My To-Do List

We all have to go sometime.  Where you ask?  To work?  To the bathroom?  To that wedding of a friend we really can’t stand?  Jury duty perhaps?  Shopping for evil things like celery?  Well, not quite.  I mean we all have to “go” sometimes, as in die, pass away, ascend to that great amusement park in the sky.  

Before I do though, there are a few things I’d like to get the chance to try.  Yes, I could just call it my bucket list, but I may get sued and sent to Shawshank prison (yes, that’s a really bad double Morgan Freeman reference) and while I would love to travel to Maine, I was thinking of slightly nicer accommodations when I get there.  So anyway, here is my bucket water pail list.

*  Shoot an old fashioned cannon – I’m not quite sure when my desire to do this appeared, but I can’t wait to get to try this.  In a forest or a desert or a big clearing somewhere, I just want to load and fire a cannon and watch the cannon balls fly.  The target I’ll be shooting at, you ask?  Bowling pins, granted they’ll be a few football fields away, but it might just be the best thing to hit the game of bowling since the Wii came along.

*  Walk into a bar and have everyone call my name -  Now I don’t mean literally walk into a bar, as in collide with it, although that would probably get more people calling out to see if I’m ok.  I mean walking into an eating or drinking establishment and having everyone shout my name.  In fact, I’ve wanted this one for so long that I’d even answer to them calling out someone else’s name.  Except for Sue.  I do not want to have to answer to Sue.

*  I’d like to return the denim overall back to fashion prominence -  No, we’re not all farmers, railroad engineers  or construction folk (to be as absolutely stereotypical as I can), but who can argue with pants and shirt in the same article of clothing?  And let’s face it, calling them overalls instead of a Phirt sounds infinitely so much better. 

*  At the same time, I’d also like to see the fedora make a comeback -  (and really, how great would it be to see a bunch of fedora topped people in overalls walking around) Sure people like Jason Mraz wear one, but I mean having men in general don them with their daily work attire or for social events or for just going out on the town or for engaging in infidelity (ok, that last one may have been inspired by watching too much Mad Men lately).  I’ve been working on a slogan for bringing fedoras back, but the best I’ve come up with so far is “A plethoras of fedoras,” and I’m pretty sure the plural of plethora isn’t even a word.

* Flip an egg in the pan and actually not puncture the yolk.  Not too incredibly much to say about this one, but really, I’ve been trying to perfect the egg flipping thing since Junior High. It’s time.

*  Go to Graceland – Nothing too fancy about this one.  I just want to go to Graceland.  And sing “It’s Now or Never” in a full Elvis 1970s concert jump suit.  Complete with karate moves.  And giveaway scarves to soak up my perspiration (because that word sounds so much better than sweat).  But that’s all.  Like I said, nothing too fancy.

*  Bring a new phrase into the national and cultural lexicon.  Right now the two front-runners are “Harsh my Vibe” and “Cool Peeps.”  Here is an example of each: “Man, Facebook keeps harshing my social networking vibe every time they disable my profile.” And “I had a bacon and cheese omelet for breakfast.  It was cool peeps!”  Yes, obviously I am still taking suggestions…

*  Sit in a balcony and heckle – While this one sounds cruel, I’d really be doing it in homage to the Muppets’ Waldorf and Statler.  I’ve been working on some canned comments to yell in anticipation of the big event, but every time I practice them, I get threatened.  At least up in a balcony, there’s some safety from being harmed.  Unless of course you’re Abraham Lincoln…

When The Coffee Is Cold And The Donuts Are Stale.

That title really doesn’t mean anything, but it sounds kinda deep and therefore might get you to read whatever it is I’m about write.  Though telling you that up front kind of defeats the purpose…

!  I had the weirdest sensation last night as I was trying to fall asleep.  The sheep were counting me, but they started getting really frustrated when they kept having to start over at 1 every time.  I guess they didn’t realize it was such a bhaahd idea…sorry, that one deserves an apology.

!  When someone figures out what Elton John is singing about in "Honky Cat," will you please contact me at I.do.not.understand.a.single.lyric.that.bernie.taupin.ever.wrote@confused.com? Thanks in advance.

!  If I could be a superhero, I would want my super power to be a great metabolism so I could be a foodie and not have to pay the price physically.  Metaboman has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

!  I like to speak metaphorically and rhetorically.  I call it metorically and the best thing about it is that I never really have to make sense and when I ask questions, I don’t have to wait around for it to be answered.

!  John Wayne wore a hairpiece, which I think is just as bad as Kenny Rogers and Burt Reynolds having plastic surgery, or having ribs that weren’t slow smoked for 8 hours.  Although, you really couldn’t tell that John Wayne was wearing one…Yes, Misters Rogers and Reynolds, that’s a burn!!

!  My friends think it’s so weird that there is an earthquake that shakes the table causing us to have to start our Jenga game over EVERY time I am about to pull out the block that will make the tower fall.  Boy, that is odd…

!  So, I've been driving the same truck for almost 5 years and still can't find the cupholder without looking. I hate when you can't find the right hole and there’s all that fumbling around...that's what she said.

Time For Some Mad Rhyming Skillz Skills

Though not everyone celebrates all the high questionable holidays you can find on the internet (Hi Kat!!!), I am celebrating this one.  Today is Bad Poetry Day.  When I saw that it was, I got all aflutter (which has to be the dumbest word ever invented, well next to turkey bacon, that is).  I do bad poetry all the time!  Why just 2 blog posts ago I actually dabbled in awful poetry with my ode to Match Game, my personal chicken soup for the soul.

So, what better way as a wannabe writer to celebrate Bad Poetry Day than by writing…you guessed it, an 1100 word dissertation about how you should not be able to see the bottom of Porta-Potties when inside of them, especially at public functions like fairs and sporting events where there is really good food because you’ll lose your appetite faster than Lindsay Lohan lost her virginity…or credibility, your pick.  Ok, I’m kdding.

So, here is some bad poetry.  Some written before, some brand new.  I’d offer prizes if you picked which was which, but I don’t want to.  Enjoy the bad poetry…

Facebook
Facebook, Facebook, why do you dislike me so?
You disable my account as often as that of my friend Beau.
It is because I comment too much, or like to write on your walls?
Tis better I say, than writing on bathroom stalls.
I find it ironic that “I Can’t Live Without You by Nilsson” is playing as I type this.
That has no bearing on my poem, but it’s my poetic license.
On your site, I can talk to my long lost friends, much to my delight.
But then you disable me, in the middle of the night.
Perhaps I misunderstood what social networking means.
To you, I guess it’s only worth a hill of beans.
As soon as this is seen, I’m sure I’ll be disabled again.
And then I’ll be forced to create another profile that ends in “Christelman.”

Ode To Match Game
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...

Barry Manilow
Hi Mr. Banilow.  Yes, I am quite a Fanilow.
This One’s for You and all that you do
I like your music in a bar, I like your music from afar.
I like Mandy even more than I like cotton candy
No, I can’t smile without you, that much is true.
I’d like to take a weekend in New England
But when there wouldn’t be able to stop that song you’re singin
Although you didn’t write I write the songs,
Someone other than you singing it would just be wrongs (see, with the “s” at the end it guarantees it being bad poetry)
Then of course there is my favorite - Copacabana
Which is known from here to Japana
It looks like we’ve made it so I will wrap up this little ode
And then I will head right on down the road
So Mr. Manilow, please keep on singing
Even if doing so makes other’s ears keep ringing

Haiku Schmaiku
Syllables in five
I would rather speak in jive
Ok, that’s enough

A Love Affair With Cheese and Bacon
Cheese and Bacon
There is only one thing I can say
I must have you every single day
Not doing so gives me a rash
I am not sure what rhymes with rash
On you both, I would spend all my cash.
Hey, I just found a rhyme for rash
One is from a pig, the other from a cow
I’d like to merge the two, but am not sure how
Together your flavors would be exquisite
This is a subject I would like to revisit
So, my arteries I allow you to harden
I just wish I could grow you in my garden

Crazy A$$ Jedi
A poem about you will I write
Nothing but a Muppet you are
Gonzo’s voice you possess
Small you appear to me
Taught many a Jedi you have
Yes just talking backwards I am
This poem, sucks? (Ok stole that line from my FAVORITE movie)

Happy Bad Poetry Day!  I really hope you also do not celebrate it this way.  Oh look, another rhyme...

Screwing Up The Average…

Ok, I realize that by posting this week after posting last week that I am screwing up my average, but I’m going to give it a try anyway.  The only problem is that the idea bin was kinda empty today, save for a few cobwebs, half a piece of chicken and the sounds of crickets chirping…

 Apparently, in the world of fake holidays, today is “The Meaning of Is Day.”  That’s all fine and dandy until I realized that if I can’t explain the Star Wars universe to two 6 year olds then there is no way I stand a chance of explaining the meaning of is.  It’s like trying to conceptualize how long infinity is, what happens after we die or what makes bacon so delicious.  Or, where babies come from, as I was asked by Lucy just 3 days before LaVerne was born.  I know you’re wondering, so my answer was “wanna go get a Slurpee, or 4?”  So in short, today’s post will NOT be about the meaning of “is.”  Instead, I am going to take the easy way out be really creative and use bullets.  I mean bullet points!  Whoa, my therapist would’ve had a field day wondering what I meant by that.  Close call!

!  Why can’t I ever wake up with a GOOD song in my head instead of a song from one of Elvis’ worst movies?  And why do I tend to wake up with choreography for it as well?

!  What does it mean when someone tells you “I expected so much more out of you…”  Does that mean I owe them money or something?

!  What happens when you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both…and then you are right back where you started from because the bad negated the good, meaning no real change took place.

!  Is it so wrong to want an evil nemesis?

!  Why can I fall asleep within thirty milliseconds of sitting down in my recliner (yes, I have a recliner.  And no, I DO NOT eat at restaurants any later than 4pm…why do you ask) but it takes me an hour to fall asleep in bed?

!  Did anyone else get a cease and desist letter from Danica Patrick, or was that just me?

!  Apparently saying “I’m on Facebook to make influential contacts that might help me get a new job” is not the same as job searching.  Who knew?

!  Does eating too much bacon mean I am more susceptible to contracting the swine flu? 

!  Have you ever just started hearing the same phrase repeated in your head over and over, like the way Obi Wan talks to Luke, and wondered if there was a reason you keep hearing it?  For me, it’s not “use the force” or “what did my wife just say to me while I was nodding like an idiot,” but “bacon wrapped cheese.”  Although oddly, it is Sir Alec Guinness’ voice that is saying it…

!  When I call LaVerne my little Winston Churchill, it’s a sign of affection.  I mean she really DOES resemble the former Prime Minister.  Well, without the bowler’s hat, cigars and 250 extra pounds.

!  Why does the thought of bacon flavored Slurpees not disgust me, but actually titillate me?

!  Why does saying the word “titillate” make me giggle like a little school girl?

! And why can’t I say the phrase “giggle like a little school girl” without an evil German accent?

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??!!!