giving up the crown

I've spent today in a thunderstorm in the back of an all metal trailer (as if I were daring the heavens to strike me down with a great vengance and furious fire.

We're almost done. I think. I hope.

So, anyway, I just wanted to let you all know that I won't have access to the ole' internets, facebooks, or blogerations until at least the end of the week next week. So nows your opportunity to say whatever you've wanted to say to me, and have it go unchallenged for at least 5 to 7 business days. Go ahead and do it. It's good to air your grievances from time to time.

That being said. I officially step down as the king of clermont. I was unable to name a backfill, so until a suitable backfill can be announced I decalre marshall law to be in order.

I repeat, the pleasure has been all mine. I'll talk with you all in a week or so.

Heart,

Blakely A-Dam Sumner

The once (and future?) king

the high life

I'm quite the fancy fellow.

Throughout my life, I've strived to live my life in a manner that conveys my cultured and refined upbringing. I only wear the finest lenin trousers, "snap button" style cowboy shirts, and brown leather boat shoes. I've carried myself with the same sort of quiet dignity that the Brawny Paper Towel Man once did.

Had I lived in the 19th century, I'm quite certain I would've been known as a southern dandy. I believe that life is too short for me to do nothing less than surround myself with the finer things in life...

Like a monocle.

Pimp Cane

A Yacht

a clay aiken tattoo

and a jaunty cravat

Note to the uncultured swine in the reading audience who don't know what a cravat is: It's the thing that is hiding that dude's neck

While I've always been quite fancy, I've often thought that there was something missing. One key part that was stopping me from becoming the distinguished man about town I've always felt resided within me. Today, while I was in the grocery store, I realized what I was missing that was stopping me from being the ultimate fancy fellow:

That's right. A pipe.

A pipe would be the final factor in the "sumner equation of fanciness" (patent pending). A pipe would give me something to do with my hands while wandering about my kingdom, thinking my profound thoughts.

And I could meet yearly with other world weary geniuses at the British National Pipe Smoking Championship, where I could hobnob with the high and mighty, exchange ideas about the perfect advertising campaign for Hostess Cupcakes, and blow smoke rings as I shot the breeze.

People would respect me if I had a pipe. They'd know I meant business, and that I care not for the surgeon

generals disapproval of my lifestyle. Cause I'm a loner dottie... a rebel.

the $5.00 bin

I want to start with an admission: I'm a hipster.

For those of you who may be unfamiliar with exactly what a hipster is, A hipster is a person who is strongly associated with a subculture that has been deemed "hip", or "hep". The term was used originally in the 1940s and 1950s to describe aficionados of jazz, and it eventually described many members of the Beat Generation, but its usage declined in the 1960s, with the advent of hippies. Since the mid 1990s, the word "hipster" has been redefined to refer to members of a different subculture. Modern hipsters are those devoted to ironic retro fashions, indie music and film, alternative comics, and other forms of expression outside the mainstream.

As a hipster, this means that I have to be obsessed with dressing horribly (I do), reading alternative comix (a comix is like a comic book... but it's spelled with an X so you'll know it's edgy), and loving the music of Vampire Weekend (click here to see a sample of their musics).

To be a true hispter... one has to be willing to be weird for the sole purpose of being weird. That is to say, one has to have an intense disdain for all that is "normal" about popular culture, and an intense tolerance of anything that's vaguely left of center. Why? Because if you're in any way like someone else, then you're just another conformist!!!

Note: I realized just now that the last sentence i wrote is pretty much completely embodies the sentiment of Pink Floyd's entire body of work. Hispters do not like Pink Floyd. Hippies, degenerates, and drug addicts like the Music of Pink Floyd. This calls my hipster credibility into question... but we won't dwell on that for now.

So, like I said, I'm a hipster in pretty much every aspect of my life... except for movies. I absolutely have the worst taste in movies ever. For example, some of my favorite Movies of all time include:

I think we can all admit that these are some of the worst movies of all time, but each one of the holds a special place in the cockles of my coal black heart, and they can all be found in the five dollar bin of your local wal-mart.

This is deadly for me, b/c I'm a sucker for horrible movies. For example: not too long ago I was in Wal-Mart... when I came across a cop of Crybaby in the $5 bin. Cry-Baby (1990) is a teen-musical film directed by John Waters. It stars Johnny Depp as 1950s teen rebel "Cry-Baby" Wade Walker. The film is a parody of teen musicals and centers on a group of delinquents named the Drapes and their interaction with the rest of the town and its other subculture, the Squares, in 1950s Baltimore, Maryland. "Cry-Baby" Walker, a Drape, and Allison, a Square, create upheaval and turmoil in their little town ofBaltimore by breaking the subculture taboos and falling in love. The movie shows what the young couple have to overcome to be together and how their actions affect the rest of the town.

Crybaby is the worst movie ever made. but if it's ever on tv... I will stop whatever I'm doing to give it my undivided attention, b/c it prominently features a character named Hatchet Face, and it features one of the few career misteps johnny depp has ever had.

So as I stood there, I realized that I had a monumental choice... do I say "screw my hipster

street cred" and buy the crappy movie that is on Cable at least 5 times a week? Or do I be a

wise investor, save my credibility, and wait for another moment of weakness to make this (some

would say essential) addition to my home video library?

It was an epic battle of wills, the likes of which the world hasn't seen since the end of the Return

of the King.... but in the end, my hipster shame won out, and I put that weary volume back upon

the shelf, straightened out my pork pie hate, and let a single tear roll down my face as i drove into

the sunset while the newest belle & sebastian CD played softly in the background.

Then I had a change of heart. I realized I am not, in fact a hipster. B/c no true hipster would ever

admit to being a hipster, b/c a hipster can't bring themselves to belong to any sect of people...

much less a group of their peers. So I went back and bought crybaby, and smokey and the

bandit, and twister! And I deleted all the My Morning Jacket albums from my iPod and replaced it

with It's Raining Men by the Weather Girls and Walking on Sunshine Katrina and the Waves.

And I've never been happier.

Heart Blakely "I may be having a slight identity crisis" Ad-am Sumner

The King (but not for much longer) of Clermont

the best job in the world?

ah spring time. the weather is getting warmer. grass is growing again. bees are pollinating stuff. and (most importantly) the most important man on the planet is at long last coming out of hibernation to teach the world how to love again at long last.

that's right boys and girls, i speak of the sign spinner. that's right. the man and/or woman that cheapskate businesses hire to stand on the curb in front of their businesses and spin a sign dramatically to garner more traffic into their business is at long last back after too long an absence.

i luv the sign spinner for many reasons. it really is the only job in the world where you get paid well below minimum wage to stand (often in a silly costume) in the boiling heat while you text your best friend Ray Ray about how awesome Brandy's party is going to be on friday while you listen to the newest system of a down single on your iPod.

I often wonder what the average sign spinner does with his days. I mean, I can only assume that he has plenty of free time because, let's face it, it's not that mentally demanding a job.

I'm sorry if that offends your cousin Jeffy who spins signs for a living, but it's the truth. We all know that standing out in the elements blasting Maneater by Hall & Oates on your iPod while you pretend to hold a sign upside down until a passing car honks the horn at you is a far cry form brain surgery. It just is. But... as usual, I seem to have strayed from my point.

I wonder what the sign spinner does to occupy the part of their mind not consumed by sign spinning? Do they begin to plot their novel? Do they begin to devise ways to spend their sign spinning millions? Do they hatch plots against the many who have wronged them in their short time on this earth?

I personally think that they use he time to try to figure out exactly where it all went wrong. B/c let's face it... no one wakes up one morning and says "Hrmmm... you know what... I'll stand in the heat/cold/rain/tsunami and spin a cardboard sign advertising the local Hungry Howie's for $6.25 a day. And, to make matters worse, those signs that the spinner is spinning has never, ever, been a deciding factor in anyone's dining/house buying/ puppy purchasing experience. Yep... that's good clean living.

Note: I realized as I was typing this last sentence that what I was typing could have offended someone, especially in these trying economic times. That is not my intention. I am merely pointing out the odder aspects of what I consider to be an absolutely worthless job. Dang it... I did it again just now. Ok... so... my point was: I'm not trying to offend you. If what I wrote did offend you, please understand that I meant it satirically, and that I rarely ever mean anything I write in this blog. And... as I've stated before, I'm a horrible person.

So in conclusion, I feel sorry for the sign spinner, and you should too. Next time you see them hawking their wares on the side of the road... stop and converse with them. You'll either make them feel better about the horribly misstep they took in life... or scare the ever living crap out of them.

Heart,

Blakely A-dam Sumner

the hardest part

As our move looms ever closer, I find myself attending more and more goodbye bashes, celebrations, box socials, get-togethers, hootenannies, Sadie Hawkins dance, and what not. So far I've enjoyed these swingin' broo ha has, except for one thing.

The awkward good bye hug.

I know, I know. I look like a giant cuddly teddy bear that the good lord put upon this earth for the sole purpose of giving hugs. This is not the case however. I like giving hugs to Teresa, and my mom... and my grandma... but that's about it really.

Here's the thing about me and hugs. I'm a man who enjoys his personal space, and by hugging you, I'm being forced to give up said personal space.

And it's not that I don't want to hug you. Really. I just feel like we need to slow things down a bit before we wrap our arms around each other. Maybe go for a walk. Or play some skee ball at the arcade. Or fry a turkey. Let's just take it slow. We don't have to hug each other to have a good time.

Which brings me to my next point: it's great to be a dude because dudes rarely, if ever, hug. When you're a dude a handshake says everything you theoretically need to say with a hug. The handshakes shows that you have supreme respect for the other dude, and that you wish them no ill will as they continue on their journey. And yes... I realize that there are occasions when men must hug... but a man hug is a completely different beast.

A man hug involves two men touching shoulders, sticking their butts as far apart as possible (to ensure that your giblets never touch his giblets), closing your hand into a fist and patting the other man on the should with your fist three times (as if to punctuate the following sentiment: I'm. Not. Gay.). This is why I try to avoid the dreaded "bro hug", because of the inherent homophobia within. I'm a horrible person.

That's the beauty of working with mostly males, is that you just shake each others hands promise to keep in touch... and proceed to have a push up contest. But this is not the case with the ladies... oh no... with ladies you have to hug it out... even if you weren't friends, and said maybe all of 15 words to each other in the time you worked together. No... if it's a lady you still have to hug it out.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is: Ladies, think before you hug. Mayhap the dude you are trying to tackle doesn't get down like that. Is is so hard to imagine?

Heart,

The huggin' champion of St. Pete Florida

Blakely A-dam Sumner

Dreams

Happy St. Patrick's Day kids. I hope you enjoyed this day that we have set aside to remember st. patrick's ridding ireland of the scourge of serpents. Just remember, it ain't a holiday if it ain't a drinkin' holiday.

That being said, St. Paddy's day is a day for dreamers. A day that we can set aside to not to think about where we've been... but where we want to go. I for one am tired of talking about where I've been, I want to spend more time thinking about where I want to go.

Note: In a year from now, I want to own a yacht (named pimpin' the most), sitting on trailer park sofa, rich as all out doors wearing lenin pants, boat shoes, a tophat and a monocle, throwing chocolate coins up into the air as i pretend to be scrooge mcduck while the song Bad Company from the album Bad Company by the band Bad Company plays on the cassette deck that came standard on my yacht.

Sidebar: If any one wants to make a little photoshop magic of me doing all the things listed in the above picture, I will gladly thank you for your effort.

Side Sidebar: Man... I would love to diagram that note...

Ok... tangent over. As I said... St. Patrcik's is a day for the dreamers to come together and celebrate the dreams that they have yet to see come to fruition while partaking in a smorgasbord of green beverages. I have had my share of dreams in my life... but they say I've always been a dreamer. Alas, I've had to give up on some of these dreams.

Some dreams have been set aside because I've found that I have grown up and am a reasonable person. Ok... that's not true. I am not now, nor have I ever been, a rational person. But I've still given up on some dreams. Luckily for me (and you, the reader), I have this travesty of a bloggeration that I can use as an avenue in which to tell you all about my abandoned dreams. In that way... maybe... just maybe... these dreams will live on in all of our hearts... even if (in a more relaistic manner) these dreams are ridiculously insane.

There is one dream, a dream I've had since childhood. A dream that I doubt I'll ever achieve because the fine people in Detroit don't make em like that no more... the 80's cargo van.

I've always help a secret desire to own a 1980s cargo van. You know the kind. The ones with a porthole window on the back up of it that usually have one of the following painted onto the side:

1. A desert landscape with a solitary wolf on a cliffisde howling at the moon. This is to let the world know that you're a renegade who won't be tamed by man's laws... and that you've got plenty of room in the back of the van to help with the big move on Saturday.
2. A lady in a bikini. This is to show other cargo van owners that you are a virile male who loves the ladies so much that you felt the need to show this love with the only canvas you got... your cargo van.
3. A wizard (usually mid spell). Occasionally you will see said wizard riding a wolf. I always assume that this is the same wolf from mural number 1, and that the wizard is riding that wolf triumphantly into a battle that will decide the ultimate fate of middle earth. I don't honestly know why people want this on the side of the vans, but I do know that this is awesome.

These vans are great because you can essentially turn the rear portion of the van into a rolling home. Think about it... if you put a bed, a mini fridge, a hot plate and a 13 inch tv in the back of that bad boy... well then you never really need to worry about being homeless... b/c your home is where you park it.

I also love the port hole window on the back of these vans that seems to be standard issue for this type of vehicle. This ensures maximum privacy... b/c the window is tiny, high off the ground, and usually illegally tinted to like... negative 10. This is great... b/c now no one will know that you own the finest rotating mattress... and therefore can never know that you have it for them to want to steal it from you.

And I'm pretty sure that the ladies are all clamoring to get with the dude that owns the 83 Chevy cargo conversion.

Why did I never get one of these rolling beauties? Because I was too poor to afford it when I had the opportunity, and haven't been able to locate another one since. And as the years go by, and the gap between the present day and the day when that last 87 Chrysler conversion rolled off the factor floor gets wider, it seems less and less likely I'll ever find another one.

This is a shame... because I would've loved that van. I would've named it Pimpin the Most IV and filled it with all the finest trailer park furniture, and I would load party people in the back and chauffeur them to varies parties in assorted cow fields across the nation. And I would've painted a picture of me riding a tiger, dressed as a Spanish Conquistador, battling an army of Draculas. And I would've cleverly made the porthole window look like some sort of solar eclipse. This would have filled that hole in my heart... but it was never meant to be.

But the dream lives on in my heart.

Heart,

Blakely A-Dam Sumner

King of Clermont

Random Questions to the Readers

Hi Friends. It's me... Blakely A-dam Sumner. And... I'm feeling a little lazy tonight. I know I should post a blog with witty banter in which I talk about things that I notice in life that are a little left of center... but... I got nothing...

WAIT! I take it back! I did see a Dodge Charger with Lamborghini doors at the grocery store this afternoon! That's when you know you're living in fancytown folks! When you take a 25,000 dollar car and then spend way too much so that the doors open unconventionally... that's... pretty awesome. Right? Right?

Ok... so I got nothing really, but I know I need to post... so I thought I'd share a few of the things that I'm digging right now, and give you the opportunity to share at the end of the lecture. You guys ready (this is going to be so much fun!!!)

Favorite C/Band (at the moment): I and Love and You by the Avett Brothers

Reasons why this is awesome: A.) the lady on the cover is SEXXY B.) I love any band that uses a banjo prominently in most songs, but still has elements of Kobainesque screams. It's guaranteed to change your life. C.) Every track is good. This rarely happens in music these days.

Favorite TV Show on Home Video: The Prisoner

Why it's awesome: B/c it's almost as confusing as lost, but with a 1960s sensibility! The premise of the show is that a secret agent quits the government agency that he works for without reason. As he is trying to escape, he is captured by an unknown group (it may be his own govt, it may be an enemy agency) and awakes on an island filled with other Prisoners. Each Prisoner has a number instead of a name, the powers that be are never revealed, and the only thing that ever stops you from escaping is a giant inflatable balloon. Sound werid? IT IS, AND I LUV IT!

Favorite Movie: Sadly, the last movie I saw that I really liked was the Dark Knight... or Possibly the last Harry Potter flick. I got nothing to say... they're jsut good movies.

Favorite Book (Currently): Eating the Dinosaur by Chuck Klosterman. His essay about time travel and Kalvinism alone should have you hooked.

Favorite Words: Plimpin', Snap, Delicious, Lucious

Favorite Activities: Mean Mugs & Shoulder Shrugs

Favorite Overused Cliche: It is what it is...

What about you guys? What are your favorite things right now???

Alas poor sofa... I (almost) knew you well

In preparation for our big cross country move, we are selling off a lot of the furniture that we have that we don't need anymore or don't want anymore. One of the things that we're getting rid of is the sofa that I used to have in my Crimesimmee mansion. This sofa is the finest of 1985 trailer park sofa. I paid all of 180 dollars for it back in 2005, and it has served as my throne lo these many years.

The thing about the sofa is that it's ugly, like most trailer park furniture, but it's the most comfortable sofa you will ever have the privilege of napping upon on a Saturday afternoon. So, when we got the call that the sofa was up for sale... well... a little piece of me died.

I know it's silly, but I always thought that big blue (A.K.A. Ole' Bluey, A.K.A. Bluecifer) would be with me always. I even harbored dreams that I would someday own a yacht (That I would name "Pimpin' the Most", out of respfiect for my favorite musician of all times Kid Rock) that I could put ole' bluey on the front of and sit upon as I sail into the glorious sunset of my latter years.

But...it doesn't make sense to move the sofa... so I began to make preparations for the sofa shaped void I knew was going to be in my heart soon. I had one last goodbye nap, said a few words and then wept quietly while Kansas's Dust In the Wind played softly on my iPod. I assumed in time that the heartache would subside, and after 10 minutes of being inconsolable... I moved on with my life.

But then the dude who was going to buy the sofa never showed! I know I should be grateful that I've got Blucifer in my life for even a few days more... but every time I try to nestle myself in her cobalt embrace... all I can think about is my loss. The hurts too much!

'

So, with that... I say: Goodbye sofa! I can't go where you're going, but you'll always be sailing atop the good ship "Pimpin' the Most" that lives in my heart!!!

I'm so sad I could barely see beyond the tears to hit the publish post button.

Blakely A-dam Sumner

An Open Forum Letter to The Family Circus

I'd like to start by admitting that I usually read the sunday paper. That's right, I still support a medium that is dying a slow, painful death at the hands of the interweb. I'm weird. I get it. You don't need to rub it in.

That being said, one of my favorite parts of the Sunday paper is reading the Sunday funnies. Despite the fact that I rarely ever laugh at them. The most I ever really expect from a comic strip in a newspaper is to lightly snicker occasionally, but I still read them. Every. Single Strip.

Why you may ask?

Note: even if you didn't ask, you're still going to find out why. I'm sorry if this upsets you, but it really shouldn't because theoretically you wouldn't be reading this unless you cared to know my opinion about various and sundry topics. Unless you're here accidentally. Then I apologize. After reading this, you're roughly two to three minutes closer to the grave with nothing to show for it. I apologize for that, and will somehow make it up to you. I swear.

I guess I read comic strips for the same reason some folks choose to climb Everest: because it's there. I did enjoy comic strips at one point in my youth, but now they often seem trite, convoluted, and I often see the punch line coming from the first panel. But I still read them. I suppose I find they remind me of my misspend youth, and therefore I read in a desperate attempt to feel like I once did as a dirty hillbilly child in south Georgia.

Except for the Family Circus. I hate the Family Circus.

Sidebar: I realize the Family Circus is an easy target, and is pretty much universally despised the world over as being pappy, overly sugary drivel, and that by picking on it, I make myself look like a hater. This is not the case I assure you. I have a legitimate complaint with the Family Circus. If you'll stick with the post, it'll hopefully make sense by the end. Unless you're one of these people who ended up here accidentally. Then I apologize completely... even though you chose not to listen to my earlier warning... so I don't have as much sympathy for you as I did before.

For those of you living in a cave for the past 50 years. It revolves around a fictional family in Arizona who are raising their five children. The plot of a typical strip usually involve one of the children misinterpreting something they've overheard, and then doing something zany. For example: a recent strip showed one of the kids (Jeffy I believe) standing naked in the kitchen telling he mother "but it's my birthday". The implication being that since his birthday, and naked people are often referred to as being in their birthday suits, that one is supposed to spend their birthday in their "birthday suit" (i.e. nekkid).

Go ahead and take a few minutes to stop laughing and regain your composure. I'll go fix myself a snake.

Are you good? Good! So... is this bad/offensive/wrong? No. Does it deserve to be pretended?

Maybe.

I guess the whole purpose of the Family Circus is give provide an outlet to parents who may deal with kids that misinterpret stuff and say something hilarious as a result. Is that sort of thing my cup of tea? No... but it clearly does have an audience... because people have been paying for the privilege of reading this for fifty years.

So, if I don't like the strip, but don't oppose to it in any easily recognizable manner... what am I upset about???

This strip:

What's wrong with this strip you're asking? I'll tell you what's wrong: the fact that Jeffy (or whoever it is) is singing "Pants on the Ground".

I get the joke. Really, I do. Jeffy (or whoever) apparently feels the need to scream everything he says/sings/communicates to his family... until it's time to talk to grandma. Then, Jeffy (or whoever) is suddenly a delicate flower that can't speak lest he wilt too soon.

For those of you who have been living in a cave, or are still boycotting the Fox Network because it had the audacity to peddle smut like Married with Children in the 90s, Pants on the Ground was a song made famous this year by Larry Platt. Larry Platt apparently is the next William Hung, and stole the hearts and minds of Americas youth for approximately two minutes one chilly January night in 2010.

If you haven't seen/heard the song, buy a TV. Until you get a TV, watch the clip by clicking here. It's not a particularly good song, but it was novel. And it got Larry Platt the 15 minutes desperately craved.

Now, what's wrong with being topical? Nothing really, but I don't go to the Family Circus to find out what's popping in pop culture these days. I go there for a slice of everyday family life. I just don't think Jeffy needed to sing "Pants on the Ground" He could have done the same thing by singing some typical child's song like "Row, Row, Row your Boat", "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" or L.L. Cool J's "I need love".

Furthermore: this song hasn't been noteworthy in two months (which in American Idol time might as well be 700 years). The strip was cute, and it did warm the cockles of my coal black heart, but the Family Circus isn't the place for topical humor. You don't last 50 years as comics strip by making jokes about flash in the pan cultural phenomenon. I mean, Peanuts didn't last as long is it did b/c Charles Schultz by making strips about Charlie Brown and Snoopy teaching Woodstock to do the Macarena.

See... this is why I'm going to die before my time... b/c I get too worked up about foolish things.

Too angry to heart you right now,

Blakely A-dam Sumner

The e-mail signature conundrum

The company that I work for utilizes Microsoft Outlook as our primary email server. One of the (theoretically) nifty features of using outlook is that you can utilize an "email signature" in your emails. For those unfamiliar with Outlook and it's various intricacies, the email signature is a blurb that one can have automatically added to the bottom of any and all emails you send. It's intended purpose is to allow someone to put in their name, contact information, office location, and job easily without having to re-type it every time.

Like most things in this crazy world of ours, this feature was created for good but has been manipulated and re-purposed for evil. What was meant to be a time saver is now viewed as some sort of a creative outlet for people who feel that their creativity is being held back by the conforming shackles of "the man". I know that may sound a bit harsh, but please, allow me to explain.

Our company policy around the email signature is that you can only post your name, work location, job title, and contact info. While practical, this is often not considered "fun" and just a little "boring", so people like to spice it up by adding things like clip art pictures of their favorite character from their favorite animated movie and/or a favorite quotation of theirs.

Once again, you may be asking yourself: Why is this wrong? What's so bad with letting folks show a little bit of their own personality in the workplace? Well... I'm glad you asked.

Let's start with the clip art. I know you love the clip art you found of the princesses making funny faces that are out of character, but when this picture (which is attached to every message you send) is 1MB in size it tends to make my inbox exceed it's size limit quite rapidly. Furthermore, said picture is oftentimes not approved by the company, and sends the message to anyone who may read this email who works outside the company that you clearly don't care enough about your employer to at least send out massively sized pictures of company approved artwork. It makes you look sloppy really.

Now, onto the quote. In theory, there's nothing wrong with adding a quote from your favorite movie, as long as it doesn't contain profanity or in some way defame another person/people/gender/governing body/religion/farm animal/etc. However, these quotes are often misquoted, which once again makes you look sloppy because it once again says that you don't care enough about the things you enjoy to ensure that you get them right. So, in theory, if you don't care to quote your favorite movie correctly, then you surely don't care enough about your job to make sure you do it right.

I know you may be thinking at this point that I am 100% against the e-mail signature with zany clip art and/or quotation. This is not the case. When done well, I think it can be a beautiful thing that will bring countless hours of enjoyment to all your coworkers. What I am against is seeing the same old boring clip art time and time again, or whatever motivational quote is big from this weeks hot self help book. I'm saying be different. Go big or go home. Dance like there's nobody watching. Run with the big dogs, don't stay on the porch. And don't use any of the last 4 sentences as your motivational quote. Instead, quote some of your favorite 90's rap, hip-hop, and smooth R&B songs. They're chock full of insightful, life affirming lyrics that apply to almost any scenario. Here are just a few of my favorites:

• L.A. face, with an Oakland Booty
• If she wants to be a freak, and sell it on the weekend, it's none of your business
• I tell em "skat, skittle, ska-babble". Got hit with a bible and put in the hospital for talking that mess
• I got 99 problems... but a insert your own name here ain't one
• Make em' say uuuuunnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhh
• You've got to understand: Trick luv da kids
• I'm not a player. I just crush. A LOT.
• If you're feeling like a pimp, then go on brush your shoulders off
• I love it when ya call me big poppa
• So fresh. So clean.
• Until ya see me, trust me, you ain't seen bouncin' back.
• We just sittin' here. Trying to win. Trying hard not to sin

Note: However names the most songs and artist form the above list will get the first official Blake Sumner "No Prize". There's no cash, certificate, or anything else. That's why it's called the "no prize".

And if you're going to use clip art, at least get something interesting. Like Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes peeing on something (preferably something you hate). Need some examples? OK!

Now... would I ever do this? Of course not. I value my job and have other outlets within which to vent my creative juices (such as this abortion of a bloggeration you now find yourself reading.) And, I also personally feel like the ole' e-mail siggy is just wall paper to most people. Because... odds are, if you're sending me an e-mail (especially to my work e-mail address) you probably know who I am, what I do, and how to get in touch with me without the aid of the e-mail signature.

That being said, if you do send me an e-mail in the future. Please make if look something like this:

Blake Sumner

"You can find me in da club"

The King of Clermont

407-555-clazzy

Heart,

Blakely A-Dam Sumner

The Hump Day Blog

Heh... I called this blog the hump day blog. What? Don't look at you computer screen like that. You know you giggled a little bit too...

Anyway. Hello Blog readers. This is Blake from "ya'll don't wanna hear me, ya just wanna dance". That is the blog you are reading right now. I am from Georgia. This is the third posting on my debut blog here on the interweb.This blog is brought to you by the words that connect the subjects to the predicates, helping to form complete sentences. These are your helping verbs, AKA your linking verbs.

Linking verbs are as such:

You should go read this blog
This is the best post of the week
You could go recommend this blog to your friends
I would recommend this blog to my friends
You will follow this blog

Ok... that being said. It's Wednesday. Wednesdays are kind of the awesomest day of the week. There's a lot of reasons why, but if I had to list my favorite things about the Wednesday, this is what they'd be:

• the aforementioned fact that it is, by it's general nature of being in the middle of a week, referred to as "hump" day (presumably b/c you are over the "hump" of the week, and it's all down hill until the weekend. Or... you're a pervert)
• It's Comic Book day
• I can watch my DVRed episode of Lost

I'm certain there's other stuff I like about Wednesdays... but I can't think of them right now.

Let's see. what else is up?

Uh... the season finale of Big Love rocked my face off, but I do have concerns about where the show goes from here. Don't worry... I won't spoil it for anyone the way a few jerks at work ruined the end of Dexter for me.

The last book that I read that I truly loved was Chuck Klosterman's "Eating the Dinosaur". Klosterman is a journalist who will periodically publish a collection of essays about various topics in pop culture. Here's an example of why he's one of my favorite authors, in the form of excerpts from "Eating the Dinosaur":

"Sometimes it's hard to tell if things that happened in your life only happened to you or if they happened to everyone. Every formative incident feels normal to the child who expiriences it, so sometimes it takes twenty five or thirty years to realize a particular event was singularly bizzare. For example, it took me a long time recognize that being institutionally taught to dislike disco in my second grade social studies class was deeply weird-unless, of course, this was a totally normal thing that happened to everybody in America who was born in 1972 and attended a public elementary school. I still can't tell."

Hmmm... is there anything else I'm digging right now? Yes. Yes there is. In no uncertain order:

• The Avett Brothers
• The Simpsons
• The Wild Things by Dave Eggers
• The Unwritten by Mike Carey
• Chuck on NBC
• Hugs
• Mean Mugs
• Shoulder Shrugs
• Smoked Salmon
• The Godfather II
• Bad Boy Entertainment

So, what's new with all of you (besides the fact that you love my Blog, and are following it the way some obese children follow the Ice Cream truck around the neighborhood)? Reading any good books? Seen any good movies? Digging any tv? New favorite CD? I want to know!

Heart,

Blakely A-dam

Note: Special thanks to the band Reggie and the Full Effect for their song Linkin Verbz, which gave me the idea for the intro of todays post

The Application Process

As I mentioned yesterday, me and the missus will soon be moving from sunny Flow-dye-ah-duh to the (arguably equally) sunny Kal-aye-four-nay-yuh. That being said, we’re now in the process of cleaning up shop and getting everything ready for our move. We’ve got several things to take care of, such as moving our cars, furniture, shutting off our utilities, trying to set up a final walk through with your landlord, etc..

However, there are a lot of things that people don’t think about. For example: some of you might not know this, but I am the King of Clermont. Mind you, it’s not a glamorous job, and you don’t have any actual power over the town elders and other governing bodies. In fact, should you ever go to a city council meeting and try to flex your regal muscle, be prepared to be baker acted. It’s really more of a figurehead role, which no one knows or cares about.

That being said, you may be asking yourself: Why does Clermont have a king, and who decided that you should be said king. The answer to the first part of that question is: Nobody likes a negative Nelly. The answer to the second part of the question is: I applied to be the king of course! And now that my reign of terror is at an end, I find it my duty to appoint a new king (or queen), in my place.

To help cull out the good candidates from the bad candidates, I will be hosting interviews at the abandoned Bob Evans on 192 next Thursday from 3:00 to 6:00 p.m. If you feel that you are a likely candidate, please e mail me at theking@kingoclermont.com and I will send you an application.

To help get the creative juices a-flowing, I’ve pasted a copy of the application I filled out when I interviewed for the throne, lo’ these many years ago.

Name
Name (First, Middle, Last)
Blake A-Dam Sumner

Known Aliases:
Roy L. Tee
Tom Van American
The Ambassador of Awesome
Rich Business
Ms. Jackson (If you’re Nasty)

Other Information
Have you been an employee of this organization in the past?
Are you asking me if I’ve ever been the king of Clermont before? B/c if so, the answer is no. I was once the Arch Duke of Huffer Ga., but that ended poorly due to an unfortunate incident at the Dairy Queen.

Questions

How did you find out about this position?

Well, the old king posted an ad in the back of an issue of Highlights magazine. I’d just gotten done with that Month’s match game, when I saw the add and figured I’d give it a whirl.

Why do you want to be the king of Clermont?
First… you get zee money… zeen… you get zee power… zeen… you get… zee women!

What do you know about Clermont?

Here’s a list of what I know about in Clermont, in no certain order:
1.) There is a shocking lack of Renaissance Festivals. If appointed king, I plan to change this.
2.) They have not perfected time travel.
3.) Orange groves. Lots of Orange groves.
4.) Ditto for Hills
5.) It is, to my limited understanding, the wakeboarding capital of the world.

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you were the “king” of something else?

No, but I was the ghost writer of the 1990 pop power ballad “The King of Wishful Thinking”, as made famous by the band Go West. Mind you… this isn’t something I’m proud of… but I still did it.

In hindsight… maybe I should be proud of that song, considering that I was only 9 years old when I wrote and recorded it.

What skills do you have that would make you the ideal fit for this position?
1.) An iron fist with which to rule over the people
2.) The ability to instill terror
3.) I know the entire script of pee wee’s big adventure by heart
4.) A paranoia that ensures the kingdom will be at war with Polk County for the Duration of my reign
5.) I’ve already written my memoirs. The tentative title is: 28 years of Hustlin’, most of them “Hustle Free” . Or: How I helped the lot lizards get their groove back.” It’s a glorious 2,000 page tome detailing my early struggles as a middle aged white child in south Georgia who builds a robot that accidently freezes Niagra Falls. It’s… kind of a love story.
6.) I do my own laundry
7.) I enjoy long walks on the beach, romantic candle light dinners, snuggling, watching Grey’s Anatomy, and the music of Porter Wagner
8.) I can make a list like no one’s business
9.) If this whole king thing doesn’t pan out, I’ve got my love of taxidermy to fall back on
10.) I’m easy on the eyes, but hard on the ears
11.) I am willing to grow a moustache if necessary

If appointed, you will be responsible for finding a new city anthem . What are your initial thoughts on the matter?

Wow… that’s a great question. It’s hard to say, but if pressed I’d say these my initial choices, as well as my reasoning:
1.) In da club – 50 Cent: I believe this lyric says it: they can hate, but if they hate, just let em’ hate and watch the money pile up
2.) Thug Holiday – Trick Daddy: Trick luv da kids, and Blake luv dis song
3.) Elvira – The Oak Ridge Boys: I think the Boys need the money.
4.) Just Dance – Lady Ga Ga: What can I say? I heart me the GAH GAH
What’s the most important advice you’ve ever been given?
Don’t whiz on the electric fence.

What’s the first thing you’ll do if elected?

This question bothers me, because King’s can’t technically be elected. So, no matter how I answer, it’s kind of a moot point because anything I would do upon being elected would not matter b/c kings are not elected, they are born.

To answer your question though: I’d buy a yacht. And a copy of Motley Crues “Shout at the Devil” on cassette tape.

Once again, all intersted parties please meet me at the Bob Evans on 192 next wednesday. It'll be wild!!!

Blogging = Fancytown

Yes friends and neighbors, I'd joined the ranks of the pretentious hipster elite who think that their mundane existences are important enough that they need to be chronicled for all times on the Internet. I don't really know why I did it, but I'm fairly certain that it's Damaris's fault. That's right lady, I said it. It's your fault. I hold you eternally responsible for this abortion of words, and the enemies I am sure to garner for it.

That being said, I believe introductions (and awkward proclamations) are in order. My name is Blakely A-dam Sumner. Blake to my friends. Ms. Jackson if you're NASTY. I'm happily entering my second year of marriage to the greatest woman of all times, Mrs. Teresa Sumner (Yee being her maiden name). I'm a 28 year old man who still reads comic books, loves music that most people haven't heard of (it's all tied into that pretension I mentioned a while back, and currently works at the Walt Disney World Resort in Orlando Florida. That being said, Teresa and I are actually going to be moving across the country at the end of the month. This is probably going to be a shock to many of you, because this isn't something we've broadcast very broadly before. This was and was not an easy decision for us, that can't easily be explained via blogeration.

The long and the short of it is that we want to live in a place that doesn't feel so... temporary. I don't know how to explain it better than that. If you've got well wishes for us on our new venture, by all means send them on, if you don't... then shut your faces.

Now that introductions and proclamations have been made, let's talk a bit about things that matter. I'm personally on a kick where I think we should all take time daily to focus on things we have to be thankful for. Mayhap this blog will become a place for me to post things that you too can be thankful for, and let you haters comment away.

That being said, here's five things you can be thankful for today:

1. I am afraid of everything. This is no idol boast. I quite literally fear for my life both inside and outside of my home. You are not me, so therefore, it stands to reason that you are not afraid of everything.
2. The sky will most likely never fall. Some people say that this is because the sky is simply a reflection of the suns rays upon the belt of air surrounding the earth. While this logic is also serviceable, I choose to believe that the sky is held in place because there is a troop of wizards who live in the earth's core battling day and night to keep the sky where it is, and not falling down around us. Thanks wizards, for your dedication to my safety.
3. Thanks to Wikipedia, you can let the entire world know exactly how awesome you are. For example, if you go to Wikipedia and type in my name, you will find out that I hunted vampires with Teddy Roosevelt in the far future, invented the wishing well, and carved my initials into the great wall of china with the aid of ghost poodle named Farkus.
4. If you're not certain, I'm most likely being sarcastic.
5. Jay-Z will never retire. That's right. H.O.V.A. will never stop rapping. And, as an added bonus, now that he's married to Beyonce, the likelihood of his getting killed due to drug related violence is greatly lessened. However, DMX still hates him...

Now that we've gotten all that taken care of, let the unmitigated laming by internet trolls begin! BRING IT ON SUCKERS!!! YOU CAIN'T TOUCH ME! KING KONG AIN'T GOT JACK ON ME!!!