I love Sunday's because we secular heathens don't have to go to church and so are free to explore the deserted streets at dawn like survivors in a zombie movie.
This morning we went to Perkin's for breakfast. We've become quite popular at Perkin's because of the overbearing cuteness of Samantha. Whenever we get up to leave all the waitress's line up to say goodbye as Sam saunters through their gauntlet of love like she's the Queen of the Diner.
After breakfast we met the Torres' at Chuck E. Cheese. Sunday morning at 9 a.m. is the absolute best time to go to Chuck E. Cheese because all the Baptists are in church condemning rock-and-roll and homosexuality, which leaves the home of the giant rat deserted. Samantha didn't really like the rides very much as none of them included food or The Wiggles, but we did get her to play some Skee-ball. Sam's idea of Skee-ball is to grab a ball when it rolls down the chute and run around the restaurant, probably in hopes of finding something small enough to kill and eat. For her, it's really about the ball, not so much the Skee.
After playing for an hour we took Sam over to the prize counter to redeem our tickets. Unfortunately we only had 47 tickets which is a mere 1453 shy of what you need to get a smartie. Not the whole package of smarties, just the one. So, we traded in our stubs for a handful of lint and counted ourselves lucky.
Today at lunch with the family:
Me: I'm thinking I'll have my mid-life crisis sometime next year.
Joanna: You're the only person I know who plans a mid-life crisis.
Me: Well, I'd really like to have a mid-life crisis, I just can't find the time!
Joanna: That should be the new title for your website.
I touched on this with the GTA: San Andreas post last week but it's reared it's head again, this time on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.
Jon's guest was Rick Santorum who's probably best known for being the tool who's pushing the gay marriage ban. During the interview he talked about popular culture and it's harmful affects on children. Stewart said: (paraphrasing) "So you think it might not be a good idea to have talking lizards sell beer?" To which Santorum replied, "No, I was thinking more along the lines of the Victoria Secret commercials."
I keep seeing this theme over and over again and I'm beginning to think that I'm alone in my belief of what is harmful to our children. What do you think is worse: An advertising campaign that uses cute little talking animals to sell alcohol or one that shows women in underwear? One is attractive to children and brings brand recognition at an early age to a product that is the #1 cause of motor vehicle accidents in this country...... the other gives teenage boys a boner and makes them want to fuck supermodels. While I believe an argument can be made for lessening deaths on the highway by scaling back youth exposure to alcohol advertising, I don't believe there is a force on this planet that will make teenage boys stop wanting to fuck supermodels.
People, it's not the sex and nudity that hurts us. It's the violence. Get over it.
My mind jumps around quite a bit. I have a tendency to segue so fast that people can't keep up with how I got to the point I'm making. For example, you would say, "My car is broken," and then I would say, "Did you know that giraffe's have the longest tongue of any animal?" On the surface that seems to make no sense, but to me it makes perfect sense because when you mentioned "car" I thought about the new Mustang that I wrote about yesterday while sitting at the kitchen counter watching National Geographic Explorer which was doing a show about giraffes. So, with that in mind, here's my thought process this morning.
It started when I read a story by David Sedaris, a great writer who's sister Amy is a favorite guest on Letterman. Then, as I got in the shower, I started thinking....
That David Sedaris sure is funny. That story takes place in an airport. Maybe I could write something funny that takes place in an airport. It could be something about how "normal people" do something that I don't, or vice-versa. My problem is, I'm actually pretty normal which makes it that much harder to come up with interesting comparisons. Last time I was in the airport I noticed the bar at Chili's was full. I've never drank at the airport so maybe that's not normal. Wait, that's not true, I sat and had drinks with Bobbi that time that I was flying to Tampa and she had to fly to Ft. Lauderdale two hours later. We met at the airport bar and had drinks before she left and it was very cool and movie-like and I wished that we could retire to some cool hotel and make love like strangers with the snow falling outside the window except that in Tampa we would have been at the crappy airport Hilton and our room would have overlooked long-term parking.
What about the part in David's story when he met the cabdriver? Has anything funny ever happened to me in a cab? The last time I was in a cab was in New Orleans and the cab driver went on and on about how he likes to gamble and drink a little, but not too much like some people, and I assured him that he was well adjusted. I remember when I used to play all the casino games and justify the losses. There are stages to everything in life. I remember when I was first starting to gamble and the looks I got from veterans who were past the point of getting excited about a blackjack story. Now, I'm one of those veterans. I wonder if this is just a stage too and someday I'll think I was stupid now. Like when I think about my sex life as a young man and how I didn't know anything at all and yet I still had more fun than I do now. Hey, maybe that's what I'll write about. I could do a piece on stages and how they change. I could say something like, "When you're 18 and you finally get a girl naked, you don't even know what to do with your hands, let alone your tongue or penis, yet you still seem to have more fun than you do years later when you're covered in Astro-Glide with two Asian hookers and a battery-powered object up your ass." That would be funny. It's funny how I ended up with that line after starting with the airport. There's an idea..... maybe I'll write about my thought process and how I segue from topic to topic so quickly. As soon as I get out of the shower, I'll make some notes.
Let's face it, I'm 41 years old. The days of looking cool, being cool, or for that matter even being allowed around cool people, are over for me. It's a sad day indeed when you realize that if you had the money, the car you would really like to own is the top-of-the-line Honda Minivan (mmmm power doors!).
My wife makes fun of me because I'm constantly saying, "I'd like to have that car." It's an old habit that comes from being young and knowing with all certainty that what car you drive is much more important than retirement funds or health insurance. Nowadays, I'm much more concerned about the college fund than the college ride, but it's still fun to dream. So, here, officially, is my dream car.
The 2007 Ford Mustang Shelby Cobra GT500. You know it's a cool car just by the length of the name, which is directly proportional to how cool the car is (case in point, I drive a Kia). This particular car is the fastest production Mustang ever made. It's the kind of car you buy, drive on weekends and never sell because it will always be a collectors car. I love this car. It reminds me of everything I wanted when I was 16 (except for Betty Gomez, although, for $40,000 they should throw her in too.)
Children are strange. First of all, they seem unaware that there is a certain protocol that comes with life, little rules we all obey without being told. For example, you rarely see an adult pull his pants down in the middle of Winn Dixie, unless, of course, he's really trying to show his displeasure with the produce selection. However, a child will do it for no reason other than "it's Tuesday." They don't follow the rules.
They also like to invent rules that make no sense. Samantha has done that recently with two items from the Tupperware cabinet. Usually, she is content to just pull everything out of the cabinet and distribute it about the floor but lately she has a new purpose. Every day she goes into the cabinet, pulls out the small scale and the plastic bottle and carries them over to the blue bench. Do not be fooled into thinking this is a random act, it is not. If you return the items to the cabinet while she is napping, she will put them back before the day is through. Part of me finds this incredibly cute and charming while the other part worries that she will one day be the roomate from hell who goes postal if the ketchup bottle isn't facing "label side out."
Time will tell.
James Doohan, who played "Scotty" on Star Trek, is dead.
I always liked James Doohan, mostly because when William Shatner wrote his book, Doohan was the only member of the cast to refuse him an interview. Basically, he told Shatner he was a prick and he could stuff his book. To Shatner's credit, he wrote about the refusal in the book, unafraid to let everyone know that the crew of the Enterprise thought their captain was a dick.
For the record, he's the second member of the cast to go (DeForrest Kelly was first). Doohan died of pneumonia and Alzheimer's disease. He was Canadian. He was wounded on D-Day as an infantryman and later returned to battle as a fighter pilot.
I don't normally eulogize every dead celebrity but I was such a huge Star Trek fan as a kid. Back in the days before cable, when we all read by candlelight and made our own soap, there were only a few daily shows that were aimed at kids (two, actually, Star Trek and Gilligan's Island), so we watched them over and over. Today, people love to make fun of Trekkies, those poor, misguided people who still cling to the most popular television franchise of all time and I would guess, second most popular movie franchise (behind James Bond). I'm proud to say that I loved the shows and saw all the movies. I'm proud to be a Trekkie.
Rest in peace, Scotty.
Yesterday I was reading a website that was taking applications for writers. I have no intention of applying but I did indulge in a short fantasy where I got the job and became a famous internet scribe. Then, I was wildly fucked by a set of triplets ( hey, it's my fantasy..). Anyway, one of the things that the website was requesting of it's applicants was a list of the magazines they read. When I started putting that list together in my head I realized that I subscribe to a shit-load of magazines (side-note: one of the reasons I will never be a famous writer is that famous writer tend to shy away from expressions like "shit-load." they're loss). Below is a list of my magazines with reasons for reading:
Esquire: If I could only read one magazine, this would be the one. The writing is just superb.
Playboy: I'm close to dropping this one because they are starting to be more like Maxim (less good writing, more stupid attempts at humor) and yes, I'd still read it even if they took out the pictures.
Premiere: I just started reading this again recently but I'm not sure if I'll continue because it covers a lot of the same stuff as:
Entertainment Weekly: Helps me keep Netflix loaded with good films.
Newsweek: I like it over Time because of the quotes page and the "My Turn" essay.
The New Yorker: Worth it for the cartoons alone but also has great stories where they will profile something I know nothing about.
PC Gamer: I love computer games but don't play much anymore. I read this so I can pretend that I still have a life that is my own.
GQ: Like Playboy, I get close to dropping this and then they will have a great issue.
PC Magazine and PC World: Stay up to date on all things PC.
Mental Floss: A magazine for information junkies, custom made for me.
Him: I can give you one word that would make me the happiest man on the planet as far as sex is concerned.
Her: Let me guess: Blowjob
Her: Is that all you care about?
Him: No, but I'll tell you right now, I'd sign a contract swearing off sex for life in return for a guaranteed blowjob every day.
Her: Yea, that's gonna happen.
Him: I don't see what the big deal is. If every woman in America gave her man a blowjob every day the world would be a much better place. I mean, hell, it only takes 5 minutes to make your man happy!
Her: 5 minutes?! I don't think so. If it only took you 5 minutes you'd get a lot more blowjobs. No, you want to stretch it out and savor it.
Him: That's because they're so rare! I'll tell you what, you give me a blowjob every day and I promise to finish in under 5 minutes.
Her: Dream on.
Him: Fine, just as long as you take responsibility for all the evil in the world.
Normally, I shy away from posting video's because I built this site to showcase a far more important topic:
But I've decided that I will post some video's from time to time with this promise: I will not post a video that isn't worth clicking. So many of the video's I find on the internet are so lame that they are not even worth the miniscule amount of energy required to click them with the mouse. I promise I won't post the crap.
So, here's a video about a dog with a leg that has a mind of it's own.
If you're going to talk about great songwriters and songs then you really can't get very far without mentioning Janis Ian. It's amazing how many people don't know At Seventeen despite being nominated for five Grammy's and winning two. It is, hands down, the best song ever written about growing up outside the in-crowd. What's so amazing about this extraordinary piece of writing is that every verse is gold. If the song only contained one of the verses it does, and the rest were crap, it would still stand out on the strength of that one line. The fact that every line is dead-on target is simply amazing. Still, my favorite is this one:
To those of us who knew the pain
of Valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called
when choosing sides at basketball
If you don't know it, listen to it about 20 times and then try to think of any song in the last 30 years that describes the quiet desperation of geekdom better.Janis Ian - At Seventeen (1975)
There was a story on the news tonight about GTA:San Andreas. It seems that there is a secret section of the game that allows you to get laid (actually, your in-game character gets laid. If it was you, how popular would that game be!?). Parents everywhere are all bent out of shape over this scene.
Now, I certainly understand why parents would get upset. I mean, if my kid was playing a game rated M (Mature) in which the main character is a criminal who sells drugs, steals cars and kills civilians (and cops!) with gusto, constantly being rewarded for his anti-social behavior, and there was a scene that showed a cartoon girl naked..... I'D LOSE IT. C'mon! Killing for profit is one thing but cartoon nudity!?!?! That crosses the line!!
Allow me to make a crazy suggestion: If your kid is too young to handle the emotional trauma of seeing two cartoon characters doing the nasty then he's definitely too young to be playing what is widely heralded as the most anti-social video game in existence.
Mary had a little pig,
she kept it fat and plastered;
and when the price of pork went up,
she shot the little bastard.
Georgie Porgy pudding and pie,
kissed the girls and made them cry.
And when the boys came out to play,
he kissed them too 'cause he was a gay little homo.
and my favorite...
Hey diddle, diddle the cat took a piddle,
All over the bedside clock.
The little dog laughed to see such fun,
Then died of electric shock and shit himself.
Remember a few weeks ago there was a story about Russell Crowe throwing a phone at a desk clerk? The story was that Crowe had been trying to call Australia and something wasn't working so he went downstairs and threw a phone at the desk clerk, further proving that actors are all temperamental babies. Today I discovered that in all the stories I read about the incident, there was one word that got left out and that one word makes all the difference in the story. That one word makes me wish that Russell Crowe had beat the shit out of the guy.
Right now you're probably saying, "What the hell difference does one word make? What word could be so bad that it would justify having a phone thrown at you?"
Let me set the scene:
Russell Crowe is sitting in his expensive hotel room in New York City. It's 4 a.m. and he's trying to call his family in Australia. Because of the time difference, he has to call late at night so, unlike me when I was in New Orleans last weekend, he can't just ring up the wife while taking a dump in the men's room at Harrah's. Unfortunately for Russell, something was wrong and he couldn't get through to his family, so he called downstairs and spoke to the (soon to be hit by a phone) desk clerk. When the desk clerk was unable to solve the problem, Russell got upset and again voiced how important it was for him to reach his family. It was at this point that the desk clerk uttered the one word that sent Russell Crowe downstairs to kick some desk clerk ass.
What was the word?
In a perfect world, the desk clerk would sue, Crowe would go to court and win. All he'd need is a few jurors with teenage kids and he'd walk for sure.
I'm back from my trip to New Orleans. Here's the play-by-play:
The big weekend started off with a bang when I arrived at the airport two hours early for my flight. When you fly Southwest you have to get there early if you want a good seat, otherwise you're stuck on the wing. (Literally on the wing. They strap you on with a huge bungee cord.) I arrived secure that I would get a great seat only to realize that I had forgot to go online and get a boarding pass. So, two hours early and I still got a "B" pass. Amazingly, I managed to get the seat behind the exit row that doesn't actually have another seat in front of it. I plop down my 6'1'' self into the chair, stretch out my legs and commence a spontaneous orgasm.
I arrived in New Orleans and Don "the Mon" was waiting for me at the airport. Immediately, he set the tone for the entire weekend when he said, "My air-conditioner in my car broke on the way here." Driving around New Orleans in July without air-conditioning is like driving through boiling chicken fat, only it smells worse. To top the reunion off, Don forgot where he parked the car. Let me tell you, nothing puts you in the vacation mood faster than a dragging your luggage around a parking garage for 30 minutes. Did I mention the boiling chicken fat? Good.
When we arrived at the Hotel Crackhouse to check in we were told that we didn't have a reservation. No, wait, we did have a reservation, only it was for last weekend. Luckily, there were still some rooms available because the police forensics team was finally done on the fifth floor. The manager then ran into a snag. It seems that my credit card had already been charged for the full-stay for last weekend because it was a special festival weekend (crystal-meth convention) and he couldn't transfer the payment to this weekend. He could give us a room but I would have to talk to a different person in the morning. (I would eventually spend four days trying to talk to the person who could fix this problem, finally getting it straightened out on Monday when I checked out.)
Oh, I should also mention that Hurricane Dennis drove straight up the Gulf on Sunday and forced me to stay an extra day...
While playing cards Sunday night I was chatting with a young guy sitting next to me. While complaining about his wife's driving he said, "She's crazy. She uses the car to make a point. Sometimes she makes O-turns. She'll be in the middle of a U-turn and change her mind."
Poker was good, great action and I won a little money. Unfortunately, I left on a sour note when the last hand I played went very bad. I made a flush on the last card to beat the guy sitting on my left. When I rolled my cards over, one of them caught a corner, snapped and bounced off the table. The dealer grabbed it and put it back up and everyone could see I had the flush but that didn't matter..... a card on the floor means a dead hand. So, they pushed the pot to the guy on my left after calling over a floorman. Now, through all of this, I never said a word, just sat and waited for the decision. Everything was fine until the guy on my left started stacking my chips:
"Sorry about that," He said.
"No, you're not" I said.
"I'm sorry that happened to you"
"No disrespect, but you're not sorry. You're getting my money."
"Well, I'm sorry I'm getting it this way."
"No, you're not. If you were really sorry, you'd give me that pot. You know that's not your pot but you're taking it anyway so don't try and tell me you feel bad about it. If the situation were reversed I would push you the pot." And I got up, cashed out and went to the airport.
I thought about the whole episode on the plane ride home and the truth is I wasn't mad that the guy didn't give me the pot. What pissed me off was that he took the money, felt guilty about it and tried to make himself feel better by telling me how sorry he was. Just because something isn't your fault doesn't mean it's okay. Every day you have to make decisions about whether or not to do the right thing. If you choose to benefit from someone else's misfortune, that's your business, but don't try to justify it or act like you're an unwilling participant. Just shut-up and stack my chips cock-bite.
All things considered it was a good trip but from now on I'm just gonna bite the bullet and pay for a nice hotel. Life is too short to have a vomit-stain on your carpet.
I'll be catching a plane in a few hours and winging my way to New Orleans for my birthday. I can think of no better way to spend my birthday than taking money from the locals in the poker room at Harrah's. I'm also planning a side trip to Zachary to see the old neighborhood that I lived in when I was nine years old. It's been 31 years since I was there, should be interesting.
Some time back I did a piece where I names the top 5 sexiest women on T.V. Sad to say that not a single one of those women would make the list today. So, instead of naming a new top 5, I'll just jump straight to #1. Apparently, I seem to have developed some sort of Asian fetish in my old age because the sexiest woman on television is Grace Park ("Boomer" on Battlestar Galactica)
Me: Well, in that case you're "shittin' in hign cotton."
Me: "You're shittin' in high cotton."
Her: What does that mean?
Me: You've never heard that expression?
Me: It means things are great.
Her: How does it mean that?
Me: Well, if you had to shit outdoors, high cotton would be the best place.
Her: (Deadpan look)
Me: I mean, think about it. It's high, so no one would be able to see you and you're surrounded by cotton, which you can use when you're done.
Her: (Continued deadpan look)
Me: Well, it sure beats shittin in corn or wheat, that's all I'm saying.
Have you been paying attention to the big stink over those two reporters who won't reveal their sources? Let me give you a quick explanation.
Two reporters published the name of an undercover C.I.A. Operative. Since it's against the law to reveal the name of an undercover C.I.A. Operative, the Feds are leaning on the reporters to reveal who told them. The reporters are refusing to reveal their source as reporters have been doing for decades.
Normally, I would be with the reporters on this one but I'm not and here's why:
If a person commits a crime and then tells a reporter about it, the reporter should not be forced to reveal the person's identity.
However, in this case, the crime that was committed was talking to the reporter. The reporter is no longer hearing details of a crime but is participating in the criminal act. For this they should be considered an accessory. It is not a crime if someone tells you they have done something criminal. It is a crime if you assist a person in committing a criminal act.
See the difference?
This is a carpet at the Sacramento Airport that has been imprinted with an aerial view of the region. Wouldn't it be cool to have a carpet like this imprinted with an image of grass?
The Falling Mannequin
Me: You know, I was reading that article about the Muppets last night and it said that Frank Oz no longer does the voices of Miss Piggy and Grover and the rest.
Her: Wow, it must have been tough to find someone else to do all those voices.
Me: Yea, but still not as tough as when Mel Blanc died.
Her: Who is Mel Blanc?
Me: He was the guy who did all the Warner Bros. voices. Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Sylvester, Tweety, Porky Pig..... he did em' all. That's one of the reasons you never see any new Bugs Bunny cartoons now. It's easier to just do Tiny Toons because they can use new voices.
Her: I never liked Bugs Bunny anyway.
Me: Excuse me?
Her: Never really liked him.
Me: You're kidding right?
Her: And Roadrunner and the Coyote.... that was just stupid.
Me: ( long pause)........ Get out of the car.
Dear fellow blogger,
You're not a poet. Stop. For the sake of us all, please stop. If I have to read one more blog where some "sensitive soul" is whining on about a cat or a tree or their gall bladder operation I'm gonna stab myself in the eye with a salad fork. The worst part of all this bad poetry is that it frequently doesn't rhyme. It's not poetry if it doesn't rhyme! Just because you split up the sentences and don't use punctuation you think you're friggin (insert name of famous poet here because I don't know any)! You're not! Anybody can right poetry that doesn't rhyme!
a man barely
than he was
Where's my Pulitzer?
I had lunch today with my sister "Queen of all Candles," and my cousin's wife Joanna. Joanna is great. She's funny and smart and always seems to be in a good mood and as a result, everybody in the family loves her. Plus, she's got a great rack.
Teague (that's my cousin) and I both managed to pull off a neat trick and marry women who are actually more popular than we are with our own family. Make no mistake about it, in the event of a nuclear war when there's only room for two more people in the Perry Bunker, Teague and I will be killed instantly while our wives will be eating pork n' beans with the rest of the family for 20 years. In fact, I wouldn't put it past my father and his two brothers to just rub us out for spite. Such is the power of "The Rack." (Joanna once confided in me that she has never come to a family function without at least one of the three brothers mentioning her tits. This is our family legacy and it has been passed down from generation to generation. I'm proud to say that I once talked a woman into showing me her tits right in front of her husband. It's a gift, really.)
Joanna is part of the family now but went through quite a bit of culture shock when she first married Teague. Joanna's father is a minister and Teague is the kind of guy that, if you walked in on him having sex, would ask you to take his picture. You can't blame him for it though, both his parents are free-spirit types and by that I mean you wouldn't want to get in their hot tub without first scrubbing it down with bleach. Really, there's no telling what the hell's been going on in that thing. Personally, I put on a bio-suit just to walk on the deck.
Today at lunch, Joanna commented that she actually reads this blog, which brings the total number of readers to: 1. So, if your reading this Joanna, please know that we all love you very much. Also, we really want to see em'. Really.
I was reading a conservative blog today and the guy had his panties in a wad over something Brian Williams said on the news last night. Some of the guys who were held hostage by the Iranians back in the 70's are convinced that the new Iranian President is one of their captors. Brian Williams, speaking to Andrea Mitchell, said this:
"What would it all matter if proven true? Someone brought up today the first several U.S. Presidents were certainly revolutionaries and might have been called 'terrorists' by the British Crown, after all."
Oh my God! That evil Brian Williams just called George Washington a terrorist!
Now, it only takes a shred of historical evidence and a smackeral of context to understand exactly what Brian was saying. Even if the new President was one of the captors, don't expect Iran to give a shit. The British Crown thought George Washington was a traitor and a rebel and it didn't stop us from making him Father of our Country. Why? Because we could care less what those tea-drinking crumpet-heads think about our leaders and guess what, The Iranians feel the same way about us.
Brian Williams did not call our founding fathers "terrorists." He simply pointed out that, as much as we may think it's a big deal, it's not a big deal to the country that elected the guy and if you need proof of that, look no further than our own beginnings.