The One Where I Try In Vain To Explain My Absence

Ok, as a few people pointed out yesterday, I have apparently not posted in over a month. I have lots of good reasons for that (well, one good reason and lotsa really crappy ones…but I’m choosing quantity or quality). And since I really couldn’t think of anything to write, I am going to explain them all to you in a nauseatingly detailed fashion…

While I had thunk that my ode to Match Game (and Match Game 76) was my pinnacle of writing, my ascent to the peak of Mt. Everest, except without the snow and death and stuff, apparently not everyone wants to read that post every day for over a month. Lots has happened to keep me from posting. Let’s see, there was the incident I had when Facebook deleted my account for using it too much. Then there was that other incident when Facebook deleted my account for using it too much. There was also that third time where Facebook deleted my account for using it too much. I mean that right there took up about 3 days.

During that time there was also my brief flirtation with the buttermilk pancakes from Denny’s. Or how about my 1.6 hundred (I know that’s not a real number, but I thought the use of the decimal point would lend it the credibility that this post so desperately lacks) visits to Disneyland. Me discovering that link where people post their Lego creations was a time sapper, as was my renewed love of Wii Bowling. Although I think I’ve lamely CLEARLY stated my case for my prolonged absence, there’s more! Act now and you can have TWO clearly stated cases for my prolonged….sorry, that was my ode to the passing of Billy “Act Now and You Can Get Enough For Two Nostrils” Mays.

I discovered Twitter, which ate up some time. Why, it took me an entire week to figure out whether posts are called Tweets or Twitterifications! And speaking of things that end in “cations,” there was that vay-kay I didn’t take this summer, which is why I relived (in my back yard) my trip to Oregon and the Tillamook cheese factory last summer…in real time. My passing out for 5 days after learning that there is a Lobster Ice Cream took up 3 days. Wait, the math doesn’t seem right there…Then my passing out after my dear friend Kat told me how much it was to ship a pint of said ice cream took up another few days.

And speaking of lobster (and bad segues), there was all that time I spent looking at the Lobster Trap Cam online waiting and waiting for a lobster to wander into it. And speaking of online cams (and even more marginally related segues), there was the straight 72 hours I spent watching the Abbey Road Cam counting the times when people tried to reenact the cover of The Beatles’ Abbey Road in the same intersection, which by the way is a very busy intersection! Imagine having this discussion with your auto insurance carrier (que the dream montage)…

“Uh Mr. or Mrs. Auto Agent, I need to report a claim. I completely destroyed the front of my car when I accidentally struck 4 nuns from Argentina reenacting the Beatles’ cover of Abbey Road. Although on a lighter note, I can tell you that the one playing Paul really is dead. And the one playing John was the Walrus. Well ok, at least in size and girth she was…”

It seems like I’m forgetting something though. Lemme think…cheese, bacon, lobster, the Facebook Police, more cheese, doing stupid things,…Oh yeah, the BABY! Yep, I became a father again on July 31st. In addition to Lucy and Ethel, I now have LaVerne. Between diaper changes and feedings and frantically running around screaming “the end is here, the end is here” every time I misplace LaVerne’s pacifier, I haven’t had a lot of time for my hobbies.

So in a 1,000 unnecessary word essay, that is why I haven’t posted anything new here in over a month. And let’s face it, after reading this post, I think we all are in no hurry for me to do another one…

Ode to Match Game (Or even Match Game 76)

I love watching Match Game, that isn't so lame. Though some of your panelists were not very tame. There was Richard Dawson, always in the mood. That is until he joined the Family Feud.

And there was Brett Somers and Charles Nelson Reilly. They both could say just one thing, to make you go smiley (bear with me, I don't have a lot to work with here).

Dumb Dora got her blank stuck in a jar. You always had to be careful to not take it too far. On a card your answer you would quickly scribble. The only word I can think to rhyme with that is dribble.

The contestants would hesitate to say something dirty. Though Gene Rayburn would try by getting so flirty. With his long thin mic he'd laugh and he'd ask. After all, that was this man's task.

The panel was always so hip and so bold. Which is remarkable because they also were old. I can imagine they'd party with shag carpets and wine. They were so cool, almost before their time. They had great sayings and lots of word tricks. Especially on Match Game 76.

But alas, Gene Rayburn I'm not, that much is true. But I'll fill in the blank, if you'd give me a clue. Then maybe for once our answers would jive, even though your panelists are no longer alive...

The Top Ten things usually told to me at my 4th of July celebration

It's 4th of July weekend!! That means it's time for our annual extravaganza of food, fun, friends and yes - fireworks!! It's also the time of year when I tend to mess up all 4 of those things...

10. We tell you every year that there are no such things as Independence Day Carols!

9. Your dancing waters of fire’ extravaganza looks a lot like you're just spraying lighter fluid over the grill from different angles. Are you sure that’s safe? And next time will you please take the meat off the grill first.

8. I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to add lighter fluid to charcoal that comes already soaked in it. Well yes, I suppose you can see the flames from space…

7. Seriously, you aren’t going to stop playing that Lee Greenwood song over and over are you?

6. Well, it’s just that building an Independence Day Snow Man out of charcoal, ice and grass clippings seems a little messy, that’s all.

5. It’s usually a good idea to ask your guests first before turning on the sprinklers and announcing it’s time for the Traditional July 4^th Running Of The Sprinklers…

4. Uh, exactly how old is the eggnog in that punch bowl?

3. I really don’t think tying 10 sparklers together and throwing them in the air constitutes a ‘fireworks display.’ And no, yelling ‘look, a fireworks display’ doesn’t change that.

2. These pictures are going to be uploaded to Facebook with really stupid captions, aren’t they?

And the number one thing usually told to me at my 4^th of July celebration…

1. Is that bacon wrapped around my hot dog? And quit saying ‘that’s what she said!’

Has It Been 3 Years Already? It Just Seems Like 6...

Ok, today was my 3-year blogiversary. I honestly can't believe it's been that long and feel a little weird celebrating it since I have treated this blog like a red-headed step child since falling for Facebook last fall. Way too many 'f's in that sentence, but anyway, since I am always one for a good party (defined by me sitting by myself laughing hysterically at Late Night With Jimmy Fallon while looking at a pretend person telling them how funny Jimmy's jokes are and then explaining why they are so funny...), I am going to continue on with the blogiversary celebration.

I have to be honest though, I looked back at my first blogiversary and really liked it, so I am using an updated version of it for this year's celebration 9yes, that means you still have to read the WHOLE thing). Thanks to everyone who still meanders to this little piece of intraweb daily or weekly and I really, really do hope to begin writing somewhat routinely before too long. I miss the writing and I miss my blog friends too much. I have met some truly awesome people through this blog and hope to meet even more. But enough of the sentimental horse bombs, on with the partay!!!

Well, here it is. Today is my three-year blogiversary. I checked into copyrighting that phrase, but the guy at the counter said all he could do was accept my utility payment, he knew nothing about copyrights. I'd say he should change his sign to reflect that, but then I looked at the sign and it turns out it actually says something about utility payments. You never know where a great idea will come to you, unfortunately the right person isn’t always around, I guess. Now that I actually have to deliver on my three-year extravaganza, I’m afraid I over hyped the occasion just a little. I have a tendency to do that. As a result, Lucy and Ethel are often left asking me ‘is that really it Daddy, we mean, really?’ while I hold a camera saying things like ‘see, see, I told you this would be the coolest thing ever!’ I promised myself I’d stop doing that. Oh well, maybe tomorrow. No, the day after tomorrow because I have the most awesomest thing planned for tomorrow. It's going to blow your mind! Uh-oh, looks like I overhyped again. Sorry.

As the days approaching my extravaganza counted down, I was dismayed at the total lack of B-list celebrities I invited that actually accepted. I was going to go all out for this one. Roseanne Barr, Miss America, David Hassellhoff, Christopher Walken, the curator of Elvis’ Graceland, Oprah’s friend Gayle, a representative of OPEC, one of the camera guys from American Idol, the first person other than a family member who visited my blog, many of the people in the news I made fun of, I mean wrote about in my posts, my high school English teacher who said I’d never amount to anything, my high school math teacher who said I’d never amount to anything, 5-7 ex-girlfriends who said I’d never amount to anything and Desmond Tutu (just because it’s so fun to say and he never said I wouldn’t amount to anything, but then again, he doesn’t know me yet). But, that’s not all. I also invited Lorne Michaels, Donny Most from Happy Days, the VPs of Programming for both The Travel Channel and The Food Network, my heroes Bob Newhart, Fred Willard and Batman himself, Adam West. I thought about inviting a few Playboy bunnies, but I’d just giggle when they got near me. However, above all else, the biggest surprise would have been at the end of the night when the financial consultant I hired was going to come out on stage and prove that I had indeed amounted to something. $5.27, to be exact. Then we’d serve pie and the Rockettes would do my almost-patented Happy Dance.

I'm really not sure why no one RSVP'd. Well ok, I know why the ex-girlfriends didn't RSVP, but what about everyone else. I even went so far as to disguise them as official letters so they wouldn't see my name, not recognize it and just throw it away. Oh wait, unless it had something to do with the 'you may already be a winner' stamp I put on it. I knew I should have gone with my original plan of using those Hello Kitty invites from the Hallmark Store. Damn that second guessing!!

So, I guess just like all my past milestone posts, I’m left with a big empty banquet hall that I rented for the occasion and lots of fun ideas and party favors left unused. Is anyone in the market for 8,000 kazoos with the words ‘Bitchin’ Blogiversary’ on them? How about 8,000 'I blog because you twitter' t-shirts? Or the 'You=FAIL' bumperstickers? And I'm never gonna get make my money back on the Barry Manilow bobble head dolls I bought for everyone. There just aren't that many uses for a bobblehead that sings 'I Write The Blogs'

Oh well. I think I’ll just dim the lights, undo my tie and croon Sinatra’s ‘In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning.’ I’ve always wanted to do that. Or, I could grab a couple of brooms and practice plate spinning on them at the banquet hall’s expense. Maybe I could turn on the strobe light and dance all night to “Disco Inferno.’ Perhaps I could turn on the hall's PA system and pretend I am announcing the lineup of the '55 Dodgers at Ebbets Field. Or, I could vacate the hall altogether since I think I hear a security guard coming. Now I wish I hadn’t paid extra for the nighttime fireworks extravaganza. That was one slick salesman…

Before I leave though, I wanted to sincerely thank everyone who takes the time to visit this blog, especially since I really don't frequent it too much anymore. Aw shucks, it means a lot to me! Well, at least those of you who leave a comment. As for the ones who don’t leave comments, well, no comment. I'M KIDDING!!! Three years ago today I sat down to do something I had been wanting to do since my heart surgery in 2005 but never did (I mean write, not just sit down in front of the computer. I already did too much of that). I picked out by blog’s template, wrote a few lines and was on my way. It took just a few days before I was hooked.

I actually started my blog with the comment feature off. It was one of my real world friends who suggested I should allow comments. Looking back, I guess she was my enabler. I did that and my life hasn’t been the same since. I have met so many great people over the last three years. Many of you I've even had the privilge to get to know even better through emails or Facebook or your court decreed restraining orders...

But enough of all that emotion and stuff. I need to find where I put the helium tank. I feel like singing ‘I Like Big Butts’ as Alvin and the Chipmunks…

The Cheese To End All Cheese?

I love cheese, many of you love cheese, so it just seemed that writing about this next cheese was something I had to do after learning of its existence. And I will admit that it’s a much better topic than the other one I was toying with: Starbucks’ new nudie mermaid logo. They get enough publicity. But Casu Marzu on the other hand, does not. If you had asked me about Casu Marzu, I would have told you it was the fancy name of the mansion overlooking Corona or that it was possibly the name of that weird sounding band from the 80s. Oh wait, that might actually be Spandau Ballet, and I have no idea what the heck that means. I understand ballet, but is Spandau just a fancy way of saying Spandex? Because a spandex ballet might be kind of funny to watch. Perhaps a little chaffy for the performers, but that’s what they get for wearing non-breathable spandex during a dance performance!

It seems I have drifted of course, again. This post was supposed to be all cheesy. Sorry, I couldn’t resist that. It’s the same temptation I gave into yesterday when Bristol and Chloe were playing with their magnetic letters and there was a little issue with Chloe needing 2 ‘p’s. For those of you keeping score at home, that would also be ‘pp’ and it led to me spending most of the afternoon saying things like ‘Bristol, give your sister your PP’ and ‘Bristol, Chloe wants your PP.’ I realize it’s not very grown up, but then either am I. It is a little unsettling when you realize that your 6-year-old daughters are slightly above that type of humor however…

OK, back to the cheese. By the way, I swear back to the cheese will the title of a screenplay I write before I die, most likely from clogged arteries. At this time, I would like to introduce you to a little something called Casu Marzu. I guess I actually introduced you to it in the first paragraph, but I didn’t introduce it correctly. I am horrible at introductions and often mess them up. Now days I just try to stand in between the two people I should be introducing and just hope they take it upon themselves to introduce each other in an effort to break the awkward silence. I come out looking like an idiot, but they get to meet each other and I usually discover I had been calling at least one of them by the wrong last name. It works out quite beautifully. 

Casu Marzu is cheese. Unofficially, it is referred to as maggot cheese. MMMMM, doesn’t that sound scrumpulicious? I need to mention that it’s not one of those cute or clever names that has nothing to do with the title because horribly enough, this cheese has a lot to do with maggots. I may have just lost many of you with a double maggot reference (triple if you choose to count that last one there) and I will warn you that many of you may not want to continue. If that is the case, have a great day and I will see you tomorrow with something much less gastronomically offensive.

This cheese will test how loyal of a cheese-ist you really are. It will make you question how serious you are to your cheese commitment and how far you will go to prove your allegiance to one of life’s most delicious things to come from a cow’s udder. It is a somewhat altered or embellished cheese, if you will. As the cheese begins fermentation, it is filled with larvae, who eat it, break down its fats and allow it to further ferment into a soft cheese with a little bit of liquid, according to Wikipedia. Sorry, I just dove right into that description without much of a warning. Please forgive me. So now, not only do we have little bugs in our cheese, we get liquid out of it. That is completely disgusting. I’m sure you were already thinking that, but I like to state the obvious, such as ‘it looks like this summer's gonna be a hot one, boy howdy.'

However, that is nowhere near the best part of this cheese. It is actually dangerous. What, you ask? Maggot larvae filled cheese with oozy cheese-water is bad for you? Shocking! Why yes it is. It can become too toxic, the larvae can cause intestinal problems and the cheese can lead to some allergic reactions. But the one danger that takes the cake for the cheese, to awkwardly mix metaphors, is the fact that Casu Marzu can lead to eye damage. Go ahead, ask me why cheese can cause eye damage. Well, the LARVAE CAN JUMP AND OFTEN STRIKE PEOPLE IN THE EYES AS THEY ARE EATING THE CHEESE. Is that not precious priceless? So now when you show up to a family event wearing an eye patch, you will no longer have to tell them that you are pretending to be a pirate, hurt yourself horsing around with lawn darts or got that part as the evil villain on a daytime soap opera. You can tell them that you were struck by cheese larvae. On second thought, your reputation might be better served to say you think you are a pirate.

So that my friends is Casu Marzu. I love cheese, but have now officially drawn the line with regard to my love. Apparently, there is such a thing as conditional love. I would now like to express that conditional love in the form of a Dr. Seussian type poem, if you’ll permit me...

I love cheese. 
I love it more than my knees or that stuff that is made by flowers and bees
I love it in the night; I love it in the light
I’ll eat with hair or even a bear
I’ll eat it when it falls in the sand, right straight out of my hand
I shall melt it or smelt it or fry it or dry it
I’ll take it with wine or with pulled swine
I shall eat it off the floor or instead of a smore
I like it with holes, I like it with moles
I will eat cheese every day; I will eat cheese every way
I will even eat it with thugs or melted in mugs
But one thing I will not do is eat it with bugs
So yes, I will eat fondue, but never, ever Casu Marzu
Seriously, that’s freakin’ disgusting

Jokes So Bad They Could Forever Change Your Opinion Of Me...

Perhaps it’s my constant late night viewage of Conan, Letterman and Jimmy Fallon recently that has awakened a yearning I long since put to rest. Or maybe it was because I was the kid at elementary graduation that told everyone “I want to be a late night talk show host like David Letterman or Johnny Carson when I grow up” when asked what I wanted to be when I got older after receiving my fake diploma or $5 gift card to Pizza Hut or whatever I got. While all the other kids wanted to overpopulate the medical fields and teaching fields and litigation fields and ball fields, I was the once who sent his parents running for the exists with their faces covered.

But I digress, or actually progress, to current day. Watching all of the Late Night talkage lately has awakened something in me, and you know exactly what I’m talking about if you have had the extreme misfortune of reading my updates lately on Facebook or Twitter. I’ve been making a lot of bad jokes, but trying to hide them under the description of “Really Bad Jokes That I Think Are Swell.” These all are what you could call groaners. I’m just warning you now…

Since I haven’t blogged in a little while, I thought I would share them here, all bullet style and stuff. I’d say that I would make this a new weekly feature on the blog, but as many of you know, and have taken the time to remind me, I really don’t post weekly, let alone monthly anymore…

So, I present to you the first ever installment of (cue the overproduced and expensive intro clip…) Really Bad Jokes, Even Though I Think They Are Swell:

* I'm thinking of applying to culinary school, but saw no courses that specialized in microwave management or cheesy goodness. Perhaps I should just put that idea on the back burner. Get it, cooking/back burner, like it's on a stove?? *Sigh* It loses the humor when I have to explain it to you...

* Apparently, I sleep walked once...and made $150 bucks. Should this concern me?

* Do you think Presidential candidates ever use "I promise to make YOU a priority in my administration) as a pick up line?

* I went Joaquin along a River in Phoenix once. Just thought you should know...

* BLACK JACK!! I now have 21 followers on Twitter! I should have stopped at 12 though. Then for a brief instant, I might have been able to know what being Jesus felt like. And cue the lighting strike atop my head in 3...2...1...

* Have you ever put a lot of creamer in your coffee when you had a cold and were all phlegmy? At that point, I think we can all agree that it just becomes a cup of coughy...

* I knew I was in trouble in my college art class when the professor asked me if I knew about art and I answered, "you mean like Garfunkel?"

* Some sad news from Jim Henson's camp. They ran out of foam when working on the new Muppets feature. Apparently they had to use what they had at the studio, floor mops. I guess now they're the Mopets? Waka, Waka, Waka...

* Millions could end up without TV today because of the big digital conversion. Funny enough, no one is complaining. Oh that's right, Jon and Kate Plus 8 is on tonight...

* The inventor of the salad bar died today. I just wanted you all to know. Lettuce have a moment of silence...

Fun TV Time Repost: Uh, Finally!

I wrote this in September of LAST year. The freaky thing about it, I wrote about Sleestacks even then. OYYYYY. Uh, I mean AYYYYYYYYY...

It has finally happened. The wait is finally over. As I finally prepared to write about this, I couldn’t help but think that I use the word finally too much and how weird the word finally sounds when you say it over and over. Finally. Fine-uhlly? Fine-alley?

More importantly, I also thought about how the time is way overdue for the eventuality of which I am about to speak. And the beauty of this for you, the reader, is that you get to guess what I am talking about and I will award more bonus points to be redeemed at fine truck stop travel centers everywhere to the blogger with the correct guess. Aww crap, you just looked at the picture, didn’t you. Well so much for the contest…

The fine city of Milwaukee, which is Algonquin for ‘Beautiful Land’ as Alice Cooper taught us all in Wayne’s World, has honored its television heritage. The city recently unveiled a bronze statue of the coolest leather clad motorcycle riding thumb sticking upping ayyying jukebox punching ruffian ever (gee, I hope I didn’t over do it there)- Fonzie!

The cool thing is that most of the Happy Days cast attended, except for Pinky Tuscadero or Mork or the mean Police Officer Kirk. I swear next time Lucy and Ethel misbehave I am going to make them watch Officer Kirk, Darth Vader, The Grinch, Dwight Schrute and the Sleestax from ‘Land of the Lost’ on a continuous loop to ‘scare them straight.’ Unless that makes me a bad parent, though I don’t think that could be possible with such a great viewing lineup as the one I just listed.

Besides, the twins deserve payback. They made me watch ALL of High School Musical 2 with them and would not let me ‘get up for a minute.’ Perhaps that is because they know that’s code for ‘I’m slipping away and will coincidentally return when the credits roll, unless the credits contain more HSM songs, in which case I will not be returning.’ I couldn’t see straight for 3 days after that viewing. And what’s even scarier than that, I actually found one of Ashley Tisdale’s songs enjoyable. Oh no, I just said Ashley Tisdale. In public. And there goes the chill up my spine…

Returning to a more comfortable topic, I also don’t think Arnold (quite possibly due to his current status being listed as ‘dead’) attended the Fonzie statue unveiling, nor did Richie’s long time girlfriend and eventual wife Lori Beth or Jenny Piccolo. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure David and Ricky didn’t attend either. Wait, that was Ozzie and Harriet, wasn’t it. I had a little TV hemorrhage there for a moment, sorry. But you have to admit that you were impressed with my ‘Happy Days’ knowledge WITHOUT the aid of Wikipedia, thankyouverymuch. Ok, I guess you don’t have to admit that and yes, I did have to confer, if ever so briefly, with Wiki (it’s cool, we’re on a first name basis because of the frequency of our, uh, relationship) on what Lori Beth’s name was. But at least I remembered her. And no, I did not forget Chachi, it’s just that bringing him up reopens all those old ‘Joanie Loves Chachi’ wounds that are better left untouched for me. By the way, does anyone else think that statue bears a striking resemblance to a young Bob Eubanks?

Normally this would be the part of the story where I would go on and on about all the cities that should have statues because of whatever TV show took place there. Not this time though, because I did my homework. Chicago already has a Bob Newhart statue because Newhart’s first show took place there. Although, nowhere in Vermont is there a statue from his second show ‘Newhart’ of him or Larry, his brother Darrell or even his other brother Darrell. But then again, the show never said what town the Stratford Inn was in or inn. There is also a statue of Mary Tyler Moore in Minneapolis because that is where Mary Richards worked for Mr. Grant at WJM TV. The statue even depicts her throwing her hat up in the air, which I do whenever I am near a plaza with tall buildings. I think I am going to curtail the singing of ‘we’re gonna make it after all’ though. It’s not quite in my vocal range and people look at me funny when I kick the back of my leg up.

See, because I did my research, this will now be the part of the story where I only go on about all the TV shows that need statues (instead of going on and on in case you forgot the joke I tried to start laying the groundwork for about 5 sentences ago. Of course now it won’t seem as funny because I had to ‘splain it). First up on the TV statutorium list for me HAS to be Cincinnati. That city needs a Les Nessman, Herb Tarlick or Dr. Johnny Fever statue from WKRP in Cincinnati. I would have said Loni Anderson, but if you remember that show, a statue in her likeness could be seen as lewd. Nice mind you, but lewd.

I also don’t think Cheers has a statue in Boston, or would that be Boston has a statue of Cheers? I have an idea. How about a statue of Norm on his bar stool? I think Queens, NY should have an Archie Bunker statue. While the obvious statue design should probably be him with a cigar sitting in his chair, I propose a different approach. How about Archie Bunker with a cigar sitting in his chair – with his middle finger up for all to see. I think that would capture his spirit. Unless of course you want to go with a statue of Sammy Davis Jr. kissing him on the cheek.

And let us not forget a statue dedicated to one of every child’s favorite TV time heroes, Barney. But alas, questions arise. I’m flairing with the dramatic there, though I don’t think that came out right. Do we make the statue purple or metallic and more importantly, where do we place the statue? I have an idea; let’s put Barney’s likeness in a coastal community, preferably near a pier. Have you seen what seagulls can do to a statue? They like to crap on its head. That might not sound like the best sentence to use when ending a post, but try saying it with a Scottish accent, especially with the emphasis on both ‘crap’ and ‘head.’ Ah-ha, see what I mean.

Weekend Wrap Up – Don’t Worry, It Won’t Be Too Over Stimulating…

As any decent blogger knows, the beginning of the week is when everyone reads the most blogs. Why? Because they are back in the office and have nothing better to do. Why blog from home when there are so many other activities available like washing behind your boys’ toilet or figuring out what that smell is in the kitchen sink or maybe even watching your child participate in a sporting event. Do I know about the high frequency of blogging during the workweek from experience? Why yes, yes I do. An experienced blogger once told me about it.

I read, heard and saw a lot this weekend. This is partly because I swore that this Memorial Day Weekend, for the first time in almost 10 years, I was going to sit in the comfort of my own home and watch both the Indy 500 and Coca-Cola 600 from start to finish. If only I hadn’t been so precise with my wordage. The weekend might have been much different if not for the 24 hours it took to get in just over half of the 600 mile NASCAR race. (I KNOW, MOST OF YOU ARE ALREADY LOOKING FOR SOMEPLACE TO CLICK, BUT THIS ISN’T ABOUT RACING…SO SIT DOWN!!) As it was, I ended up spending all day Sunday and just over half of Monday in front of my TV waiting for the rains in Charlotte to end (remember that name, it will be relevant again in about two months…or at the end of nine months, to be more precise).

I am also sad to admit this, but I ended up freebasing on Facebook most of that time. The topics were many and wide-ranging, if not important, timely or worth even mentioning. I had a hankering for beignets the entire weekend and since I live in a suburb named Corona, California, this meant settling for the much cheaper donut. So, I had the hankering for donuts all weekend.

I wasn’t really sure why until I learned that there is a topless donut shop in Maine. How is this related to my craving you wonder? Easy – my topless radar must have been going off. Or, it’s just a coincidence, but that isn’t near as exciting, so we’ll stick to it being my topdar working. Folks, I don’t know if you’ve ever been to the land of my maiden people, but in Maine, you can’t even consume alky-hall until noon on Sundays. It strikes me as a wee bit odd that donuts can be served all nekkid like. Rumor has it there is a 43 year-old waitress slinging the dough at this place. I’m not saying that’s old. After all, Tina Fey is 39 and lots of great looking women are in their late 30s to early 40s and they look as good as ever (anyone got any Chapstick? My lips are suddenly parched…) I’m just saying it doesn’t sound like the donut shop is going after Hooters’ business any time soon.

I personally would love to dunk a crawler in this eatery, and NO, it’s not because of the topless part. It’s because of topless part. Ok, I’m kidding. It’s because the topless part would let me sit in the shop and say things like “do we get to see her donut holes,” “wow, she’s got a lot of jelly filling,” “I’d love to dunk my crawler in that cup of coffee,” “seeing her makes me want to have a maple bar (or twist or other long donut,” “look at the glaze on that one” and the obligatory ‘please, whatever you do, don’t give me an old-fashioned!”

Granted I would be asked to leave the fried goodness’ premise before even getting to the second or third canned comment, but rest assured that I would put them on cue cards for the other patrons to be able to say.

The other hot topic of the weekend was Monday’s Sci-Fi Channel marathon of the mid-70s (almost) classic, Land of the Lost. All the cool kids were watching it, which explains why I only watched 2 episodes. The first thing that struck me was how GREAT the theme song was. It had a banjo in it and a nice beat. And let’s face it, we all remember the words: “just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip.” Ok, I have been informed that wasn’t correct, but you remember it. “Marshall, Will and Holly on a routine expedition…” I hear that and am immediately transported back to an elementary school morning eating breakfast with my brother watching that while also hoping we wouldn’t have to leave before Voltron came on. Crap! I didn’t mean to say that out loud!

Then there were the Sleestacks with their bejeweled eyes, rubbery skin that could not possibly have any breathability, and horny heads. And don’t kid yourself, my friends and I went a long way with the whole horny heads thing yesterday! In fact, whenever I am finally big enough to fit on a motorcycle, we are forming a biker gang and our jackets will say “The Horny Sleestacks.” Let’s just say it’s the type of gang Fonzie would be too afraid to rescue Richie, Ralph and Potsy from. And why did the Sleestacks talk like men but wear nighties that barely covered their Slee-cracks? Also, am I the only one who thought Chaka looked like Ron Howard’s brother Clint?

Then there was the whole Darren-Dilemma, so named after the switch of Darrens on Bewitched. They changed Dads mid-stream. Unless it was an uncle that came in as a replacement. Honestly, I can’t remember. But if that’s the case, that’s better known as the “Coy-Vance Maybe No One Is Looking Switch,” named after the not-so famous Duke cousins who replaced Bo and Luke in their own clothes. Looking back, it’s obvious to me that the show was trying to capture the “I like the Brady Bunch, but I wish they lived with dinosaurs and lizards” crowd. Will and Holly looked just like Greg and Cindy Brady. Respectively, of course. To call the special effects dated would be about as obvious as calling Oprah a media-God. I was going to say media-whore, but then people would kill me.

Lastly this weekend was the season premier of Jon Cheating On Kate Even Though He Said He Really Didn’t Do Anything, Plus 8. It was the kids’ 5th birthday party. It looked like it went ok, until the end of the show. That’s when they interviewed Jon and Kate together and separately about the future of their relationship. AWKWARD! Normally I wouldn’t watch that show, but now I guess I know how all those people that watch racing just for the wrecks that I badmouth so much feel…I’m thinking ole TLC is going to have a new mid-season replacement. Jon + Kate = Hate. That wasn’t at all original, I know…

The Most Interesting Man In The World (And No, I Don't Mean Alex Trebec Or The Inventor Of The Snuggie)

I’ve been wanting to write about this topic for awhile now but wasn’t exactly sure how to do it justice. I know what you are thinking this is about, but no, it’s not about Thomas Crapper, inventor of the toilet. That being said however, we kind of owe that guy a lot. Sometimes I get flush just thinking about it. Nor is it about Gene Rayburn, host of Match Game AND Match Game 76, which was like getting to hang out with your grandparents when they were drinking and cool. Without him, we would never have been able to end our sentences with the word ‘blank,’ as in ‘Jimmy and Judy want to have another child, but Jimmy keeps shooting blank.’ Wait, that’s not the best example to feature the whole ‘blank’ thing. Let’s try this one, ‘Sally forgot to tell Willy that he blanked her the other day at the park.’ You know what, I might be better at answering those than actually writing them. Ah, but I did like cocktail hour with the seniors. Charles Nelson Reilly, Betty White, Richard Dawson and more. Either my perception of the 70s is way off, or those were some real swinging cats. Mental note: strike the phrase ‘real swinging cats’ from my daily list of approved words, immediately. Also, remember to take that Diet Mountain Dew out of the freezer that I put there to make it cold super quick yesterday.

The individual I meant to discuss today is the somewhat mysterious, but equally cool ‘Most Interesting Man in the World’ from those Dos Equis commercials where he gives us his thoughts on various topics. You know who I’m talking about, right? The middle-aged bearded man with the suave Latin accent who always ends the commercials with ‘stay thirsty my friends.’ Of course if you don’t know who I am talking about, you can just look at the picture up there that I posted. Uh, forgot about that. I supposed it would have been a lot easier to say that than to have described him, huh? I’ve seen a lot of his commercials and I dig them. Mental Note 2.0 – never, ever use ‘dig’ again unless you are holding a shovel, or possibly a spoon.

Provided I clicked the right thing recently, I have become his fan on Facebook, because we all know that the sign of legitimacy in our pop culture is governed by the ads we see on the left or right border of Facebook. Heck, I’ve been offered Huey Lewis and Billy Joel tickets in some of those ads (though curiously, no Barry Manilow). It’s almost eerie, like they know me or possibly have some really nice software coding that takes my interests and panders to them with ticket offers, groups and discount meats. Yes, I’m making the meat part up, but if any Facebook programmer happens to be reading this, let me say 2 things. 1: Please don’t sue me, 2: If you happen to offer discount meats on your amazing and fantabulous site, I would not mind and 3: I hate your new layout. Oops, guess that was more than 2 things, but read it and suck it, Facebook programmers!

Now back to the Most Interesting Man In The World, or MIMITW because I know I am going to get tired of writing out his name and that will just lead me to eventually loathe him, which is in direct contrast to why I started writing all of this in the first place. MIMITW is so cool. I think he needs a sit-com or at the very least, a comic book about him. It always seems like he is sitting around a gaming table (possibly playing baccarat like James Bond) in a tropical, smoke filled bar. And of course he is always surrounded by the ladies (for full effect, please say that in a low and slow manner stretching the ‘a’ sound, not high-pitched and exuberant like Jerry Lewis).

What makes this man so interesting, well other than Dos Equis’ advertising agency? Is it his accent? Is it his beard, or is it the ladies (again, read above for proper utterance of ‘the ladies’) that are always surrounding him? You can just picture this guy globe trotting the world to a slow latin beat version of Ricky Nelson’s ‘Traveling Man,’ because this guy WOULD NEVER listen to Rock and Roll or sadly, Barry Manilow or the Carpenters. Though because he IS the most interesting man in the world, perhaps he could lend credence to their music by just acknowledging it just once. By doing that, he would help me out a great deal, but that’s really beside the point here.

He’s got himself a lady in every port and probably gambles on house credit. I’m also thinking he has hideaways, but not those under the water kinds that only the world’s most evil criminals all seem to have. Those are pre-fabricated and can be purchased at Home Depot and Lowes, by the way. No, The Most Intersting Man’s hideaways are all over the world. In Switzerland’s Mountains, Jamaica’s Beaches, the coast of Italy and a condo in Barstow, gateway to Vegas AND Death Valley. And yes my friends, he probably has a Diner’s Card, too.

You get the feeling that people just want to be near this guy to hear him speak of his feelings on too tight trousers or maybe why you can’t be cool with a parrot on your shoulder because they cannot warn you when they need to make the stinky. And as close as people want to be to him to increase their cool quotient, he keeps them at arm’s length and never reveals too much about himself, thus perpetuating his myth, or the other thing that usually happens – makes people think he’s gay. This was actually a tactic I used to employ heavily, until I got a blog and became so desperate for material that I almost referred to myself in third person once.

Right about now, you may be asking yourself if I, the author of this blog, would want to be the The Most Interesting Man, or possibly you are asking yourself what the h-e-double-hockey-sticks is that idiot writing about now. Well, you’re in luck. I have an answer for both those questions actually. I would not want to be the Most Interesting Man in the World because I do not want to wear tuxedos, or shoes for that matter, nor do I know how to play Baccarat and every time I say that word, it makes me think of Burt Bacharach and that leads me to singing songs like ‘The Look of Love,’ which I’m sure is no strange tune to The Most Interesting Man. And let’s face it, no tux or shoes is instant disqualification from the Most Interesting Man In The World sweepstakes. Also, I too have no idea what I am trying to write about here. This is possibly due to the fact that I have that Muppets song stuck in my head where they all sing and say nothing but ‘menomena.’ Damn that’s catchy. Like dysentery in the south pacific catchy.

Perhaps I could be the leader of the Most Interesting Man in the World’s entourage. No, strike that. I’m sure there is a dress code and that position would probably require me to make all of the Most Interesting Man’s details, travel plans, dinner reservations, car rentals with Hertz, etc. and I am far too much of a body energy conservationist (fine, call it what it really is if you insist – lazy) for that. So, I guess there is nothing left to do now but raise a glass and toast The Most Interesting Man In The World. Besides, I have run out of things to write about. But keep reading, my friends…


(By the way, I feel compelled to inform you that in the spirit of today’s topic, I wrote while alternating between a cup of fine Columbian Coffee and a much less finer cigar. This means not only have I burned a few holes into my clothing, but I’m pretty sure the spilled coffee is going to either make the keyboard stick or render it unusable in the very near future…)

Wait A Second, I Have A Blog??

It has been pointed out to me by oh, about 50 people in the last few months or so that I have what is apparently called a blog, which I’m told is short for web log. If that was the case though, shouldn’t it be called a Wlog (pronounced Wuh-log. Just said much quicker)? I have also been told that I have let that blog sit unbathed, unfed and unnurtured in the back of the intraweb’s shed for quite some time. Today I strive to change that.

The reason for my rededication to my Wlog is that I still do enjoy writing (defined by this individual as typing whatever comes to mind, spell checking it and hitting the nearest publish button) and the fact that I for no real good reason quit my pretty decent job last week. This now gives me plenty of spare time. But since I have already done the laundry, been to Disneyland and made fun of the tourists wearing socks and sandals and sorted my Barry Manilow CDs by favorite song AFTER Copacabana, I am looking for more to do.

It’s not that I haven’t had a wealth of experiences in the last several months to draw from. Take my two separate visits to some of Southern California’s favorite mental institutions. There was a wealth of bloggable stuff right there – like the fact that there is an exit sign every 3 feet but of course you can’t use a single one of them. Or the fact that we were feed every 45 minutes as if we were at the Karen Carpenter Memorial Hospital for the un-hungry and two-finger dieters. Then there’s the nurse that came to give me my meds and asked if they looked correct to me. Oh, lest I forget that I was the best basketball player in one certain mental institution, which I have found since my discharge gives me about as much street cred as Kimberly Drummond must have had when Arnold and Willis weren’t around.

But the most surprising element of my two uh, ‘vacations,’ was the fact that they still use leeches to bleed the bad mental mojo out of you. OK, I made the leech part up. They actually cut you with a surgical knife to bleed you. Apparently certain leeches are on the protected list.

Oh yeah, then there’s that whole thing about me becoming a daddy again. It hasn’t happened yet, but will towards the end of July. That will give me 3 daughters and undoubtedly an early stroke. It will also mean that after almost 7 years, I will have to get up again in the middle of the night and do stuff. Fortunately baby feeding and diaper changing isn’t rocket science so I should be able to manage at least partially ok. What will be harder to get used to is the return of crying, pouting and whining back into our home. And that’s just me when someone forgets to wrap the cheese back up properly…I know it’s been a while, but seriously, these are the jokes.

I guess that’s about it for my first blog back. I don’t want to say too much lest I use up all my story ideas, even though the Swine Flu should keep me busy for a while. So, what did we learn while I stopped blogging? Apparently it made me go crazy and want to procreate. Let that be a warning to everyone tempted to quit blogging!

Uh-Oh. It's V-Day!!

Nah, I’m just kidding, I knew it was coming and am prepared. Well ok, I realized it was coming about 30 mins ago when my sweet little children asked where their Valentines Day presents were. And no, I am not prepared. In fact, I had quite the day planned...for myself.

It would have been a lovely affair. Practice and racing all day from Daytona, this evening's NBA All-Star weekend festivities and then the piece of resistance (which doesn't sound nearly as good as it does in French, by the way) - Alec Baldwin hosting SNL tonight with musical guests (this is where I start trembling) The Jonas Brothers!!!! Yes, I'm kidding about the Jonas Brothers thing. They make me want those annoying toe-headed brothers that sang that Shoo-Bop song to come back. Admit it, you know who I'm talking about...

Now comes the obvious dilemma. Do I cancel my plans, which I have waited on for several weeks now (not to sway your opinion any) or continue with my plans and deal with the uh, aftermath. After all, V-Day happens every year and there are only 37 race weekends in each season. And who knows what amazing dunk might be thrown down in the dunk contest tonight or when Alec Baldwin will host SNL again. This is really starting to harsh my vibe. Yes, I'm still using that phrase. It should be out of my system by April or so.

The problem is that there are not many days on our calendar that are actually designated to show our love for that special person in our lives, or to feel the pressure to find one if we don’t have anybody. Just because it says so on our calendars, Blackberries, Daytimers and Palm Pilots we get all prettied up, buy flowers and chocolates and try to make our lovers swoon. I have to admit that I feel a little like Forrest Gump on his bus bench when I try to conform. But that’s all I have to say about that.

All over the country, people will be eating romantic dinners in or out tonight (geez, there’s a definitive statement). I guesstimate that Dean Martin’s Volare will be heard about 8,000 times at Italian eateries everywhere, whereas ACDC’s ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’ will probably be shelved for the evening. Unless you're into that. When it comes to the meal itself, many may opt for a romantic Italian eatery. There’s nothing like consuming lots of garlic-accentuated pasta on the most romantic night of the year. You just need to be careful not to speak in attractive breathy tones or sexy long drawn out syllables after eating all that garlic. That my friend is a definite mood killer, though I’ll spare you my pasta/body odor dissertation for now…

Despite the feeling of love in the air, it’s still easy to do something wrong tonight. I can offer some tips on things not to do. Please keep in mind however that I am pulling these out of thin air. It's not like I have ever done any of the following things. For instance, never look at your loved one and question the portion size of what they are ordering or suggest that maybe they don’t really need dessert this year. Never point out how nice someone else looks when they walk by. May I also suggest that any phrase that starts with ‘you know, I was going to get you flowers tonight, but…’ should never under any circumstances be uttered. No matter how tempting or funny it may be, stay away from the humorous Valentines Day cards. Even though Lucy Ricardo may be on the front and it plays the 'I Love Lucy' theme when you open it, not everyone sees that as 'romantic.'

I remember a fun Valentines Day mistake I made a few years ago at work (this is where you cue the harp and wavy dream like flashback sequence). When I over heard my overbearing female coworker tell someone on the phone ‘well, try to have a decent day,’ I mentioned to her and the rest of the office that what she just said was a lovely Valentines wish. After everyone in the office chuckled (and then mysteriously disappeared), she gave me a dirty look and told me that the person on the phone was going to a funeral. Oops. Well, at least the then recently departed got flowers that day…am I right ladies??!!!

The Top Ten Options For Celebrating Elvis' B-day (As Approved By The King Himself)*

*Although he is living on an island with Marilyn Monroe, JFK and Jim Morrison, Elvis himself did not officially endorse this Top Ten List. Neither did Elvis' estate, for that matter. Ok, they are just 10 crappy ideas I came up with. There. Now are you happy?

10. Sport trucker side burns. Sorry, this one's just for men – which I am sure Elvis would use (I mean the product. Not sure about the sideburns and all since the National Enquirer said one had to be glued back on after his death. D'oh). It drives that lady folk crazy. And if that isn't enough of an enticement guys, check this out: You don't have to shave as much of your face when sporting the trucker burns because they take up most of your cheek and hard to reach just under the jaw places.

9. Make about 36 movies – each one successively worse and each one making “The Love Guru” the “Gone With The Wind” of our generation.

8. Employ your own Mafia and then get your picture taken with the President in the Oval Office while wearing your full mafia regalia (including cape), therefore making the President look like a square. Because we all know that the title of King ALWAYS trumps the title of President. Then, as you are being driven away by your mafia, encourage them to make funny faces at the secret service because you pay them better than the President's protectors. After your visit, send a thank you note to the White House on your new stationary that is emblazoned with the slogan: “Graceland – Memphis Tennessee. Better than the White House because there is no Jungle Room or Purple curtains in the White House.” It seems over the top, but you'll feel so superior after doing it.

7. Give Cadillacs to everyone you come into contact with. Yes, I admit this one will be difficult given the price of the new 2009 Escalade and all. However, just remember it is worth it because you are buying affection AND loyalty.

6. Maintain an effective weight loss regimen by performing concerts in 60 pound, rhinestone studded jumpsuits. And pills. Take lots of pills.

5. Name your 737 after your only daughter. Or, just own a 737 – that's pretty impressive. By the way, the only celebrity I can think of these days who goes the 737 route instead of the Lear Jet route is John Travolta. Not enough celebrities fly around in their own personal airliners anymore. I'm guess this will change when Oprah and the rest of Hollywood see Obama step onto Air Force One for the first time. Yep, time to get stock in Boeing.

4. Take 2 slices of bread, a lot of peanut butter and slice up a few bananas. Then have your own kitchen lady fry it all together. Seriously, do this. It's deliciousness cannot be denied. If you Google “kitchen lady” I'm sure you can find someone.

3. Through the effective use of pills and dark drapes, make the daytime the nighttime and the nighttime the daytime. Then invite your in-laws over for lunch during the 'day.' Wait, this one is confusing even me.

2. When changing channels becomes too laborious, just shoot out the current program with a .45. It has far less buttons than I remote, I can assure you.

1. Fall in love with a severely underage girl, take her and her younger sister skating and stuff for 6 years and then marry her the minute Vegas says it's legal and have your child be born exactly 9-months to that very day.

Parents Across America Rejoice!

You all know what I'm talking about – assuming you are reading this today: Monday, January 5, 2009. Yep, the kids went back to school today. I suppose I could just stop there and let you all back to your relishing of the quiet, peaceful absence of presence that is having the kiddies back in our educational institutions, or sweat factories, where some of our favorite products are made. I'm sure they went back today too, but that's not that funny and I'd rather receive spam than hate mail. Actually, I'd rather receive both the electronic AND ham/pork/beef versions of it instead of hate mail so I won't mention sweat houses again. Sweat houses. It's the annoying side of me that had to say it just one more time. Sorry.

Anywho, I'm sure the morning was a struggle for you all, but looking at the clock as I read this, the only timezone that has yet to send the kids off is Hawaii and if you live in Hawaii, you deserve the battle ahead because you live in Hawaii, which is tropical and I don't don't live there, which is not so tropical. (Yes, people of Hawaii, I am giving you a dirty look with all your tropical weather and nice printed shirts and sand and palm trees and stuff. Oh, and macadamia nuts and pineapples. Actually, now I'm rolling my eyes at you. Deal with it) Besides, no pain, no gain. We woke them up, fed them, dressed them if they were under a certain age and pushed them out the front door or the mini-van or the SUV – perhaps while trying to hide grins. Wide Grinchy grins, only with better teeth. No pain, no gain indeed. But I'm sure you will admit that it was well worth it.

The battle here this morning was fierce. It took an extra 10 minutes to wake the twins up. We got them a CD alarm clock for Christmas, but knew this morning would not be the best time to debut it. We feared the backfireage and will grant them the rest of the week before the soft parental nudging to get them up gives way to the music of Hannah Montana or High School Musical or the Jonas Brothers or whatever devilish Disney offering the girls choose to put in said alarm clock.

Once we finally had them up, I had to not only get them to tell me what they wanted for breakfast, but I had to make it for them. See, I was not prepared for the return of the 6:30am wake up call either (perhaps due to the fact that I was up until 2am playing our Wii – though I am still choosing to blame our education system with its strict schedules and other freedom oppressing decrees like tardy slips and tater tots). Once breakfast was served, I stood across from them while they sat at the kitchen bar moaning and complaining and just generally giving me the look one might receive after killing the family cow to provide eggnong milk for the family. Let's just say it was awkward. In fact, I am not happy to admit this, but I had to resort to a song and dance number of Hello Kitty (to the tune of Hello Dolly – oldest twins' lunch box character) with my toy replica lightsaber and jazz hands. Please, don't ask. Just know that it actually worked and the mood improved enough for them to acknowledge me as their father. But what a price to have to pay!

After standing with them outside of the car for about a minute and a half wondering why the doors would not unlock, I came back into the house, got the CORRECT set of keys and we were off. You know that anxiety you get that builds second by second when you wonder if something is going to work? Well that's the feeling I had after I kissed them goodbye and watched them inch towards the school gate. I won't go so far as to say that I ran back to the car after they had gone through the gate and became the property of the Corona/Norco Unified School District for the next 8 hours, but there may have been some evil hand wringing accompanied by a little BWAHAHAHAHA.

As this is also my first real day of unemployment, I have no idea what to do in our now eerily quiet home. I mean other than the job searching and Guitar Heroing and coffee drinking and Sinatra listening and napping. Not necessarily in that order, of course. There may also be some singing and dancing. And a few happy tears. At least until 11am or so when I realize how much I actually do miss them being here. I suppose after that some form of guilt will set in, but by then they'll be back home and I'll remember why I wrote this in the first place...

No Mr. Bond, I Expect You To Fly (In A Car I Stole From TV's Rob Petrie)

Now you may have realized the title above is the bastardized version of a great James Bond quote, but you probably have no idea why I stooped so low. That's what I will be spending the rest of this 'essay' explaining.

I should first preface all of this by stating that I am a simple person, a simple minded person to be more exact. But lest you confuse my simple mindedness for stupidity, let me remind you that I came up with the idea (after a little inspiration from my Facebook and real life friend Beau) of one of this year's soon to be biggest clothing fads – The GoodHood®. It's an attachable jacket or sweater hood that is waterproof and lined with my new eco-friendly multi-fiber blend called Flaneece, which is a wonderful flannel/fleece blend. (GoodHood® - Because if you aren't keeping your head warm, you might as well be naked) See, no simple minded idiot could come up with that. Right? Wait, let me rephrase that. I mean: NO, a simple minded idiot could NEVER come up with that.

Ok, now that I've got that painful preface out of the way, I can get down to the real reason of my writing today. I took a nap a little earlier, a semi-long winter's nap, if you will. And what to my wondering eyes did appear? Sorry, it's hard to get Christmas out of my system sometimes. What appeared was the twins watching “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.” Now I have never watched this movie, partly because the name makes me feel embarrassed when I say it, the original novel was written by James Bond creator Ian Fleming and I feel it is a rip-off of one of the things I hold most dear – Mary Poppins. Yes, I am comfortable enough with my maleness to admit that. Don't worry, before you get angry with me, I shall explain all of this in more detail...

...in this paragraph here. See, Ian Fleming is like a hero to me as a writer. Or even just as a guy with a really good imagination. Ian Fleming created James Bond. That pretty much indebts me to him for life. The idea that the same typewriter (it was a typewriter because I have seen pictures of it) that created such masterpieces as “From Russia With Love,” “Goldfinger,” “Dr. No” and “Casino Royale” could also have been responsible for a children's tale about a flying car is tough for me to stomach. Don't get me wrong, if the flying car was a silver Aston Martin DB5, I'd be ok with that, but that isn't the case.

Then there's the fact that another favorite of mine, TV's Rob Petrie is playing someone similar to Burt the chimney sweep from Mary Poppins, which is also hard to stomach. Not even a spoon full of sugar would make that one easier to go down. Yes, that was reaching a little bit, I know. I am a Dick Van Dyke fan (and not just because his name is as fun to say as Bishop Desmond Tutu's or Thomas Crapper's are), but I'd rather see him as Rob Petrie (oh Rob) or Burt, or maybe even any of the characters he played during his brief stint on the Carol Burnett show after Lyle Wagner left, presumably to do Wonder Woman, but I really haven't researched any of that and could be very, very wrong on all accounts there, except for the fact that TV's Rob Petrie was a cast member on The Carol Burnett show. Gee I hope you are still following along.

Lastly, what shocked me most was seeing German actor Gert Frobe in The Chitty Movie. You may not know who ole Gerty is, so I will tell you. He is Auric Goldfinger. Yep, he's the man, the man with the Midas touch. A spider's touch. Such a cold finger. Beckons you to enter his web of sin. But don't go in. Then comes the part where the James Bond theme slowly builds in the background, but you get the idea. Watching the man who told Sean Connery “No Mr. Bond, I expect you to die” with that great accent dancing and prancing around while singing in this 'other movie' was more than I was prepared to handle after waking from my nap. Let us remember that Goldfinger painted a pretty lady in all gold and it killed her. I realize I am typecasting here, but the same man who employed Odd Job with the deadly bowler's hat and Pussy Galore and her Flying Circus to raid Fort Knox has no place in the Disney world of Chitty.

In fact, I may need to go watch “Goldfinger” or “Mary Poppins” tonight just to restore my simple minded, typecasted memory of Ian Fleming, Gert Frobe and yes, TV's Rob Petrie. Or maybe I'll watch “Cannonball Run” instead. Wait, Roger Moore, Frank Sinatra AND Dean Martin were sullying their good typecasted names in that one? Oh boy. I think I need to lay down now...

2009, Where Have You Been All Of My Life?

Well friends, 2009 is upon us. It's yet another reminder, other than my watch, at how fast time flies. Why it seems like just yesterday I was hammering the last nail into my Y2K bunker and ravaging local Rite Aides for their last cans of Spam. This could be the last year of our lives where we actually identify the year by saying 'two thousand....' Next year, just 563 days from now (wait, that doesn't seem right - perhaps I mixed the numbers up) we can start referring to the year as 'twenty-ten.' That will probably be a lot of fun and sounds kinda hip, but it's still a way off, so lets focus on this new year.

Perhaps it's my past employment experience in marketing, advertising and PR (I'm outta work by the way, so no, mentioning my previous experience was not a random gesture), but I think everything needs a slogan or catchy phrase. Just ask my twins. I've sloganized (some might call it 'branded') everything from their bodily functions to their 1,008 pairs of shoes. I feel that the new year is no different.I've been mulling over a few slogans for 2009, but have been limited somewhat by what '9' rhymes with. The first obvious choice was "Things Will Be Fine In 2009," but it's a little flat. Sure it's good when things are fine, but why can't they be "spectacular" or "more amazing than that time when you discovered that Shirley Bassey, who sang the 3 best James Bond themes ever, did a cover version of Barry Manilow's Copacabana." That's the type of enthusiasm we need to have for this new year we've been given.

I also gave thought to 'Things Will Shine In 2009," but saying that makes me feel like it's necessary to use jazz hands while doing so and I don't think jazz hands are as hip with the kids of today in their skinny jeans and unkempt hair. Oh man, when did I become my grandfather? We could go the "2009 - The Year of Awesomeness" route, but saying "the year of" is the same way Disney promotes its theme parks and I'm pretty sure that's just inviting litigation. I try to avoid litigation, even on TV. Well, except for Night Court. They made litigation fun and Harry Anderson always had a good line or two. Plus Markie Post was kinda cute, in that 80s bad business dress sort of way.

So here we are, 2 days into 2009 and we haven't given it a slogan yet. I fear that the pressure of branding this new year might make me settle for a slogan that I normally might have passed by, but am going to try really hard not to settle, like my wife did with me. (Seriously folks, these are the jokes. I'll be here all week and don't forget to tip your waitress...) Ok, I've come up with something and held true to my goals of making the new year sound exciting and inviting and not just settling on the first thing I come up with so that I can get the naming done and start printing it on napkins, toilet paper and business cards.

Are you ready? My slogan for 2009 is: "2009 - It's Newer Than Last Year, So It Has To Be Better...Right?" I like it. It's growing on me already.

It’s Pulled Pork Time In Georgia!

A Georgia resident recently shot an 1100-pound wild hog says the Associated Press. The man shot the animal when he spotted it in a neighbor’s yard, which makes you wonder how many dogs his neighbor has lost, if you catch my drift, which you probably didn't. However, jokes are never funny if you have to explain them, so we'll just move right along...

After shooting the hog, he took it to a weigh station to see just how big it was. This guy is just like me. Whenever I kill something, my first reaction is to drag it to the closest scale. Unfortunately, flies, mosquitoes and moths don’t weigh that much so the thrill is kind of lacking. Although it’s still not determined whether this hog is the biggest ever found in Georgia, it does weigh a few hundred pounds more than the famous ‘Hogzilla’ that was killed a few years ago. I guess that makes this pig Mothra-hog? Now if you are not familiar with the Godzilla Trilogy, that made no sense. Let's try it this way: if the previously known biggest pig was that one guy on 'The Odd Couple,' the new bigger pig is that other guy that the one guy lived with on 'The Odd Couple.' Kind of. Again, perhaps we should just move on...

The pig is now hanging from a tree in the man’s front yard, which is a good thing since houses always seem to look so bare after all the Christmas lights and decorations are taken down. The fact that it’s a dead obese animal and will probably start to have a horrible stench within the next few days is completely irrelevant of course. I can’t think of a better way to keep those pesky neighborhood kids off the lawn than a dead feral pig swaying from a tree.

The Obligatory Christmas Post

Well, December 22nd has descended upon us, which means the Christmas season is in full swing. I guess that means I better devote a few paragraphs to the holiday season. Let me help you set the mood. While I am typing this, Johnny Mathis is crooning ‘The Christmas Song,’ I am drinking coffee with peppermint mocha creamer, I have been stoking the fire, printing copies like a mad man of this year’s Christmas CD for our friends and family, have the twins beside me begging me not to pile them into the new minivan (yeah, I sold out, but it’s so convenient, so mind your own business) and lost my job. And I’m doing all of that while wearing my Santa Suit complete with wig, beard and old man glasses. I’m just kidding. Seriously, that suit needs to be handled with care at all times. I took it off before having breakfast this morning.

Yep, that special holiday feeling is here! Have you wished a Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays or Season’s Greetings to everyone you meet yet? If you haven’t the time is quickly running out. Have you already had to replace 2 strings of lights on the tree and had the highest, most unreachable light on your roof line go out yet? Did you buy that most specialist gift for your mom, only to have your dad whisk you upstairs during a recent visit to show you that he bought your mom the most specialist gift, which just happens to be the very same most specialist gift you got her – and he got it much cheaper! And most importantly, did you get your children, the sunshine of your life, that amazing gift your wife wouldn't let you get so you bought it 'for the children' that you just can't wait to see them open on Christmas morning? I mean really, what 6 year old twins with poor hand/eye coordination wouldn't just LOVE getting 'Guitar Hero' from Santa? Right?

To say I love this time of season would be about as obvious a statement as saying the scent of bacon can actually attract mean to a tea party. The lights, the great music, people having to be nice to me being nice to me out of their own good will, raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens, brown paper packages tied up with strings, these are a few of my favorite things. Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes, snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes, silver white winters that melt into springs, These also are a few of my favorite things – though I think way too many were listed there to qualify as being 'a few.' Gheesh, sorry about that. I just started and had to keep going (that's what she said). The holidays will do that to you, man!

Name any other time of the year when Andy Williams or Robert Goulet get as much airplay as Justin Timberlake or Beyonce. For that matter, name any other time of year where we watch 15 different versions of stop motion puppetry about a reindeer who has a highly cancerous bulbous extension on his nose that makes him a social outcast in a place where you'd think goodwill, peace, harmony, love and tolerance would be preached all year round.

I guess it sounds like I am coming off a little cynical about Christmastime, especially to those that really know me, by which I mean those who have been around me and have seen me weep when I find just that perfect piece of cheddar on the cheese plate at a social function. The truth is that I love this time of year – freakishly so and am trying to downplay it for this post. My joy of Christmas is about as freaky and strong as the teacher in Alaska or wherever who fell in love with her student, went to jail and then ran away and married him. Wait, I get the sense that isn't giving you quite the impression that I wanted it to.

Let me just say that I love Christmas and bask in it from Thanksgiving on - lights, music, merriment and all. I guess I was predisposed to liking the holiday in a stalker type way because of my birth date, which just happens to be Wednesday, Christmas Eve. Though don't worry if you didn't write it down; I'm sure I'll remind you again, Speaking of my birthday, why just this week I've watched 5 different versions of Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol' I've seen so many versions in fact that I now find myself unable to sleep at night for fear of being visited by spirits, which is far worse than being unable to sleep each night for fear that the twins will want to get in bed with us and talk the entire night about mundane things like the color of our dog Mabel's belly or how they remember that time (like 2 days ago) when they ate that really good corn dog at Disneyland. On second thought, I welcome the spirits. Ok, I realize that entire last paragraph really had nothing to do with my birthday, but it sure seemed like a good segue. You know, that part about me telling you that my birthday is this week...

So in conclusion (though I have no idea what I am concluding here because I never really did state anything – but I did get in one 'that's what she said' and one reference to cheese – so I guess this post was successful), enjoy these last few days of the wonderful holiday season. Remember the reason we are celebrating and have the merriest of Christmases with those that you hold dear or those that you like but have no desire to hold whatsoever. Also, thank you for being my friend and continuing to support my writing, even though most of it has been accomplished while under a haze of prescription meds that I am pretty sure have already begun embalming me from the inside out.

Merry Christmas!!!!!!!

An Ode To The Brick Of Sugary Christmasy Goodness

Perhaps it’s because my friend’s wife made me her personal fruitcake recipe recently or the terror induced giddiness that can only come from being one week away from Christmas and realizing I have only played 34% of my Christmas music collection, but I find myself unable to resist writing about the fruitcake.

I know what you are thinking- ‘that $#$#%#^%$ hasn’t written anything new all December and he chooses to make his first post about fruitcake? The Hitler of all Christmastime goodies?’ I guess the answer to that is yes, but don’t you think your use of the words ‘Hitler’ and ‘Christmas’ in the same sentence is akin to calling Engelbert Humperdink untalented? Let me help you out there. The answer is yes; yes it is akin to that. Very akin to that in fact. By the way, that’s a-kin, not Aiken as in Clay. No Clay here. Ever.

While the fruitcake has been maligned like Sarah Palin next to Katie Couric, I happen to like it and enjoy its candied taste. Yes, it’s a redheaded step child to other Christmastime offerings like candy canes, apple cider, eggnog, gingerbread men people, sugar cookies and ham basted in bacon salt and topped with drizzled honey and bacon fat, but it deserves its time in the sun, partly because its petrified outer shell is impervious to the sun’s rays, but that really defeats the argument I am trying to make here.

About now I should admit that I have never written an ‘ode’ before and am having trouble telling the difference between that and a ‘discourse,’ but will carry on. Not only is a fruitcake tasty, it is colorful. As humans, we are genetically predisposed to be attracted to brightly colored things, much in the same way that female birds and other lady members of the animal kingdom are attracted to brightly colored males of their species – for mating purposes, not for eating. Sorry, I should have pointed that out a little sooner. At the same time, we are also genetically predisposed to be wary of some brightly colored foods because many brightly colored berries and other fruit like offerings of native plants are actually poisonous. As you can see, we are essentially hardwired as humans to find the fruitcake as a pleasant sight, but are leery of actually consuming it because it can pose a risk to our health.

Also, I made that entire paragraph up, but admit it, my use of the word ‘predisposed’ made it seem very believable and gave me the sort of credibility that I am not normally known for. I was worried about using the word twice, but I think it helped my case – just like when I slip in the fact that I read Time Magazine for the articles. By the way, have I mentioned recently that I just renewed my subscription to Time? I did because I read it.

To be honest, I have no idea why people don't like fruitcake. Just like dipping apple slices in Ranch dressing, if more people tried it, they would realize how much they like it. Because it is the butt of jokes, most people ASSUME (and I don't mean 'assume' in the heroic 'I am venturing a guess based on way too little information' sense) that it isn't good and therefore choose to pass it up and make fun of it like they ridiculed the kid on the playground who used to dress like David Letterman and write his own Top 10 lists for his unappreciative classmates. If only they had bothered to listen to my that undisclosed person's Top 10 lists! Those fools!

Well, I guess I have run out of things to say, or to 'ode' about. In retrospect, I really didn't offer up any good reasons to actually go out and get a fruitcake but I am hoping that my enthusiasm for it and bravery in admitting that I do enjoy them will make you want to try just one slice. Let me be your fruitcake ambassador as it were. Wait, I'm not sure how that title will be interpreted...

To quote Obama - look, here's the the thing. Fruitcake has nuts (that's what she said), it has fruit, it has sugar, some even contain alcohol AND it's a lot more fun way to promote tooth decay than something like gum or coffee. See, you just can't argue with that. In fact, I am eating one while typing this. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I chipped a tooth...

Christmas Is Not Only Getting Too Commercial, It’s Getting Too Violent

That’s one of my favorite quotes from a Charlie Brown Christmas. Of course it was uttered by Linus facing an assault from his sister, but it applies nonetheless. I read 3 different news stories this morning that make me think the holidays are getting out of hand...

Will Feeling Up The Big Guy Guarantee You A Spot On The Nice List?
According to the AP, a 33 year-old lady in Connecticut is sure hoping so. She was accused of groping her local mall’s Santa. I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume she was tugging at more than Santa’s beard. I am also trying really hard to avoid describing Santa’s manitalia as ‘Jingle Bells,’ although you can just imagine how rosy his cheeks were when they were rung. Oops. Hey Santa, is that a candy cane in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

You have to wonder if this was part of a dare or if the lady was overcome with the spirit of the holiday season. She’s 33 and the mall Santa is 65, so I guess if you’re looking for an older sugar daddy you can’t do much better than Santa. Even if he does turn around and dress as the Easter Bunny in April. I just feel bad for all the other kids who didn’t get to sit with Santa that day because of what the groper did, now that Santa’s lap is a crime scene and all. The Santa who was groped was reportedly very upset with his female harasser. Apparently he kept calling her a ‘Ho’ over and over again…

I Guess He Should Have Taken His Sleigh
Remind me to avoid going to Rio De Janeiro any time soon. Reuters reported that a helicopter carrying Santa was shot at in Rio as he flew over slums that are the home to drug traffickers. The helicopter actually had to return to its base because of bullet holes. It was discovered later that the drug traffickers shot at the helicopter because they thought it was a police chopper. Well, that’s ok then.

I mean heaven forbid we shoot at Santa, but if it’s the fuzz, then it’s acceptable. I doubt that dressing up as Santa pays very well, but hopefully in Rio it earns you hazard pay. So, if you are keeping score, dressing up as Santa at Christmastime puts you at risk of being sexually assaulted and becoming a murder victim. I think Britney Spears has better odds being elected to the United States Senate than a Santa does of making it through Christmas intact. I blame the yuletide cheer. Admit it, EVERYBODY hates being around someone who seems TOO happy. Come on, you know you feel the same way. Lost here is the fact that the Santa being choppered over Rio was going to be passing out little plastic bags of white magic ‘candy cane dust.’ Ok, I made that up.

Why No Virginia, Reindeer Can’t Fly
I don’t mean to dash the hopes of kids from 1 to 92, but kids no longer need to wait up to see if reindeer know how to fly. The AP ran a story today detailing this in no uncertain terms. It seems a deer went through the picture window of a Maryland home. It damaged curtains and the couch before being subdued by the homeowner. While there were no specific details of how the homeowner was able to ‘subdue’ the frightened deer who crash landed through the window of the home, we do know that venison has coincidentally been added to the family’s Christmas dinner.

And speaking of reindeer (and really bad segues), I was at Disneyland the other day and saw what the Happiest Place on Earth was insisting were reindeer and they looked more like small moose (or mooses or perhaps meese?) with antlers. To be honest, I’m surprised they could even jump through a window, let alone fly. But then the Mary Poppins I posed with looked more like Marie Osmond than Julie Andrews. And the smell sure left a lot to be desired. I mean the smell of the reindeer, Mary Poppins wouldn’t let me get close enough to sniff her.