what makes you think we won’t be next?”

I’d love to go on and say who wins but in today’s world I couldn’t even begin to guess. The fact is that while such a scenario would have dire consequences in the initial three years, the long term would be amazing in that Americans would be forced into self-reliance again. In essence we would make our own stuff again. The problem is what would happen in those three hard years? Does America have the balls anymore? Does it have the brains? The answers to those two questions are a frightening as an Iranian A-Bomb any day.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Fart therapy, The Smell Of Freedom.

In the 1980s, the United States Air Force conducted experiments in social development using farting to change introverts into extroverts. To be fair, it wasn't actually the US Air Force, but my brother who was IN the Air Force at the time but since he was on their payroll any research technically belongs to the Air Force. Farting, passing gas, cutting the cheese, one-cheek-sneak, pooting and releasing the barking spider has long been a family pastime. Our father was a Zen master of stepping on the duck, he perfected the timing and delivery so that everyone within ear and nose shot could enjoy the event. When my brother joined the Air Force he quickly became a legend at Lackland AFB, where he found that the humid, hot Texas weather only amplified his gift. The "Day of the Four Hour Stink" is still talked about in hushed tones, a day where my brother left an air biscuit in the laundry room that cleared it of all personnel and kept them at bay for almost four hours. He also developed, through sudo-chemical research at Korean restaurants, the ability to stink up an entire 707 airframe.

My brother quickly noticed that his friends and co-workers who emulated him began to change. His roommate was a quite and shy before he met my Bro, and he was shocked by the loud and public farting. Then he started to do it too; here and there at first but then in a short time he was farting loudly at the Pub. In front of women no less. He became out going and and gregarious and quite the lady's man. In the thirteen years he spent in the Air Force he saw the same thing over and over. He also noticed that the new social farters also got promoted faster and more often. It was a form of Gassive Aggression that had been untapped up until then and remains unkown to the world at large even today. Now, it would take at least two years of one-on-one apprenticeship to become a Zen Master Gas-Passer but I'll be happy to share some tips so that you can start to change your life for the better.

1. Time your fart for maximum effect.

2. You own your farts, so release them wisely, you cannot un-fart.

3. Fart loud and proud. It's your God-given right as a living thing and ALL living things release gas.

4. Announce your release creatively, phrases like "Now for a word from our sponsor", or "To quote the bin Laden".

5. George Carlin said that when he was in the Air Force, when someone farted he'd say "Captain who?". A variation of this is always funny, for instance "Oh, you like rap music?"

6. Driving in a car with friends, turn the radio down before you fart so they get the full effect.

7. In a bar or restaurant, stand up and ting your fork on your glass like you're making a toast at a wedding and once the room is silent, let fly. (This is a Zen Master move)

8. Just because you are talking on the phone is now reason not to share with others, in fact if you think you've got a spectacular one brewing you're obligated to call someone. Conference calls will never be boring and you may not have to sit through as many down the road.

9. A woman that freaks out when you fart is not for you, she's obviously a control freak. A woman that fires back is the one you marry. **Note** Pregnant woman farts are pure evil, every "Dutch Oven" she's endured will be repaid in spades, and she's counting them too**

10. Never apologize for farting, even if you made small children cry.

There is more but that should be enough to get you started.