Category Archives: Sexy Adventures

10 Days of 10 Years Later – Day 02

“Faust complained about having two souls in his breast, but I harbor a whole crowd of them and they quarrel. It is like being in a republic.” -Otto Von Bismarck (according to GoodReads.com*)

That quote by Bismarck, if it truly is from Bismarck, sums up rather eloquently the position I find myself in trying to reach an intellectual consensus on my thoughts regarding yesterday’s post.  While at first I could pass off this notion of 10 days to talk about my relationship with my father on the 10th anniversary of his death as gimmicky, I’m a bit concerned now that I won’t have any answers after so little time.

I find myself standing in a senate of voices, comprised of friends, family, movie characters, characters from literature, philosophers, and of course my father and Adam32.  But unlike the half-circle amphitheater of the Roman senate, mine is more like courtroom in Superman.  Just a circular, down lit, antiseptic disc of white surrounded on all sides by giant, disembodied holographic heads shouting their cases at me.  A din of opinion focused solely on who I am.  And at the center, I stand alone in a groovy kinetic sculpture of hula hoops as they hold their mirrors of bias out for me.

Superman78Trial

Sadly I’m more Non than Zod.

I’m still trying to cut through the tide of opinions and make sense of it all.  This endeavor is turing out to be less straight-forward than I had hoped.  Maybe I need to take things back to an even playing field.

That’s us.  Dad and the two Adams.  Roughly the same age, dad a little older.  But I think I’ve always skewed younger than dad.

We were born 40 years and one day apart.  Dad on November 15th, 1933.  Me on November 16th, 1973.  We both had round faces with half-moon eyes that look sweetly innocent or capable of unspeakable evil depending on your interpretation, a trait we would carry into adulthood.  And that’s where the similarities ended.  Dad came from a family of siblings deep enough to run a co-ed basketball team with an ample number of subs, while I have but one sister.  His family did the whole “Grapes of Wrath” thing out of the Arkansas dustbowl when dad was just a boy, while my mom still lives in the house I was brought home to from the hospital when I was born.

Simpsons&cactus

Steinbecking the hell out of this place

Dad was something of a loud mouth and a punk, I was quiet and shy with aspirations of being a loud mouth punk.  Dad alternated between brilliant and dumb as a box of rocks, and would later in life boast about “winning” contests when he was a kid to see who could keep a beam of light from a magnifying glass cooking their skin the longest.  He would always go first, and all the other boys would give up immediately after his heroic time.  I still remember the look on his face when I told him, “Dad, you burned yourself for the amusement of other children who only pretended to play the game.”  He was not pleased.

I alternated between cunning and gullible.  I was a quiet instigator, and would come up with schemes that I’d have others do while I watched, but would also fall prey to simple traps.  Dad got into scuffles, I reasoned with bullies.  I was known to put myself into trash cans up through high school, stare a bully in the eyes and say, “There is no dignity you can take from me that I won’t take from myself first.” I had a lot of mustard and mayonnaise stains on my pants, but I never took a punch and never got robbed.

As he got into his teen years Dad continued to walk what Spinal Tap once defined as “the fine line between stupid and clever.  His mother, a diminutive firebrand of a woman named Myrtle, would wield authority over the household of towering teenage boys she found herself up against with the use of a broom handle.  My father decided one day when he was 15 that she would have no power without the broom, so he devised a plan to take it. He was being a particularly salty punk, and Myrtle cocked her broomin’ arm back threateningly.  Dad used his reach advantage and snatched it from her hand, cocked it back behind him and said, “who has the power now?”  My grandmother Myrtle responded by evoking the power of crusty Ozark Cherokee and in a single deft move snatched the broom back from him and began to beat him mercilessly about the head and shoulders with it until he dropped to the ground and apologized.  He crossed the line back into clever and never tried to take the broom again.

family sitting

If the baby was making moonshine in old family photo it would not have surprised me.

To juxtapose that, at this same age I was a member of the Latin Club, the Marching Band, and began to wear ties and short sleeves to school because I felt someone should be wearing ties.  I lived more for my own oddball style of self-amusement, but followed every rule to the letter.

I don’t think my father would have liked me as a boy.  I think I would have either been convincing himself to burn his hand with a magnifying glass, or more likely, he would have been intimidating me into servitude.

I haven’t ever put that together before, that my father would have likely been one of my biggest bullies, but it does speak with some volume as to what I’m going to write about tomorrow.

Perhaps a voice is cutting through the din after all.

But the answers are still lost in cacophony.

Until tomorrow.

I miss you Dad.  Thanks for spending the time with me.

*It is strongly against my nature to post a quote that I have not first verified, but time is short.

10 Days of 10 Years Later – Day 01

10 days from now, March 12th, will mark the 10 year anniversary since my father passed away.  It’s been looming a bit on the horizon for me, and I wanted to make sure I commemorated it in a way befitting the meandering course my relationship with my father took up until the day he died.  And the now 10 years that followed.

I think about those things quite a bit, our relationship up until that overcast Sunday morning he passed away, and the 10 years that have followed.  I think on who he was, how he became who he was.  I linger on who I was, and how I became who I was.  And inevitably I settle into thinking about who I am, and how fundamentally different I am from the 32 year old version of myself who had just lost his father.

I often wonder if 42 year old Adam would have tolerated 32 year old Adam.

As this date has gotten closer I’ve discovered that I increasingly wonder if 32 year old me would have liked the person 42 year old Adam has become, and I wonder if Adam32 would see his father when he talked to Adam42.

And how much would he see?

And in those things he sees, would they be those things he loved about his father, or those things he didn’t?  What has Adam42 learned from the experiences of Adam32, and the years since?  Did he keep promises to himself to evolve, or is there a genetic predisposition to collapse into some of our father’s less desirable quirks?

And then, most importantly, I think about Dad and wonder what he would think of Adam42?  Would THEY have been friendly?  Or are they too similar to ever be friends?

As it happens, there’s only 3 people in the entire universe who can answer those questions.  Unfortunately, of those 3 people, one is dead and another is ten years removed by a linear perception of time.

So that leaves me, Adam42 left to answer those questions and many more.  And what better way to commemorate my father than to try and make sense of those questions.  Perhaps an answer can be found.  Perhaps not.  But I invite you to indulge me in the hunt.

For the next 10 days I’ll post daily on some different aspect of these questions, the life of my father, and in a very real sense his death.  I’ll unpack some boxes buried deep in the back attic of my mind and try to answer honestly how the three of us would have felt about each other?  Is the nucleus of Adams within the probability cloud of Bob’s electron shell a stable atom, or would it decay into nothingness?

Giddyup, pop.  We’ve got some adventuring to do.

lilbobonhorse1

Lil’ Bob, Big Pimpin’.

Post Script:  You’d be proud of me Dad, I waited to start writing this until the VERY last minute, just like I did with your eulogy.  So now I gotta scramble every day for the next ten days to meet my own self-imposed deadline.  I partly blame your questionable decision to shuffle off this mortal coil during what would turn out to be a very busy season for me.  We always were a bit of an uphill battle, weren’t we?  I’m excited for this, Dad.  I hope I do you proud.

Gender Stereotypes

What are they?  Are they dangerous?  Are they simply the brain’s way of collapsing data into quick to process nuggets for the fight/flight reflex?  Can they be overcome once the stereotype nugget has passed through the fight/flight barrier and made contact with the higher brain function?   Let’s do an experiment, shall we?

The Science Werks, in an effort to understand how stereotypes affect the brain and where exactly a stereotype becomes detrimental to human progress, have worked up this test:

Look at the images of an excessively hairy man with a pink mohawk, and then answer the questions below, keeping tally of your answers.

IMG_3658-3 IMG_3656-3 IMG_3653-2 IMG_3645-2 IMG_3643-2

QUESTIONS:

1: Do you find the excessively hairy man with the pink mohawk’s poses to be gender appropriate?

           1 – Strongly Agree                                                             10 – Strongly Disagree

2: Do you find the excessively hairy man with the pink mohawk’s poses to be offensive?

1 – Strongly Agree                                                             10 – Strongly Disagree

3: Do you feel the excessively hairy man with the pink mohawk has no business posing like a 1940’s pinup girl?

1 – Strongly Agree                                                             10 – Strongly Disagree

4: Look at the excessively hairy man with the pink mohawk.  After allowing initial gender stereotypes to pass into the logic centers of the brain, do you find the photos appealing on any level (alluring, comedic, zany), or offensive?

1 – Appealing                                                                    10- Offensive

5: Look at the excessively hairy man with the pink mohawk.  Look at his legs.  Do you find his legs appealing or offensive?

1 – Appealing                                                                    10 – Offensive

6: Look at yourself.  Do you feel the excessively hairy man with the pink mohawk is judging you the way you judged him?

1 – Yes                                                                               10 – No

7: Look at yourself again.  Have you accepted the excessively hairy man with a pink mohawk doing 40’s pinup poses into your heart?

1 – Yes                                                                               10 – No

8: Look at the excessively hairy man with the pink mohawk doing 40’s pinup poses, and gauge your opinion to the following statement:   “That dude is hella rad and cute as a button.”

1 – Strongly Agree                                                             10 – Strongly Disagree

Okay, add up your points and consult the chart below.

Chartunavailable

Well crap.  Okay.  How about instead we throw away the other questions and just focus on your answer to number 8?

If you scored a 1-3, congratulations, you can look past little brain nuggets and experience a life not ruled by stereotypes and you have impeccable taste.

If you scored a 4-6, you are grappling with some internal issues, but likely will come out for the better for it and ultimately help shepherd others.  We have faith in you.

If you scored a 7-10, you can just go eat a Costco-sized bucket of unwashed wieners.

What have we learned here?  Well, I don’t know that we really learned anything, but I do know that I’m hella cute as a button.

Big Damned Hero

Less than 18 months ago, Hemstead was suffering the after-effects of a massive stroke.  He couldn’t walk, he couldn’t move his left side, had trouble keeping up with the pace of conversation, and was unable to sit upright without assistance.

This photo was taken last week when he came to California to survey the Western White house, as well as the Western Brown house, the pink one, and also there was a very nice mauve one that tickled his fancy.

He’s leaner.  He’s not meaner. He’s walking.  He’s laughing.  He’s proof that anything can be overcome.

Simpson/Hemstead owes a debt of thanks to his friends, family, the team of doctors and therapists who have had to endure pun after pun during therapy sessions.  None of this would have been possible without you all.

Nor without the absolutely tireless determination of his lovely wife.  Truly a special woman.  She’s not only tolerated him this long, she’s tolerated me.  She’s rolled with the punches and countered back hard.  I’m proud to call her my friend.

Thank you all for your continued support.  The fight isn’t over, and there’s still more heroics to be accomplished, but I know with wonderful supporters like you, Hemstead will prevail for he is the hero of the Simpson/Hemstead campaign:

Cap’n ‘Merica

What precisely is he holding his shield up with?

What precisely is he holding his shield up with?

The Legend of Flat Jim

Alternatively, he also has no penis. Un-flat Jim would like me to remind people that this is where Flat and Un-Flat Jim diverge. Don’t make him send photos.

It turns out that the pressures of being America’s candidates is somewhat tricky.  Often times folks want you to be a part of their book signing, car dealership promotion, Comic Book Convention, or funeral processions.  Even with two of us sharing the workload of a single candidate it becomes somewhat tricky to be everywhere at every time.  This is why Flat Jim was born.

Flat Jim is a photo of one half of the nation’s most under-utilized candidates that you, the supporter can print out, affix to a stick of some manner, and create your own ingenious photo opportunities with the Co-mmander in Chief.   He’s portable, fits in backpacks, and costs less than 3 dollars to create.  We have rolled out beta versions of Flat Jim to multiple markets and are already seeing some amazing photos of what Flat Jim can do for our country.  We will soon open up Flat Jim to the general public, with instructions on how to make your own Flat Jim.  Watch this space, for Flat Jim is coming.

So please, go check out the Flat Jim Tumblr, like it, follow it, share it with your friends and let’s help spread Flat Jim to the world.

Happy Halloween From Simpson/Hemstead

Stay safe, have fun, send us sexy photos of your sexy Halloween adventures.

And remember, Halloween never gets better than this:

Wash Day Tomorrow. Nothing Clean, Right?

Simpson/Hemstead merch adds an etherial glow to every situation.

2011 Plans For Simpson/Hemstead

I think we need a boat.

 

Yeah,  we need a boat to take people out, wine them and dine them, get them drunk and blackmail them with photos from said boat for votes.

 

If you have a boat we can use for this, let me know; we’ll pay you handsomely* for your contribution to the campaign.

 

This one should do nicely

*All compensation valued in pre-depression dollars.

Simpson/Hemstead Funday

Sometimes even candidates get bored.

This is what happens:

<p><a href=”http://vimeo.com/19618642″>Testing Magic Bullet and Mercadillo and the durability of GoPro.</a> from <a href=”http://vimeo.com/user4081279″>Adam Simpson</a> on <a href=”http://vimeo.com”>Vimeo</a&gt;.</p>

Campaign For the White House (or How Murray Saved Arbor Day, Part 1)

As many of you know, Simpson/Hemstead took a monumental and precedent-setting trip to Washington D.C. this month to take our case to the people; provided that the people were in a bar, or foodery.

We had the fry vote, but the Jack and Coke delegate seemed a little empty

All in all it was a successful trip!  We never saw the inside of the White House, and I think we were followed by Secret Service three times in the week, which is down from last year.

The trip was successful, but I missed two very important photo ops:  One with a naked Aborigine man who sat next to the Jackson statue every day and watched the White House holding a long walking staff.  If anyone is Simpson/Hemstead material, a pot-bellied naked Aborigine who just sits and keeps an eye on shit is it.  I also missed a chance at a restaurant to get a senator to hold a Vote Simpson/Hemstead sticker.  But as you can see, we did quite a good job getting the word out, in places we expected people to go.

First of all, we found ourselves put up by the hard working American People (read: my totally awesome girlfriend Jacqueline) in what I suppose could be considered an adequate hotel, the St. Regis Washington DC.  Sure, it’s a 5 star hotel, but it was nearly two whole blocks walk to the White House every morning.  Not to mention there wasn’t a complimentary shuttle to take me to the Starbucks next door every morning.  It really felt like slumming in all honesty.

Slumming might have been a drastic overstatement.

So once I stopped crying and realized that I would have to live with a bathroom that only had a 19 inch TV built into it rather than a 40 inch that would have left no room to do one’s hair, and that I was going to have to work off some of this year’s campaign blubber to get anywhere, I decided to put on some clean underwear and brush my teeth (it was Thursday after all)

Magic Mirror TV knows what I like.

I felt good about this trip.

Part 2:  The first day of adventure!

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