Confession

At the request of my sister, Amanda, I am going to share one of my deepest darkest secrets. A long long time ago when I was a wee lad I so enjoyed going to the movies to see the latest Disney Animated Classic. One of my favorites was Aladdin. I LOVED IT. I wanted to be him. I wanted to be him so much that I would think of ways that I could get my hands on a monkey and name it Abu. I couldn't wait until we had the technology or magic to have actual flying carpets. And I don't doubt that I even tried inventing a few on my own. 1992 was a magical year. My Grandma Karen even gave me Roller Blades for my birthday, they were all the rage at the time. I was even lucky enough to own and operate a Sony Walkman... the kind that played tapes. Everyday I would rush home from school, slap on my Roller Blades, put my Aladdin soundtrack in the tape player and hit the streets. A little silly, I know. But the truth is even better. I was really practicing for Aladdin on Ice. Everyday I would practice going backwards, doings twits, and skating on one leg. I was sure that with enough practice and determination the director would one day happen to drive down my street in his Porsche and see me skating. The breaks on his red 911 would come to a screeching halt as he was mesmerized by my moves. In my mind he wasn't a Dateline child predator, but if he were I could out skate his car. He would step out of his car, take another puff of his cigar and say, "Man, that kid's got talent." He would sign me on to skate as Aladdin, of course. I would travel the world, which at the time was shining shimmering and splendid. And that is how my wildest dreams were going to come true. That is really how I imagined it. Exactly how I imagined it. Oh, in 1992 I was in the 5th grade. I'm pretty sure that is too old for an Aladdin obsession, but in my defense I did know what a Porsche 911 was.

Mr. Greening

In general, I really liked school but at Forbes Elementary Mr. Greening made me want to go run the nurse's office and fake sick. He was always screaming, always mad, always red in the face. So I was pleased to hear that he had passed away. I hope he applied sunscreen because it is going to be hot on the other side.

I never understood why he got so angry the time my friend and I drew marker mustaches on ourselves. The rest of the class was laughing. I remember his wobbly old green office chair that he would lean so far back in that it would nearly touch the ground. Everyday I would pray that it would fall over so he would crack his head open. He was also a racist. As a social studies teacher, probably not the best quality. He freely used the N word in class. This was in the 1990's, not the 1890's. One day one of my black friends was so upset, he faked sick and went home so he didn't have to hear it anymore. I think that is why I hate him most.

He was also a liar. He said he was born on February 29 of a leap year, which is why I always thought he was so bitter. So few birthday parties and he had a twin that he had to share these vary rare celebrations with. Not true, according to his obituary. However, I do particularly love this part of Mr. Greening's online obituary, "He loved ass sports, campint, fishing, huntine, but he especially loved golf." Yes, in Utah County we pronounce huntine (hunting) and moun'un (mountain) but ass sports?

Popping my BLOG cherry

BLOG. What a funny word. If Blog were a person, his name would fit in well with Clyde and Clod and Fred. They would probably play four-square together, tell non-funny jokes in science class, and be picked on by their peers. Hopefully this blog will have more sex-appeal than his name would suggest and he will rise to be the coolest kid around.

I'm starting this purely out of boredom while I pretend to "work", that and to keep the paparazzi at bay by keeping the public aware of my every move and thought. My life is SO interesting. If celebrities are just like me, then I suppose that I am just like them. We both wear designer jeans and order take-out. SAME.

I wanted the name of my blog to be zacharoo or sharky. Sadly both were taken by less ambitious bloggers. This blog may have the same fate with a single entry, but keep your fingers crossed for at least 10 laughable entries. In a shocking act of fate my middle name was an available option. Dukepoo.blogspot.com Yes, ladies, gentleman, hermaphrodites, and non-gendered people alike, that is my real-life middle name. It is Hopi, as in the Native American Tribe. Legend has it I started life as a feral child only to be taken in my Hopi Indians some time later. I spent my years on Arizona's Mohave Indian Reservation cultivating my artistic sand painting, hunting, and rain dancing skills. As a former feral child, I was never able to justify hunting and the Tribe eventually decided it was my time to leave. They sold me to Rick and Marcy in exchange for a dead bald eagle that Rick "found" on a road trip to Arizona. I'm sure they made it into an amazing headdress and the Albrechts called this exchange an adoption. To honor my heritage they kept Dukepoo (pronounced duke-uh-poo) as my middle name. Don't worry, I've heard all the jokes and they are about as hilarious and clever as a 2nd grade comedian telling bathroom jokes. Dukepoo really means medicine bag. It is the prized posession of the healer of the tribe. I generally tell people that it means healer of the tribe because I want to keep my secret remedies and drugs to myself as not to reveal all of the sacred Hopi rituals to the world. Well blog, you shall be known by the name of Dukepoo. Please remember to always be awesome, entertaining, and funny... but not the kind of funny like watching a drunk Indian dance around a camp fire. You might get burnt.