Friday Frivolity

Friday Frivolity

I'm a follower. Sheila had this game:

1. Grab the nearest CD.

2. Put it in your CD-Player (or start your mp3-player, I-tunes, etc.).

3. Skip to Song 3 (or load the 3rd song in your 3rd playlist)

4. Post the first verse in your journal along with these instructions. Don’t name the band, nor the album-title.

(I was pleased that a personal mix CD was nearest to me):

My diesel rig is northward bound
It’s time to put that hammer down
Just watchin as the miles go flyin’ by

I’m ridin 20 tons of steel,
but it’s sure hard to hold the wheel
while I’m still waitin’ for my nails to dry.

Oh I always gotta check my lipstick
in that rearview mirror,
and my pink angora sweather fits so tight.

I’m jammin’ gears and haulin’ freight.
Well I sure hope my seams are straight.
Lord, don’t let my mascara run tonight.

No Googling allowed. Which performer performed this song on which album?

(a small hint: Maybe I cheated....the chorus to this song is sung at the song's beginning, so these aren't the first words you hear).

Where do you stand?

Where do you stand?

In honor of a couple of Cardinals fans who pop in here from time to time....

The Sloth says:

....I hate the Cardinals, I hate the dumb little birds on their uniform shirt, I hate the self-described Geeeenyous, their manager, Tony LaRussa, which rhymes with LOOOSAHHH!

I hate Al Hrabosky, brain damaged moron. I'm sick and dog-assed tired of 'the Wizard of Oz'. I hate Joe Buck, Jack Buck, and Jack Buck's dad, whoever he is. I hate Stan 'the Man', and his shitty restaurants, and his stupid-assed statue. I hate Albert PooHoles, Matt Morris, and the pus-engorged Steve Klein. I hate all Anheuser-Busch beer products, fried ravioli, shitty-assed cracker-crust pizza, and their decrepit-assed arch. I hate Nelly, Yogi Berra, Darius Miles, and anything else that comes from the armpit of America.

I even hate the god-damned Mississippi River, because it flows past St. Louis.....

Emotions on his sleeve? Hell, I think Rob's whole wardrobe is that way.

(I kind of like fried ravioli).

Be Careful What You Ask For

Be Careful What You Ask For

My friend Julie sent me a few like this one. But this one's my favorite.

The Gas Station

The Gas Station

I stopped to get gas this morning.

You know that little bracket thingamajig on the gas pump nozzle? the one that holds the handle of the pump down, freeing you to wander aimlessly around the gas station while the machine pumps gas for you?

I got the pump where it was broken off. Who breaks the little doohickey that holds the gas pump handle down? Seriously. We live in a nation of utter savages.

But the problem was not standing there and holding the handle while my truck gassed up. I'm petty. But not that petty.

The problem was the fellow in the big maroon conversion van who was sharing my pump island. He pulled up and parked on the other side of our island, his van rattling to a stop. He got out, holding a two liter Sun Drop bottle. I watched, as I mashed the handle of the gas pump nozzle a little harder, as he started to pour the contents of the bottle into the trash can.

I looked away, off into the overcast sky, just long enough to wonder why the feller didn't just pour the remainder of the Sun Drop on the ground, instead of forcing some gas station attendant later on to carry a trash bag with about a pint of flat, lemony soda sloshing around in it to a dumpster.

I looked back to see how much gas I'd pumped in. I'd let my truck run down to almost on fumes. I realized that I had another problem, in that I had the slowest gas pump in history. I'd just put in about six gallons, and I felt like I'd been there forever, already.

It was only going to get longer. I watched as maroon conversion van guy set the two liter bottle of Sun Drop on the ground, pushed all the appropriate buttons on the gas pump, and bent to start filling his two liter bottle with gasoline.

I thought back to the time Dad was fixing a chainsaw, and he drained the little bit of gas still in it into one of those cheap fast food cups that you get free with a large coke. Well, that little bit of gas started eating that cup like cotton candy. We were able to get everything into a safe container, but not before proving that I come by the name Big Stupid Tommy honestly and genetically.

In his defense, it was one of those things that if you add A and B and C together, you know what'll happen, but it was a quick thinking solution to a sudden problem. And nobody lost any fingers or an eye, so what's the point in complaining?

Anyway. Back to my story. I'm wondering just how well the plastic of a 2 liter coke bottle will stand up to that gasoliney onslaught, when the feller notices that I'm staring. Intently. Maybe a little too intently.

He tops his 2-liter bottle off, and screws the cap on. As he's setting it in the van (on the seat next to him, I see), he looks at me and says "s'alright."

"Huh?" I rebut.

"It's fer muh weedeater."

"Oh," I say.

"The trick is not to confuse which one yer drinkin' with the one fer the weedeater."

"I guess," is all I could say.

"Becuz," he said as he went to pay for his 2 liters of gas, putting a deadpan in his voice that would have made Groucho proud, "you don't want to ruin a weedeater by puttin' Sun Drop in it."

I could only nod.

Zinged again. By a guy in a conversion van putting gas into a soda bottle. And not even 9 in the A.M., and not even through a half a tank of gas.

Volunteer Tailgate Party

Volunteer Tailgate Party

Busy Mom is hosting the latest edition of the Volunteer Tailgate Party, an exhibition of everything that's wrote good out of the Rocky Top Brigade.

Happy Birthday to my Sister

Happy Birthday to my Sister

My sister is 23 today. (In people years).

She shares a birthday with Jerry Seinfeld (50), Uma Thurman (34), Andre Agassi (34), Irvin Kirschner (81) and The Brady Bunch's Eve Plumb (46).

Also Dale Earnhardt, who would have been 53.

And William Randolph Hearst. Who would have been 141. Which would definitely be front page news. Every Day. Hearst Still Alive. Yep.

Umpires and Suspensions

Umpires and Suspensions

Both Cubs manager Dusty Baker and pitcher Kerry "I Kill You Umpires With Baseball" Wood were handed suspensions for their behavior during altercations with the umpiring crew during the Reds series a little while back.

Now, Dusty's tirade after not being allowed a double switch really turned out quite funny, from my point of view. Lots of great pictures. Lots of screaming. For a mind like mine, which is often confused by the subtleties of human emotions, I appreciate it when somebody goes out of their way to let people know how they feel.

Dusty was embarrassed by it, though. He's not arguing with his suspension.

I'd like to address Kerry Wood's suspension, which he is appealing, and the altercation in general with umpire Eric Cooper.

I didn't get to see the game live. That was the day a bunch of us were watching the Braves at Turner Field. So we didn't really know what the deal was, we knew only that the Cubs had lost earlier in the day to the Reds, 3-2.

But watching tape of the event, complete with Kerry losing his shit and going screaming after umpire Eric Cooper, I want to say that while Kerry should have kept his cool instead of ranting and screaming WWF-style, homeplate umpire Eric Cooper is at least as culpable as Kerry.

And his responsibility for his actions on the playing field should be made just as public as Kerry Wood's.

And I'm not even really talking about his calling balls and strikes, necessarily.

All I'm saying is this: the better an umpire's doing, the less you notice him.

But when I see the tape of Kerry Wood going ballistic, just prior to that, while Kerry's being taken out of the game, I see home plate umpire Eric Cooper, with his mask off, out from behind the plate, and inserting himself into a situation that didn't require his presence.

I say that if Cooper had stayed behind the plate while Kerry was getting taken out, and made it a point to stay professional, there never would have been any altercation.

Dorktivity

Dorktivity

Looks like Warren Ellis is gonna be at Dragon Con.

And the Braves are in town that Monday.

I gotta think about it. But given the mess (it was what we call in my circles a clusterfuck) the last DragonCon I went to was, the fact that I'm thinking about it at all is a little surprising.

More on Teamwork

More on Teamwork

Just a brief story about one of those teamwork seminars I had to attend while working for my former employer.

I had to go to Nashville for these monthly training sessions. They weren't so bad. They'd eat up anywhere from a half-day to a full-day, and that was just that much time I'd not have to spend doing the same thing I did every day.

One of the training sessions was a Focus on Teamwork. And it came complete with handouts, and a PowerPoint Presentation (my old boss had the biggest hard-on for PowerPoint), and teamwork and trust exercises.

I was witness to a conversation among three people, the exercise leader, and two of the people who worked at the home plant in Nashville, who were participating in a trust exercise. I'll call the last two Jim and George.

In the exercise, Jim was blindfolded, and was supposed to follow George's instructions to walk across the room around a set of obstacles (chairs), and select a specific envelope off the table from a selection of envelopes. And in the envelope was supposed to be a prize (coupon for a free trip to Shoney's Breakfast Bar). I think there may have been a time limit.

I don't rightly remember how we got to this point, where Jim and George got to play for the free buffet breakfast. All I know is that the goof off from Cookeville and I didn't qualify. Because we each had problems trusting a person we'd just met. Even in the name of such a grand prize as the Shoney's Breakfast Bar.

Anyway, this was the exchange in the trust exercise.

It started when Jim took off his blindfold.

Leader: Now Jim, I want you to put your blindfold on, and listen to George's instructions, and he'll instruct you which way to go to pick up the prize.

Jim: I don't want to.

Leader: What do you mean?

Jim: He'll make me crash.

(I had to laugh at him saying his partner would make him crash in the middle of a nine-pace journey).

George, who took on the biggest, most unintended, most unconvincing Who, Me? face in all the world: No I won't.

Leader: Jim just put your blindfold on, and trust George. He won't lead you wrong.

Jim: Yes he will.

George: No I won't.

Leader: You need to learn to trust your co-workers.

Jim: I trust my co-workers. I just don't trust George.

George (honestly offended): Why not?

Leader: He won't lead you wrong. Just do the exercise, Jim. You have to trust George.

George: Yeah.

Jim (for whom confession is good): But I don't trust him. He won't give me my vacation like he says he will. He steals supplies out of my office, and I think it's him that's been eating bits of my lunch out of the fridge....

George: Naw, it ain't!

Leader (rolling his eyes): George! Are you going to lead him wrong?

George: I ain't stealin' your lunch.

Leader (getting upset): George: Are you going to lead him wrong?

George (matter of factly): I might.

Jim: See?

Leader: George!

Jim: Yeah he is.

George: No I'm not.

This exchange went on longer than it ever should have.

It ended with Jim finally trusting his co-worker. But being unable to comprehend simple instructions like, turn left. Because Jim ended up tripping over the chair obstacle and then not being able to count the third in a series of five. He ran out of time.

It was all good, in the end, because we all ended up getting free breakfast bar coupons.

But it ended up being very sad. Because I lost mine.

It is very possible that the untrustworthy George stole it, now that I think about it.

Wedding Dress Auction

Wedding Dress Auction

Since its hit counter's up over a million, I'm guessing a lot of you have already visited this particular wedding dress auction....

Look at my Cultural Illiteracy

Look at my Cultural Illiteracy

I've been here for 20 minutes trying to come up with something to write. So I'm just going to borrow this from Sheila and Dan, and go listen to the Cubs game.

Just copy the list, and put into bold the books you've read. This shouldn't take long:

Beowulf
Achebe, Chinua - Things Fall Apart
Agee, James - A Death in the Family
Austen, Jane - Pride and Prejudice
Baldwin, James - Go Tell It on the Mountain
Beckett, Samuel - Waiting for Godot
Bellow, Saul - The Adventures of Augie March
Brontë, Charlotte - Jane Eyre
Brontë, Emily - Wuthering Heights
Camus, Albert - The Stranger
Cather, Willa - Death Comes for the Archbishop
Chaucer, Geoffrey - The Canterbury Tales
Chekhov, Anton - The Cherry Orchard
Chopin, Kate - The Awakening
Conrad, Joseph - Heart of Darkness
Cooper, James Fenimore - The Last of the Mohicans
Crane, Stephen - The Red Badge of Courage
Dante - Inferno
de Cervantes, Miguel - Don Quixote
Defoe, Daniel - Robinson Crusoe
Dickens, Charles - A Tale of Two Cities
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor - Crime and Punishment
Douglass, Frederick - Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass
Dreiser, Theodore - An American Tragedy
Dumas, Alexandre - The Three Musketeers
Eliot, George - The Mill on the Floss
Ellison, Ralph - Invisible Man
Emerson, Ralph Waldo - Selected Essays
Faulkner, William - As I Lay Dying
Faulkner, William - The Sound and the Fury
Fielding, Henry - Tom Jones
Fitzgerald, F. Scott - The Great Gatsby
Flaubert, Gustave - Madame Bovary
Ford, Ford Madox - The Good Soldier
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von - Faust
Golding, William - Lord of the Flies
Hardy, Thomas - Tess of the d'Urbervilles
Hawthorne, Nathaniel - The Scarlet Letter
Heller, Joseph - Catch 22
Hemingway, Ernest - A Farewell to Arms
Homer - The Iliad
Homer - The Odyssey
Hugo, Victor - The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Hurston, Zora Neale - Their Eyes Were Watching God
Huxley, Aldous - Brave New World
Ibsen, Henrik - A Doll's House
James, Henry - The Portrait of a Lady
James, Henry - The Turn of the Screw
Joyce, James - A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Kafka, Franz - The Metamorphosis
Kingston, Maxine Hong - The Woman Warrior
Lee, Harper - To Kill a Mockingbird
Lewis, Sinclair - Babbitt
London, Jack - The Call of the Wild
Mann, Thomas - The Magic Mountain
Marquez, Gabriel García - One Hundred Years of Solitude
Melville, Herman - Bartleby the Scrivener
Melville, Herman - Moby Dick
Miller, Arthur - The Crucible
Morrison, Toni - Beloved
O'Connor, Flannery - A Good Man is Hard to Find
O'Neill, Eugene - Long Day's Journey into Night
Orwell, George - Animal Farm
Pasternak, Boris - Doctor Zhivago
Plath, Sylvia - The Bell Jar
Poe, Edgar Allan - Selected Tales
Proust, Marcel - Swann's Way
Pynchon, Thomas - The Crying of Lot 49
Remarque, Erich Maria - All Quiet on the Western Front
Rostand, Edmond - Cyrano de Bergerac
Roth, Henry - Call It Sleep
Salinger, J.D. - The Catcher in the Rye
Shakespeare, William - Hamlet
Shakespeare, William - Macbeth
Shakespeare, William - A Midsummer Night's Dream
Shakespeare, William - Romeo and Juliet
Shaw, George Bernard - Pygmalion
Shelley, Mary - Frankenstein
Silko, Leslie Marmon - Ceremony
Solzhenitsyn, Alexander - One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich
Sophocles - Antigone
Sophocles - Oedipus Rex
Steinbeck, John - The Grapes of Wrath
Stevenson, Robert Louis - Treasure Island
Stowe, Harriet Beecher - Uncle Tom's Cabin
Swift, Jonathan - Gulliver's Travels
Thackeray, William - Vanity Fair
Thoreau, Henry David - Walden
Tolstoy, Leo - War and Peace
Turgenev, Ivan - Fathers and Sons
Twain, Mark - The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
Voltaire - Candide
Vonnegut, Kurt Jr. - Slaughterhouse-Five
Walker, Alice - The Color Purple
Wharton, Edith - The House of Mirth
Welty, Eudora - Collected Stories
Whitman, Walt - Leaves of Grass
Wilde, Oscar - The Picture of Dorian Gray
Williams, Tennessee - The Glass Menagerie
Woolf, Virginia - To the Lighthouse
Wright, Richard - Native Son

A few comments.

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn's my favorite book. Gulliver's Travels and Slaughterhouse Five are other favorites.

Henry James is not my cup of tea, and it annoys me that he's on the list twice. Once, when playing Quiz Bowl, I drew the ire of a competitor by my swearing: I hate Henry James. We'd gotten three or four Henry James questions over the course of the day. The fellow wh called me out had done his thesis on James' work, and was apparently a fan.

As I Lay Dying is another really good one. Very Dark. Very Funny.

I read Call of the Wild in the fourth grade. I should probably go back and re-read it, because I probably didn't understand it like I thought I did.

Both Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" and Pynchon's Crying of Lot 49 are on my shelf. I want a block of time...a rainy Sunday or a night when I'm not working....that I can sit and read each from start to finish in one sitting, without having to stop for anything more substantial than a pee break. I don't want to have to break momentum because I have to go to sleep or work or something.

"Bartleby, the Scrivener" is another one that I've re-read a few times, and I come to enjoy it more every time.

I find myself intimidated by the size of War and Peace. And those Russian names in general. Those books are probably better when you read them in the original Klingon, anyway.

TV Tuesday

TV Tuesday

TV Tuesday. Because I'm afraid not to.

Comedy Central unveiled it's list of the 100 Greatest Stand-Up Comedians of All Time last week. (The list was quite subjective, I don't know who voted, no one asked me.) But it was a fun series of shows to watch. They are replaying it endlessly if you'd like to catch it. You can view their list here, if you'd like some help coming up with names for this week's questions!

1. Who is your favorite stand-up comedian of all time?

George Carlin. Whose comedy is a combination of irritation bordering on outrage at we really aren't living up to the ideals we set for ourselves, and , and just plain goofy shit, all of which has had a spark of thought put into it. My favorite one-liner from Carlin?

Sties are caused by watching dogs shit.

I was reading Braindroppings in the back of class before class one day. And I read that, and all through the class, I was fighting the insane giggles caused by that statement.

Other favorites: Henry Philips, Larry the Cable Guy, Lewis Black and Mitch Hedburg.

2. Which one could you do without? (Not your type of humor, or just plain stupid!)

Any comic whose biggest schtick is based on their racial experience. It's just not funny anymore. D.L. Hughley, Rodney Carrington. Even George Lopez. How different race groups see their race. How their race group sees others. I mean, a lot of their "universal experiences" aren't universal. It just seems like lazy comedy, to me.

And I've never really thought Tim Allen was all that funny. Same type of thing. Men vs. women.

3. Which comedian do you think has gone on to have a great career aside from doing stand-up?

I'm not sure I understand the question. Jerry Seinfeld had a TV show which I can't remember the name of. Also Bill Cosby, in a show I can't remember the name of. Bob Newhart had a couple or three shows, none of which I can remember the name of. Andy Griffith? He was an actor first, but he had some really neat anecdotal type stand up. He was also in a show which I cannot remember the name of.

~Bonus~ If you went to a comedy club on amateur night, and they gave you some jokes and a microphone, would you go onstage?

I've tried a couple of times making people laugh from a public stage. And it didn't go well.

I have incredible admiration who can get up on stage and make a lot of people laugh.

Thanks for playing - you are one wild and crazy guy!!!

Just a Thought

Just a Thought

I don't know who keeps perpetuating this myth that working in teams always equals higher productivity, but enough already. We live in a society nowadays where everybody thinks their opinion is valid. And nobody knows when to shut up and do what I say.

Just a thought.

Matt Clement

Matt Clement

Matt Clement struck out 13 for the Cubs, and took a no-hit bid late into the game, as they finished off the Mets 4-1.

He maybe funny lookin', but today, he threw with the best of them.

Still. If somebody mentions Matt Clement to me tomorrow, I'll think about how goofy looking he is before I think about the 13 K's. But the time lapse between the two will be minimal.

Synchronicity

Synchronicity

It's looking like I'm going to have to read Peter Biskind's Easy Riders, Raging Bulls, before the cosmos bludgeons me to death with the title.

First, Sheila mentioned getting it and reading it.

Then, I pick up Warren Ellis' Come In Alone, and in his first column he recommends reading it.

And now I get my monthly e-mail from Paul simply titled "The Books I Read," and at the head of the list is Mr. Biskind's book.

So, I'd probably better get it, because somebody wants me to read it.

That, or I'm about to get runover by a moving truck filled to the brim with copies of Mr. Biskind's book.

Reading

Reading

I just updated the read list, with books 45-49. I've been reading. Just not updating my list too often.

Recently finished a James Thurber collection, Pat Fitzhugh's book on the Bell Witch and a collection of essays by Warren Ellis that I picked up last week.

I'm slowly making my way through American Colonies, by Alan Taylor. It's a look at the history, sociology and economics of America in the colony system. It's a fine read, but it's slow going for me. My attention span's been locked in on writing lately. I can write for a good length of time. But reading something a little dry just hasn't been in the cards, lately. Hell, I can barely sit through a 30 minute TV show, lately.

I'm also going to have to re-start Phantom of the Opera, which I misplaced, but know where it is now.

I'm not going to make my 100 book goal, I think. I'm going to plug away, and see how many I can do between now and September.

Rutger Hauer

Rutger Hauer

Rutger Hauer has a message up on his official website about working with Morgan Freeman and Liam Neeson on the set of Batman Begins, the Year One type tale that Darren Aronofsky's making about the Dark Knight.

Now, I was overcome with so many different reactions from this post.

First: Rutger Hauer has a website? I'm not surprised that he does. Everybody and their dog has a website. Hell, I have a website, such as it is. So the man of a thousand roles (as long as the character Rutger is playing is Rutger Hauer) having a website shouldn't be surprising in and of itself.

What I'm surprised about is that I did not know about it.

Considering that "The Rutger" is one of the Evil Hippy's most favorite performers. Once upon a time, he set it as a goal for himself to create the world's largest private Rutger Hauer Film Library. He worked it up to some ungodly number of movies starring, featuring or even having just a bit part from The Rutger. Mostly on VHS, mostly bought cheap at second-hand VHS and CD stores.

I think the advent of DVD kind of took the wind out of his sails, as he never really went about collecting DVD movies of Rutger's work with the same passion he did with VHS copies. I always thought it was because Rutger represented the old ways, and for Bill, those were two circles whose borders should never meet.

Or perhaps it was because the rights to so many of Rutger's films were so open that you could find five DVD copies of Escape from Sobribor in a decent media outlet. It was just too daunting a task to even try to pick up the library.

I was surprised that the Hippy does not have a link up on his site to Rutger Hauer's page. Surprised, and dismayed.

But also, I was surprised at the nonchalance with which Rutger describes his meeting Morgan Freeman, with whom he's never worked:

"....the moment he arrived I grabbed and hugged [Morgan] telling him what a pleasure I thought it was [to work with him]. He agreed.

Now, what I picture is Morgan Freeman (classy guy) walking on set, and suddenly being accosted by this boisterous European gentleman, whom Morgan thinks he's seen, but decides that Hauer must have been a craft services guy on Hard Rain, or something. And Morgan is simply being polite when Rutger tells him it's great to be working together.

Mr. Freeman is a classy guy. Even to craft services.

But I also liked Rutger's version of meeting Michael Caine:

Michael Caine knocked on the door of my trailer and stepped in. We embraced furiously and he was just as happy to see me as I was to see him. We worked in Kenya in pffft '75. What a nice man he is. Told him I was happy for him in the gem of a role he's playing. So it was a great heart warming day.

I just love that line at the end: It was a great heartwarming day. See? Rutger's just a sappy dope like you and me.

But the line that caught my eye first was the one where Michael Caine's just stepped into Rutger's trailer. They embrace furiously.

Now, furiously's a word that gets thrown around quite a bit nowadays, and has lost a bit of its impact, in my mind. To me, to do something furiously is to do it in a mad, angry passion. I always think if somebody's furious, they're insanely angry. And personally, I wouldn't want to be embraced furiously. Especially by Rutger Hauer.

It's a semantic argument, and your interpretationg my differ from mine. But that line got me to reading between the lines in Rutger's tale.

See, I don't think Michael Caine was terribly happy to see Rutger. At all. I kind of think the trailer Rutger calls "his," was actually Michael Caine's trailer. Rutger gets on set, asks where his trailer is, and finds he doesn't have one. Amiably, he calls it a mistake, and finds an unoccupied trailer, where he squats. And there he stays, until Michael Caine gets done shooting his scene, comes to his trailer to take a dump, finds a naked Rutger Hauer sitting Indian Style in front of the TV watching soap operas and crying. Crying hard. Furiously hard.

The furious embrace? That's Michael "Insanely Strong for a Classically Trained Actor" Caine grabbing Hauer by the torso and bodily carrying the star of Blind Fury out of his trailer.

I don't have a good way to segue out of my post. I'll just finish with a link to Rutger Hauer's front page, where you can see the many, many, many roles that Rutger has played in his career.

Many, many.

Tribute

Tribute

Scott over at Northside Lounge has a very nice post of thanks for Pat Tillman, the Arizona Cardinals' safety who joined the Army, and was killed in action in Afghanistan.

Had a short discussion about this at work. A co-worker was a little disgusted that Tillman's death was getting as much attention as it was, while most of the men and women serving over there who die get maybe an inch of ink in the newspaper.

He was disgusted not so much that Tillman's sacrifice was being given so much attention, but that other soldiers' deaths were getting so little.

I saw his point, but I just came at the news from the angle that Tillman was not only representing us overseas, but was also representing the men and women serving overseas--men and women who gave up maybe not as much monitarily as Tillman, but at least as much in their careers and family lives. He was representing those fine people to us, here at home.

Plus, he was a public figure before joining the Army. Few people nowadays who join up are.

Hopefully, in being a public figure, and in representing those serving, the news of his death could and should help shine a light on the sacrifice so many of those people are making.

Crazy Eye Pushing Out Disease

Crazy Eye Pushing Out Disease

Hey, Tommy! Let's read Fark before we go to bed.

Okay.

Disease Pushes Eyes Out of Woman's Head.

"I woke up one morning and my eyes were swollen," Himmer said.

But the swelling under Himmer's eyes didn't stop there. "My eyes kept swelling, not just the skin, but the eyes itself," she said.

Himmer's eyes began to bulge from her eye sockets and her doctors could not figure out what was causing it.

Great. This'll get me when I can't sleep at night. Or day, as it were. I suddenly think about terrorism. Or edu-ma-cation. Or goblins. Or Soccer Hooligans. Or Gunny Walker. Now I also gotta worry about an autoimmune dysfunction which causes my eyes to pop out of my skull, and look like Arnold Scharzenegger when he's jettisoned to the surface of Mars.

Update: Papercuts. I should apparently worry about papercuts. Went to grab paper out of the printer paper package, and I ran the cuticle of my right bird finger along the edge of the paper pack. Stupid. Stupid stupid.

Hey Look: A Political Comment

Hey Look: A Political Comment

Vague as it may be.

The Borg Collective, or as they refer to themselves, the Nation of Japan, are pretty much my least favorite people on the planet right now.

Don't know why this struck me ill. But the three Japanese who were taken hostage in Iraq, including one who went to give aid and support to the people of the country, returned home from their ordeal to a really nasty welcome from the general Japanese public, and their own government.

"You got what you deserve!" read one hand-written sign at the airport where they landed. "You are Japan's shame," another wrote on the Web site of one of the former hostages. They had "caused trouble" for everybody. The government, not to be outdone, announced it would bill the former hostages $6,000 for air fare.

You guys ever watch the Chappelle Show? Remember the Playa Hatin' Convention? Ice-T gives out the awards at a ceremony, and declares after telling one story: "Dayum! That's Hateful."

The Government of Japan is charging the people for their flight home.

Damn! That's Friggin' Hateful.

Here's the reasoning:

Beneath the surface of Japan's ultra-sophisticated cities lie the hierarchical ties that have governed this island nation for centuries and that, at moments of crises, invariably reassert themselves. The former hostages' transgression was to ignore a government advisory against traveling to Iraq. But their sin, in a vertical society that likes to think of itself as classless, was to defy what people call here "okami," or, literally, "what is higher."

Colin Powell said something basically right:

And so I'm pleased that these Japanese citizens were willing to put themselves at risk for a greater good, for a better purpose. And the Japanese people should be very proud that they have citizens like this willing to do that."

To my mind, anybody who's over there wanting to work together to build a better world, has my support and respect.

I don't necessarily agree with our reasoning for going over there. But I do believe we're ultimately going to leave Iraq a better place. To me, it makes the world a bit better. And that's a higher calling than looking toward the aims of the Nation of Japan.

So I think these Japanese, especially Nahoko Takato, deserve our respect. Because they're not getting any over in the land of the Rising Sun. For looking to an even higher power than the Japanese Society.

That's going against the grain.

That Dog

That Dog by Tommy Acuff. Heh.

That Dog. I passed him back there.

He made me think, That Dog was thinking so hard.

That Dog had something on his mind.

Something huge.

He didn't even look at me. Just let me walk on by. Not even a glance. Nary a courtesy bark. That Dog's yard became his second priority.

That Dog.

What could weigh down on a dog like that?

That Dog has a lot on his mind.

He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, That Dog.

Or his back. I don't know where dogs carry their thoughts.

Their heads?

Shoulders?

Tails?

Maybe their asses. They chew around there a lot.

Here dog. Think about this. Could you kill one baby to save a million?

Let me chew on it, the dog would say. And then he would chew his behind.

I don't think That Dog carries the weight of the world in his ass. Nope. Because That Dog was just off in space. Staring. At nothing.

That Dog was VISUALIZING.

He probably had a big decision to make. About somebody he loves.

Or maybe somebody had hurt him. To his soul. To the cockles of his doggy heart. To his ass.

Or maybe he was just analyzing some crap he'd just eaten, using the ultra-sensitive taste and nosebuds he carries in his doggy head.

Crap. Literally. That he'd found.

I'm not much of one to wonder about such things.

But That Dog is. Boy, he had a lot on his mind.

Johnny Calhoun's This Things I Believe

Johnny Calhoun's This Things I Believe

Just a few random things on this Friday, when things aren't as hectic as they were the past couple of days.

Like I said earlier, I got my money back from the government. They weren't using it, I guess. No grass to plant in the Everglades. There's not an aviary in Idaho needing renovation. And I'm not funding a study that says poets die younger than other artists.

I do have a full tank of gasoline, and groceries. So I'm thankful.

Just looking around,

Dan has a list of all the little things he enjoys. It's a nice list. You have to take pleasure in the little things in life. Dan likes double plays. I can't argue. Although my cup of tea is the triple. I like seeing a runner leg out a triple.

Also. The Cubs and Pirates got rained out last night. The Cubs still have to travel, and it's early, but I feel like anytime they can avoid that night game followed by a day game, it's a good thing.

Can I admit to liking to watch the Pirates? The Nashville Sounds are the Pirates Triple-A club. So a lot of the guys on the Pirates this season, I've watched the past couple of seasons up at Relatively Lovely Greer Stadium. Tike Redman, Jack and Craig Wilson, Rob Machowiak. I always like to see them do well. Except when Jack Wilson's running like mad all over the Cubs.

And E-Ramis, currently of the Cubs, also played some ball for Nashville.

Changing the subject.

Jake's going through a difficult time at work. As a guy who just spent the last three years hiring and firing under similar circumstances, I sympathize.

Got warned not to sneak up on a co-worker last night. "That's how you get dealt with," was the warning.

Umm. Go over to Overfed Mind. Give Robb some belated birthday wishes.

Man. I think I want some chicken.

My Very Own Money

My Very Own Money

Guess who got his tax refund via direct deposit this morning?

Hell yes.

First Place

First Place

I realize that I run the risk of cheesing things up by even mentioning it, but at 9 up 6 down, the Cubs share first place with the AssTrolls.

But looking at the standings, nobody in the National League Central's below .500. Pittsburgh's listed in last place, having won 7 and lost 7. They and Milwaukee (8-8) are each 1 1/2 games out of first.

But I can't think of a time, ever, when everybody in the Central's been above .500, even at this early stage of the season.

Arrested Development

Arrested Development

It's a little busy around these parts. And that sucks.

Just a quick blurb from the USA Today: As expected, Fox renewed The Bernie Mac Show, 24, The O.C. and Malcolm in the Middle. Fox also extended MADtv, keeping it on the air through 2008.

No word yet on Arrested Development, which is currently my favorite show on TV.

As of late last week, it was still "on the bubble."

I don't ask much of my sevens of readers, but if any of you is part of a Nielsen family, I will pay you $19 (American) and make you a casserole of your choice (Green Bean or Tuna) if you'll just tune your television to Fox when Arrested Development's on. You don't even have to watch, if you don't wanna. You can read. Or go to the bathroom. Or talk to the dogs. Or talk to the children. Or make a sandwich.

Though I highly recommend watching the show. It's smart, goofy comedy. And there's not enough of that on TV.

Hellboy Question

Hellboy Question

A few weeks ago, I saw Hellboy, and mentioned that the movie's biggest problem was probably editing, which a couple of times causes you to have to bridge the gap between character actions yourself...at one point it's logical, but there's another scene (near the movie's climax) where it was a little irritating.

In his past weekend's Question and Answer column, Roger Ebert dug up an answer on this:

The Question from one of the readers: In your "Hellboy" review, you wondered how the heroes went from defeating the monsters in one cave, to being imprisoned in another. Well, for one, Liz explained that she blacks out when she uses her powers. I guess that we can just assume that John was knocked unconscious by the force of the blast. And given that Hellboy didn't appear to be moving or awake when Liz fried the monsters, the bad guys only had to pick them up and transport them.

Neil Shyminsky, Toronto, Ontario

The thumb says:

Ingenious, but there's another explanation. Matthew Bradford of Los Angeles points me to a message by director Guillermo del Toro on the message board of the official "Hellboy" Web site.

Edited for length, del Toro writes: "We got some complaints of HB copies that were screening without 45 seconds at the end of reel 5. You see, AFTER Liz explodes there is a FADE OUT to absolute black, and some projectionists are taking it as a cue for the reel being over. It is not! All copies are printed correctly but may be screened with that 45 seconds missing by omission in the 'assembly' of the platter. The print you view needs to have the following scenes:

A) HB is attacked (spoilers from now on). Liz explodes. A rock hits the lens!

B) DARKNESS. Voices. The water has evaporated, and burnt Sammael carcasses are seen. Myers wakes up, dizzy. He sees Rasputin/Ilsa. She approaches him and thanks him for the grenade belts. CUT TO:

C) Another space in the complex. She's slamming the belts and everybody has been manacled.

The copies are being projected without "B" in some theaters."

My theater was one without that bridge segment. So that explains a lot. That theater's run by idiots, anyway. So it's not surprising that they'd screw up splicing reels together.

Last summer, a buddy and I went to see Pirates of the Caribbean, and after many complaints, the projectionist could not get the projection right on the screen. A mass exodus from that screen to the next screen over, which was showing the movie thirty minutes later, began. Complete with employees telling us to stop, and that the problem was being worked on. This was right around the time the Black Pearl attacks the town and kidnaps Keira Knightley. So we'd had just about enough.

Also, this theater has a snotty little guy who works the ticket counter during the week. He powertrips HARD over asking people for their ID's for R-Rated movies.

Dude. I'm 6'4", I've got a week's worth of beard, and I'm starting to go bald. I just want to see Club Dread (or Terminator 3, or Ladykillers, or any other R-Rated movie I've been to there). Why you powertripping over my driver's license? You want I should pull you through the cash hole to have a good look at me, to make sure I'm not trying to sneak into a Coen brothers movie?

Dusty Baker

Dusty Baker

They're photoshopping the Cubs' skipper over at Fark today. So far, I like the one with the lightsabers best....

Accordians

Accordians

I hate the accordian.

If I had my way, all accordians would be destroyed.

I hate the accordian because it's obnoxious. It just grates up my spine when it's played.

Also because the accordian's the pre-dominant instrument played on the Spanish-language AM station somewhere close to 720 on the AM Dial. The station which competes with WGN out of Chicago for dominance on my stereo. One minute, I'll hear Ron Santo, clear as a bell, talking about how much he likes the Giants' new park (which is neither here nor there, since the Cubs are playing the Pirates tonight) and the next, I'll hear "Aiiiii-yaiiii-yaiii-yaiiii" with a squeezebox blaring in the background.

Actually, the interference isn't bad tonight. Some nights, it's so bad that it's not even worth it to try to listen to Cubs radiocasts. I just consider myself fortunate to be able to hear WGN at all here in Middle Tennessee.

Back to the point, though.

Mostly, I hate accordians because my best friend Fernando was beaten to death with an accordian, while my hands were bound with baling wire, and my eyes taped open to watch. That happened in the third grade.

Stripe

Stripe

(This is kind of a sad post. Sorry.)

I didn't sleep all that well today. Had a pretty bad dream.

I guess it wasn't bad in and of itself. But, I haven't quite shaken it off yet, and I've been up a couple of hours now.

My cat's disappeared from my parents' home about a week and a half ago. She was kind of old. Cats are private about their final moments. I think I admitted to myself that she probably wandered off to do that one last thing in private.

Her name was Stripe. She was called that because she was covered in stripes, and also because her personality was a lot like that of the gremlin Stripe, in the Gremlins movie.

She was a good cat, despite her gremlin personality. She was laid back, and wouldn't take blame for anything. I like that part about all cats. But she was different from other cats. She would come when you called her.

A long time ago, she attached herself to me. Don't know why. But I was her person. She would check to see if I was in a room before going to another person's lap. She would bring me presents. Usually dead birds or chipmunks. It's the thought that counts.

Of everybody at that house, she was the most bummed when I went away to school. Mom says she moped around for weeks after I left.

But she was getting kind of old. I guess she was 12 or 13, and maybe even older. She was in the last litter that the mama cat we brought to the cabin in the woods had.

She had to eat soft food, now. And she stayed inside the folks' house most of the time. And she didn't stray far from the house when she did go outside.

Like I said, she's been gone for a week and a half or so. Mom told me weekend before last. I've been kind of bummed about it, but have kept it at the back of my mind for about a week, letting other things occupy my mind, not letting myself really think about it.

But I dreamed about her this afternoon. Just an ordinary dream about being in my folks' house and picking her up and flopping her on my shoulder. And I woke up thinking about that, about how I won't get to do that anymore, and ended up feeling pretty miserable.

Guess I let myself think about it.

Sorry if you came here expecting something else. She was my pet. And I've never had that before. I got kind of maudlin' and goofy about my pet. She was a cool cat. And I'll miss her.

The Mullet

The Mullet

The Mullet's got himself his blog up and running again. Today's snack, he says, was Moonpies.

It's Tuesday....You Know What That Means....

It's Tuesday....You Know What That Means....

Lots of great things happen on Tuesday.

1. I take my weekly shower.

2. The Tuesday newspapers come out.

3. TV Tuesday.

Iteration 6

Whether it was Barney Fife with one bullet in his pocket, or Lt. Columbo's "Just one more thing…", we could be sure in the old days that TV cops would wrap everything up neatly in 30 to 60 minutes. These days it may take a few episodes, but TV's top cops still manage to right most of the world's wrongs.

1. Who is your favorite (past or present) TV cop?

I guess I gotta go with Barney Fife. Barney rules. Will there ever be a better television conflict than that of Barney Fife and Ernest T. Bass?

Barney's fun to watch because he's in the center of the conflict of what he wants to be, and what he really is.

2. Which TV cop do you think was the most crooked, or the most inept?

Chief Wiggum is probably my favorite for being inept While the point is arguable as to whether he or Barney is the bigger screw-up, the difference to me is that Barney tries to be a cop, where Wiggum's priorities are a lot less organized.

Favorite crooked cop? Roscoe P. Coltrane. Not crooked so much as willing to bend the law to take the Duke Boys out.

3. Which TV show had the best ensemble cast of police officers?

I'm not a big fan of cop shows, so I can't really point one show out as my favorite.

I guess I'll say the Hazzard County Sheriff's Department is my favorite, especially when the triumvirate of James Best, Sonny Shroyer, and Rick Hurst filled the Sheriff's office out completely, for one season, as Sheriff Rosco Coltrane, and Deputies Strate and Hogg.

Yes, things were always best when Enos and Cletus got together.

~Bonus~ You need to hire a bodyguard for yourself. Which TV cop do you choose?

I know that he's just a bailiff, but can I choose Night Court's Bull Shannon? Because Richard Moll's huge, dude.

Or maybe Constable Odo, from Deep Space 9. Just so long as I didn't have to clean his bucket.

Thanks for playing… Let's be careful out there!

Monkeys

Monkeys

I don't like my alarm clock. I wish I had a monkey who had an alarm clock in his own room who would know to come wake me up when the alarm went off.

That way, instead of my thrashing angrily out of my slumber because some car dealer's radio commercial is blaring too loud from my radio, I'd be happy to be awake. Because the monkey is shaking me. And perhaps screaming.

And my monkey is cool. So I could never be mad at it.

Naaah. On second thought, scratch that idea. That monkey would poop on me. I just know it.

Corrections and Retractions

Corrections and Retractions

That tremor thing I felt last Friday? It was apparently "maintainence people" doing "work" on "my" apartment "building." I don't even know what quotation marks mean anymore.

But I found that out not too long after I'd written that post. And I was much too lazy to go back and fix it.

Much too lazy.

Also, I would like to take back everything I said on March 19, 1997.

Another pretty day.

Back from Atlanta

Back from Atlanta

Got back from Atlanta a little while ago. A good trip. Good convention. Good Braves Game. Good food. Good Hotel. (Great Hotel...we got overbooked at the con's host hotel...got our rooms comped at a neighboring hotel). Good Mexican lunch. Good car ride home.

A couple of thoughts:

The Braves had one of the crappiest promo giveaways ever, Saturday night. In terms of quality, I mean. You've seen the window flags, right? With the logo of your team which you put into your car window, to show that you support the Montreal Expos with all your heart and soul?

Well, Napa sponsored a Braves flag night. And after the game, the interstates and highways surrounding Turner Field were littered with these red flags with Napa logs. The fabric of the flags wasn't secured well to the plastic flagstaff....so when the a car flying the flags hit 40 miles an hour, the flag just came whipping off.

Also, I know it's old news...but we gotta sponsor legislation to get concessions prices down at these sporting events. Seven bucks is too much to pay for a sixpack of Icehouse, let alone one big old cup of the stuff. But this I can live with. However, paying 4 and 5 dollars for bottled Coca Cola? And $4.50 for water?!?!?!

I'm in the wrong business, if somebody can make right around $22.50 a gallon for something I can get out of the kitchen faucet for a few pennies.

Atlantacon was good. They packed the con into a smaller space this year. They had a decent crowd. I didn't buy a whole lot. Just a few Justice League comics for the crapper and a couple of Roman Dirge's Lenore trade paperbacks, which I recommend greatly...nicely twisted.

Talked with George Lowe, the voice of Cartoon Network's Space Ghost for a little while this morning. Just want to say that the kid in me gets thrown for a loop to see a cartoon character's voice in me come out of the face of a human being.

Also: it was greatly entertaining to those sharing the (free) hotel room last to watch me set my belongings aside, announce to them that I'm going to sleep, get under the covers, and fall fast asleep as soon as I'd closed my eyes and my head hit the pillow.

Apparently, I had a good breathing-through-the-nose/whistling thing going on. And it was funny.

I make people laugh, even in my sleep.

Dorktivities and Incorrect Spelling

Dorktivities and Incorrect Spelling

Dorktivities a word a heard not long ago. It's become one of my favorites.

I'm heading to the Atlanta Comicon this weekend.

I'd like to hit a Braves game while we're down there. Somehow, the con and the Braves haven't been in town at the same time. Ever. Not once. Out of spite, I believe.

But this convention's part of why I couldn't swing heading down to Atlanta for the Braves/Cubs series last weekend.

It's a smaller convention. But it's got a fun guest list, creator-wise, and there are usually lots of good dealers down there. I'm not looking to buy a whole lot. Don't have a bunch of extra cash. But if I see some play-pretty that I like, I might pick it up.

On an interesting note, when you enter the url for the Atlanta Convention manually, if you spell the contraction "Comicon" like my mind says it logically should be, as "Comiccon," you get porn.

Who knew that there was porno on the internet?

I thought it was kind of shifty of them, to be honest. I thought porno providers were quality, upstanding people.

I mean, usually that's a trick reserved for the church.

Anyway. Around these parts, it's supposed to be sunny and in the 80's. Get out there and enjoy your weekend.

(Also, send me presents. This I command.)

What the HELL was that?

What the HELL was that?

It's a beautiful day here in Murfreesboro. Went for a walk. Did one more load of laundry. Sat at a pic-a-nic table and wrote on a yellow pad until my hand hurt. It was just like three days ago that it was rainier and colder than bejeezus (your actual mileage may vary). It's like, sunny and 80.

But, I'd just come in from writing. I'd sat down on the edge of my bed to take my shoes and socks off, when I felt a low rumble. Normally, I'd run to the bathroom when anything like this happened, but I quickly ascertained that the rumbling wasn't coming from, you know, down there.

But it was a low rumble that lasted about ten seconds.

Also, the change on my nightstand was rattling. That's only happened in conjunction with intestinal dysfunction nine or ten times in my life.

Either we just had us an Earth Tremor here in Middle Tennessee, or a big damned truck just rolled past my house for, like, 10 seconds.

And I didn't hear no trucks.

Changing the subject.

Last Friday, I posted my own Friday Five questions. And then Friday Five posted theirs. Well. Friday Five sucks. Where are your ancestors from? Melmach. Where do you think they're from? They're from Kentucky. Where else would they be from?

What kind of Root Beer? IBC, beeyotch! Nothing but the best.

I ain't Friday Five anymore. Until I get bored on a Friday.

I can do better.

Here now, are my own Friday Five Questions:

1. What do you think that was just now when your whole bedroom was shaking and rumbling?

I dunno. Coulda been a tremor. I wonder if anybody else in M'boro felt it. Gunny? Gunny? Could have been a truck. Sometimes I don't hear things as well as I should. Selective listening. No trucks in my auditory canals.

2. Are you sure it wasn't just gas?

Jeebus. Did the canary die? No, he's still alive in his cage. He's staring at me, like he's suspicious of something. But definitely alive.

3. You sure talk about gas a lot.

Well that wasn't much of a question. It's more of a narrow-ended statement. Granted, it's a statement intended to goad a response, yes, but not a question. Won't have many other people playing along with that one.

3. Okay. I'll rephrase. Do you think you talk about gas too much?

I think it was Sherwood Anderson who said "write what you know." And buddy, do I know flatulence.

So no. I don't think I talk about gas too much. Maybe in this post. But not in general, no. (Your actual mileage may vary).

4. Do you think that's a sign of a problem? A mental problem?

Talking about farting? An indicator of a mental problem? Not particularly.

I tend to think that Dell Computer box that I keep in the closet that's full to the brim with hair is more of a sign of a mental problem. If you want to walk down that road.

Or the fact that I can't touch anything with my hands without first smelling it. To see if it's healthy.

5. Do you really have a Computer Box full of hair? Or that other thing, where you smell stuff?

No, not really. I don't have a box of hair in my closet. Not anymore.

And you can't really tell if anything...a doorknob for instance....is healthy by smelling it. I thought everybody knew that.

You have to taste things to make sure they're safe to touch.

That's another narrow-ended question, by the way. I dare anybody to play along with these questions.

I never said I was any good at this sort of thing.

Get In On The Ground Floor....

Get In On the Ground Floor....

A while back, a guy named Jake e-mailed and asked for blogging tips. It looks like he's gotten things started up...he's learned to link and everything. His couple of e-mails managed to make me laugh out loud, so I think his blog might turn out alright.

I like the title. It's called: Everything's Jake.

Volunteer Tailgate Party

Volunteer Tailgate Party

Looking over at the Newsrack, we see the newest, shiniest, and most glorious edition of the Volunteer Tailgate Party to date. It's a collection of the best the Rocky Top Brigade has to offer.

Donut Eating Prize

Donut Eating Prize

According to this article, a Wisconsin police officer won a doughnut eating challenge by downing 9 1/2 doughnuts in 3 minutes.

Now, not to trap myself into any sort of challenge, but 9 1/2 doughnuts in 3 minutes? That doesn't sound like all that much, really. I mean, that's right around a doughnut every 20 seconds.

Hell, I could do that. Especially if they were glazed, and fresh made.

I don't eat them now, but I remember back in the day, when a fresh made Krispy Kreme came to me hot off the magical doughnut making machine? It'll dissolve like cotton candy in your mouth. You don't even have to chew. Just swallow the concoction of the warm dough, grease and sugar.

Yeah. I think this guy's days as donut eating champ are numbered. I mean, that little Japanese guy can put down 30 hot dogs in five minutes. A hot dog doesn't mash up like a doughnut would.

Yeah. 9 1/2 isn't that much at all.

One caveat: if the cop was eating powdered doughnuts, as implied by the line "left his opponents in a cloud of powdered sugar," then 9 1/2 donuts is quite the remarkable feat.

I'll show the respect, because that's a horse of a different color. Powdered doughnuts are harder to eat in a hurry. Especially if you don't have anything to drink. That powdered sugar and cake just dries all the moisture out of your mouth. It becomes impossible to swallow. Clogs up the works.

But still. I think 9 1/2's a pretty low number. Maybe he was sandbagging, so that he got into an easier field in the National competition.

By The Numbers....

By the Numbers....

If you're keeping score.

It's tax day. Lot of people crunching some numbers. In that spirit, a few numbers.....

15: When they announced on the radio last night that April 15th was also High Five day, the number of times one particular co-worker went to high five me.

0: The number of times anybody else wanted me to high five them.

3: The number of times I wanted to high five somebody.

1: Number of times the person said to me: Leave Me Alone.

4: The number of times I saw somebody out of the corner of my eye last night, but when I turned to look, nobody was there.

1: Number of times I was really weirded out by it.

20: The number of minutes I had to wait on a grilled chicken wrap and a sugarfree cherry limeade when I stopped at Sonic after work.

3: On a scale of 1 to 10, how much I enjoyed my post-work meal.

3: On the trip from work to Sonic, and from Sonic to home, the number of times I had to swerve lightly to the left to avoid somebody in a motorized wheelchair riding on the edge of the road.

5: Roughly, the number of miles I travelled from work to Sonic, and Sonic to home.

3: Number of school zones I passed through in that time.

1: Number of school marm/crossing guards who yelled through my closed window to slow down, even though I was doing the mandatory 15 miles an hour.

300+: Number of times I've heard the Herm Johnson skit on the Bob and Tom Show.

Every time: Number of times I laugh when Herm loses his cool yelling for his hard-of-hearing wife of 67 years Marguerite.

2: Number of days ago I did my taxes.

0: On a scale of one to 10, how much I'm looking forward to having to go to the post office today, anyway.

Thank you. These have been the mundanities of Tommy's Thursday.

Shea Stadium

Shea Stadium

I'm listening to the Braves radio broadcast as I get ready for work. A Mets fan sitting just below the Braves' broadcast booth at Shea Stadium, where they're visiting playing the Mets, is taunting the Braves' Eli Marrero.

He keeps yelling at the top of his lungs: "Marrero! I don't like you! Whaddaya Gonna Do About It?"

Over and over. At the top of his lungs. His gruff voice is coming through as clearly on the radio as Pete Van Wieren and Don Sutton, who are both laughing at the guy's choice of phrase and his dedication to it.

Syndication

Syndication

Dig me. I learned over on the Say Uncle blog how to syndicate on blogger. It was ridiculously easy.

I've just started using Yahoo's newsreader.

http://bigstupidtommy.blogspot.com/atom.xml

That's the url, if'n you want it.

Book Game

Book Game

Emily and Sheila got it, and here's how you play:

1. Grab the nearest book.

2. Open the book to page 23.

3. Find the fifth sentence.

4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.

Alrighty. I just did one of those passaround e-mail thingies with a question like this on it.

I reach into my backpack, and pull out at random.....

The boy had the satisaction three days later of overhearing his aunt complain to the grandmother of the one-legged, off-balance, room-wrecking havoc that had followed.

From Ferrol Sams' Run With the Horsemen, which was recently returned to me.....

Michael Chabon editorial

Author Michael Chabon had this editorial in the New York Times yesterday, on the furor surrounding a violent story a student wrote which resulted in his expulsion and his instructor's contract not being renewed. All this at an art school.

Chabon, on the teenage human condition:

It is in the nature of a teenager to want to destroy. The destructive impulse is universal among children of all ages, rises to a peak of vividness, ingenuity and fascination in adolescence, and thereafter never entirely goes away. Violence and hatred, and the fear of our own inability to control them in ourselves, are a fundamental part of our birthright, along with altruism, creativity, tenderness, pity and love. It therefore requires an immense act of hypocrisy to stigmatize our young adults and teenagers as agents of deviance and disorder.

And, on Imagination as Refuge:

The imagination of teenagers is.....the only sure capital they possess apart from the love of their parents..... During my own adolescence, my imagination, the kingdom inside my own skull, was my sole source of refuge, my fortress of solitude, at times my prison. But a fortress requires a constant line of supply; those who take refuge in attics and cellars require the unceasing aid of confederates; prisoners need advocates, escape plans, or simply a window that gives onto the sky.

Art is communication, and should be responded to in kind, with honest attempts at dialog and more communication.

Art should definitely not be responded to by making the artist cover his light with a basket.

If you cut the kid off from art, his means of communication, and of knowing that somebody else feels the way he does, and you tell the kid that writing such things is Bad, Chabon says, you pave the path of creation for the very ugliness we're seeking to prevent.....

Feelings

I love Pepsi One.

But I'm not in love with it.

(I got nothin' this morning).

TV Tuesday

TV Tuesday. Because the voices tell me to:

Week 5- Is That Your Final Answer?
Game Shows have kept us playing along for years… From What's My Line? to Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, we watch, yell at stupid contestants and generally feel superior, because we could be doing so much better! So let's see, do you have what it takes to play the game, or are you the Weakest Link?

1. Is there a game show (past or present) you think you would do really well on, as a contestant?

Jeopardy. I would kick ass on Jeopardy. Too much useless information rattling around in my head.

Do you know how much of a dork I am about Jeopardy? I keep score. Not much, anymore. But there was a time I did every time I watched.

I make a grid corresponding to the show's game board. I give a check mark for every right answer (or question, in Jeopardy parlance), an "X" for every wrong answer, and a 0 for no guess. I give the appropriate dollar amount for each correct answer, take away for each incorrect answer, and do nothing if I don't guess.

And I rate my scores against the players' combined scores, since there's no way to tell whether I'd have rung in before they did.

Yeah. Jeopardy's a regular Dorktivity when I'm around.

Tried out a couple of times. Passed the test, played the mockup game. Never been on the show, though. Too scary for TV.

Millionaire, too. I think I'd do well, although that one's a little more spotty, because you can always run up against SOMETHING that you've got no idea on, and it'll run you off the road. Most of the time on Jeopardy, you have a chance to redeem yourself.

Price is Right, too. The logic games. The games like Hole in One (or Two) or Plinko might cause me to tear up a set they'd make me so angry. Because they depend on a physical skill (can't putt) or are essentially random chance.

But I would like to spin the Hell out of that big wheel. I've talked about that before.

And Beat the Geeks. Remember Beat the Geeks? Where you'd test your TV knowledge or Movie or Music knowledge against a geek? I think I'd do okay, because the contestant questions were so much easier than the geek questions--the TV and Movie Geek's questions I got between half and most of the time.

I only saw one episode with the Wrestling Geek. I'd have torn the dope a new one.

And I once, when I was eleven or twelve, I made my grandfather so mad he had to leave the house when I would get the Wheel of Fortune puzzles in a couple of letters, and just blurt out the answers. But I wouldn't do well on that game, were I playing. Just a hunch.

2. Is there a game show you think is the stupidest thing you've ever seen?

I always hated Password. The best gameshows are ones where you can play along. But Password derailed that at every turn, but showing you what the contestant was trying to guess.

American Idol. That's technically a game show, isn't it? A karaoke contest? But I won't get off on a rant on that one again....

3. Is there a game show you watch, but don't like to admit to watching? (A guilty pleasure!)

I watch Price is Right sometimes. I don't not like to admit that. I really want to spin the big wheel.

Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I'll watch re-runs of Match Game on Game Show Network. I get a weird kick out of watching B-Grade celebrities from before my birth bicker on a gameshow panel. Gene Rayburn makes me laugh.

~Bonus~ Who is your favorite game show host? Who is your least favorite?

Alex Trebek makes me so mad sometimes.

Let me tell you about meeting Alex Trebek.

I tried out for the Teen Tournament in High School. A bunch of us took a test, and while we waited for the results, surprise guest Alex Trebek comes out to do some Q & A.

I got to ask Alex: What do you write when you're at the Jeopardy lecturn? Are you writing little notes about the contestants when you're writing? About how stupid Contestant #2 is, or how you've got to pick up your dry cleaning?.

I'll say this. I've been talked down to by the best, in Mr. Alex Trebek.

No, he said smugly. I would never do anything like that...and then there was a discussion of respect. Like Alex Trebek respects the contestants. I just nodded, having gotten politely dressed down by the host of TV's Classic Concentration.

(Oh, and he's just keeping track of the gameboard, when he's writing, in case you were wondering).

Meredeith Veira (sp?) does a good job on the syndicated Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.

And like I said, Gene Rayburn, from Match Game, makes me laugh.

(This theme suggestion comes to TV Tuesday from the lovely Busy Mom, our self-proclaimed "Child of the 70's". Thanks Busy Mom! If you have any ideas or suggestions, please e-mail me or leave it in the comment box!)

Thanks for playing! Now let's see what's behind curtain #3!

Taxes

Yep. Checked in with My Uncle Sam this morning. Did the taxes. A full two days before they're due, too.

This is pretty late for me. I'm usually of the mind to get it out of the way, and I'll generally have them done the end of February. Last year, I filed on the 20th of Feb, my birthday.

I put it off this year, because I was pretty sure that I was going to end up paying in, what with taxable interest and all.

But it turned out okey dokey. And I'm getting some money back from the guvmint.

It's spent, already.

I used my tax refund to buy up closeout Cadbury's Creme Eggs. Many hundreds.

And I don't even like Cadbury's Creme Eggs.

But it just seemed like the thing to do.

Creepy History

Butchmule's got a bit of creepy history for you folks to look at....check it out.

Well, that was humbling....

The Cubs playing the Pirates. In the home opener.

The Home Opener at Wrigley never looks like fun, though. It's always 41 degrees and it seems like every other year there's the threat of snow. I don't much cotton to baseball in April in Chicago. Maybe the baseball lords should make it so that we don't play in Wrigley until the ivy's green.

They lost 13-2.

Maddux got shelled.

HE WALKED IN A RUN. There is nothing in baseball that frustrates me more than watching my pitcher walk in a run. Having a Hall of Famer do it just twists my stomach into a knot.

I gave up right then. I went to bed. Screw it. If they're going to play like it's 2002, then I got nothing for them, either.

This is not the way to start a season. Cincinnati and Pittsburgh are teams that we need to beat consistently. We're 1-3 against the Central so far. I know it's early. But a couple of games where the pitching staff gives up that many runs this early in the season might be the first couple of shovel-fulls of a morale pit that they may never get out of.

I blame Peter Gammons.

Allow Myself to Introduce.....myself....

My New nickname is Lieutenant Dummy M. McStinkybutt.
Take The Third Grade Insult Generator today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.

Now you know. And knowing's half the battle.

Seen at Smoking Toaster.

50 Most Influential Comedy Albums

At Mark Evanier's blog, I found a link to this, a discussion of the 50 most influential comedy albums.

I want to point a couple of things out.

I'm not going to dispute placement or inclusion. I haven't heard 15-20 albums on the list at all. Dick Gregory's the big name from the list I've never gotten a hold of. And some of them, the Cosby albums for example, I haven't listened to in a long time.

I do want to say that George Carlin's a personal favorite, and both FM & AM and Class Clown are very nice choices, especially considering the latter ushered in the Seven Dirty Words concept still used in the loose (but tightening) sense by the FCC.

Bill Cosby's To Russell, My Brother Whom I Slept With is hilarious. Anybody who can paint a picture with words I envy. There aren't many comedians who could do it better than Bill. When I saw this, I instantly thought of the long bit about sleeping in the same bed with his brother, and how it made me laugh probably a hundred times a the same things, all the while making me feel like I was a part of the story, rather than just listening to it.

Pryor? Hilarious. I just wish more comics had picked up on more aspects of his comedy than rehashing the "white people walk around with hangers in their shirts" jokes.

Or maybe I'm just a nervous white guy who can't get the stick out my behind.

Bob Newhart doesn't get his due, especially in an age where everybody seems to be influenced by Richard Pryor, George Carlin and (before them) Lenny Bruce. I think he ended up working too clean to be remembered in a lot of people's minds. To too many comedians on down the line, working blue was the only innovation they hooked upon.

Newhart does a lot of clever, surreal stuff, but often does it in the guise of an everyman reacting to a crazy world. I got a copy of a The Button Down Mind of Bob Newhart when I was working at Goodwill. I listened to it once, lent it to a co-worker who quit later that day.

There is a note at the bottom of the discussion that HBO and cable very much changed what stand up comedy was as a recording concept--comedy became a visual medium much more than it was an aural one.

As such, you don't find many albums beyond the late seventies on the list. There a couple of Bill Hicks' albums, an Andrew Dice Clay, a Sam Kinison and Chris Rock's Bigger and Blacker. But for the most part, you won't find much that was recorded after 1987. I don't know if that's fair or not, but I honestly can't think of many from that period on that would qualify as influential....

But there has been good stuff. I'm not going to try to argue for or against the influence of any album. I mean, I can't measure so I can't argue for the influence of something that's been released in the past five years.

But I would like to point you in the direction of a couple of pieces that I've really enjoyed from the last five years or so...not that I think these will necessarily be all that influential, but I think they're among the best....five years just for brevity's sake....

David Cross's Shut Up, You Fucking Baby is a great anecdotal trip. Cross, from Mr. Show, among others, molded the album from a number of performances. But it's a strong selection of simple stories and opinion that Cross gets up to tell, often a little lit, on stage. There's a great bit on banning art because it's too sexy and how David can barely control himself at the art museum, and also on what exactly John Ashcroft does with the half-clothed Justice statue when nobody else is around--cold, stone titty.

Henry Philips' Number 2 is about three-quarters' music--mostly Philips and his guitar. But it's twisted and it turns you down a couple of paths you don't see coming. My favorite Philips song is Talking Again....in the background of the version on this album, if you listen closely to the girlfriend talking in the background, she speaks about falling off a horse, and getting an anal hematoma.

George Carlin's You Are All Diseased I bring up because it's probably his angriest work in a while. I'm not sure if he recorded it just prior to or just after his wife's death (I could look it up, but, whaddaya gonna do?). But there's a lot of free-floating hostility in that one. I enjoy that.

I'd also like to say Carlin's A Place For My Stuff, which is significantly older, but is a bit more bit and skit oriented than his other albums. It was probably a step backward stylistically from his Seven Dirty Words days, but it's funny....(Inflection makes all the difference. The adventures of Ranger Dan and his Big Dog, Dick...or The Adventures of Ranger Dan and his big dog dick.....)

Lastly, I'd like to point out Comedy Central, who've made a pretty good attempt recently to get comedy albums back into the medium. Dave Attel has an album out on their label, and Mitch Hedburg's and Bobcat Goldthwait's newest were also Comedy Central released albums. (Bobcat's really a funny standup. Give him a look).

Wow. Wrote more than I thought. I apparently like standup comedy, and standup comedy albums.

Sunday

I've been writing a good part of the morning.

Got a little inspired by something I saw as I was out for my walk. I wandered past MTSU's basketball arena, Murphy Center, where a number of local churches had gotten together for a community-wide Easter service.

I was walking by as the crowd was starting to gather to go in. As I walked in front of the building, a number of people were gathered in a huddle underneath an awning, near a bus dropoff as it was starting to rain.

I was hurrying my pace, too, but not so much that I missed a boy about 10 or 12 years old moving out from under the awning. What caught my attention, actually, was the mother starting to yell at the boy about getting his clothes wet. I looked up just in time to see that he'd moved out of the awning's protection and given his spot to an older woman, so that she wouldn't get soaked. The older woman was really decked out in her Easter gear, with a nice yellow dress and a wide-brimmed hat with white and yellow flowers around its trim.

His mom noticed quickly what he'd done, and shut up. She smiled politely to the older lady, also taking a moment to look up at the older lady's hat, and say something along the lines of "hello."

But then, the father guy turned around, and he started to jump the kid about his clothes getting wet. The kid explained as quietly as he could what he'd done. The dad guy got it, although a little more slowly. It was probably the older lady's hat that got him to figure out what was going on.

Then, he put his hand on his kid's back, patted his back twice, and traded spaces with the boy. He guided him under the awning, and put himself out of the rain.

I thought it was a nice gesture. Too often nowadays, no good deed goes unpunished. The kid did a nice thing, and his parents were a bit quick to jump him about it.

But then after everybody had gotten settled for a moment, this really old guy turned around. Really old. Like, Ben Weaver from Andy Griffith old, and saw the father guy out in the rain (which had come to a light shower by this point).

The old guy gets kind of exasperated, says "Cletis! You git yer lazy behind outta the rain for I whale the shit out o' you!"

That part didn't happen, but there was this really old guy who turned around to look at everybody else under the awning with his face screwed up rather nastily, as if to say "I hate it when all these heathens got to come to church on the Easter," or perhaps "Who Farted?"

But it broke my little no-writing funk I've been in. So that's good.

I did get wet. That part wasn't good.

It also occurs to me later that the father may not have been changing places with the son just to show that he was proud. The son may have been wearing specialized electronicalized clothes which give him special powers. Like in that Jackie Chan movie. Although if a little rain's going to screw up your bionics, then they're probably not worth the food stamps you cashed in for them.

Or, the father could have been moving the kid into the crowd so that he could strangle him, hidden from sight by the mass of people.

But I tend to think somebody would have noticed. Even if they were staring at the older lady's really awesome Easter hat.

It's Easter

I almost forgot. Happy Easter, folks.

By the way, anybody know the cleanest way of going about skinning a six foot rabbit? I found one inside the walls of the BSTommy compound last night. I'm guessing that he didn't escape the notice of the guard towers last night. Biggest rabbit I ever saw.

The Alamo

Went to see The Alamo last night with friends. I hadn't been anxiously expecting its release, but I saw that Ebert gave it a decent review, as did my buddy Eric, who saw it at a reviewers' screening.

Billy Bob Thornton's pretty good as Davy Crockett, the man who struggles to live up to the ideals of his myth. Crockett's a man famous on both sides of the Texian/Mexican conflict. He's also a man who came to San Antonio thinking the bulk of the fighting was finished, wanting only to settle in a place where his he's more of a man than a spectacle.

This is really the type of character Billy Bob's best suited for: A guy who's at odds with the world view of him, but a guy who all the same doesn't want to fight the world, he just wants it to let him be himself.

Here's the thing: Jacob in A Simple Plan, Karl from Sling Blade or even Willie in Bad Santa all want to make their way, but are held back by some force within. The difference this time around is that David Crockett's demons are molded more by positive perceptions of him by outsiders, rather than negative ones.

To this point, this little Karl/Jacob/Bad Santa track in his career hasn't fallen into being repetitive, though he's not far from the corner Kevin Costner long ago turned, when he started making nothing but Me Against the World pictures.

Besides, Billy Bob could always fall back on the other character he'll play: the loud, obnoxious southern guy who doesn't give a shit what you think who'll occasionally spin off a funny saying. Think Primary Colors or Intolerable Cruelty. Or even that Hearts Afire show he did with John Ritter and Markie Post.

(On the Hearts Afire, Billy Bob had what is still one of my favorite TV line readings. He's just finished gloating about Ritter's and Post's characters having to do something he deems unpleasant, when he realizes he's stuck babysitting. Disgusted, he asks an empty room: What the Hell Am I so Damn Happy About?)

There's also a very nice sequence involving Crockett and his fiddle. Each night, before Santa Anna's cannon bombardment begins, a band of drums and trumpets from the Mexican army serenades the troops and the Alamo. After many nights of hearing the song, Crockett declares that he knows what's missing from the tune. He pulls his fiddle from its sack, and on walls of the mission begins playing in harmony.

It sounds hokey when I write it. But it's really kind of a neat scene.

Patrick Wilson's Bill Travis is interesting. A man struggling to come to grips with his own life, perhaps ill-suited to the position of command, who is thrust into the position of authority at the most inopportune of times. The friction between himself and Jim Bowie is well played. I liked his inner conflict. He's struggling to convince himself he's suited to lead as much as he is the men.

The battle sequences are pretty intense. They weren't as well put together as I thought they could be, but they were effective nonetheless. Loud. Bloody. Cannons blowing men away at close range.

The bad in the movie?

I don't care for Dennis Quaid's Sam Houston much. If acting is walking around with a menacing frown all the time, and talking as gruffly and condescendingly as possible to everybody, then I'm the best actor in the world.

Plus, Houston gets this weird Man of Destiny thing going toward the end of the movie, where he's foreseen where he'll defeat Santa Anna, but not when. It just seemed weak.

Jim Bowie doesn't have a lot to do, except lie in bed riddled with the Consumption (or Typhoid, or Pneumonia, one or any, by his words). He plays a nice foil to Travis, early on, and he's got a lot in common with Crockett, as a man who can't live up to his legend (the difference between the two being, Bowie doesn't even try). Bowie spends the bulk of the movie in bed, with little to do but have everyone come by and offer him kind words. Ironically, he's shown to be the one with the most to fight for, at least in that land. He's the one who can do the least. His part wasn't bad. Maybe I'm just disappointed.

But ultimately, I enjoyed the movie. It's not 3 1/2 stars good, like Ebert says. But I liked it.

Forklift is back...

Cubs readers, Fork Lift is back up. He had glitches. I feel, brother.

Best Of....

I haven't put out a whole lot this week on the blog. I haven't written much, period. Lack of sleep's been part of it. In my world, writing's the cause of lack of sleep, not necessarily the remedy to it.

Hence all the links and memes this week.

I was guest blogging, too. Over at Uncouth Sloth. I tried to be a little more uncouth than usual. But I don't have the passion like the Sloth. Still, I thought it went well, for the blogging.

Yeah, they're 2-2, but they can't score runs. In last night's 15 inning win over the Braves, the had 12 hits and 8 bases on balls, but put two across the plate.

Either they tableset, or they aim for the fences. Situational hitting, thus far, isn't a strength for my Cubbies. I can remember saying this for much of last season, until they made the trade to bring Kenny Lofton and Aramis Ramirez over. E-Ramis is nice, but Kenny Lofton brought a veteran presence to the top of the order. Good leadoff hitter, good situational hitter.

I miss Kenny Lofton.

But anyway, here's a post, slightly edited, from this week's tenure at the Sloth's site. It's about the nastiness that popped up with Major League Baseball's study of putting advertising on team uniforms:

Ad Space

As a baseball fan, I try not to pay too much attention to the business aspect of the game.

For one, numbers are boring to me. I'm not a numbers guy, and whether you're spouting attendance information, payroll information or the length in years and amount in dollars of the contract of some half-high school educated, semi-literate hillbilly from Crotch Spread, Kentucky who can bring the heat at 98 miles an hour, it just gets tiresome.

But for another, if I can pry myself away from Skinemax long enough to pay attention to certain things, I just start getting angry. No Skinemax, that's enough to boil the blood. But add to it that that a goofy sumbitch from San Pedro de Macoris is making more in one at bat, or more in his 2/3 of an inning he's coming out to pitch than I'm making in a year with my college (B.S.) degree working in the middle of the night. That shit bothers me.

So generally, I try to ignore it. Try to seperate things in my mind. I try to bullshit myself into thinking it's still about the game being played on the field.

But this made my ears perk up a little.

Seems Bud Selig, the used car salesman ostensibly in charge of our little game, and his ilk are looking into putting ads on uniforms. To increase revenue.

He's trying to shake me out of my delirium.

One of his minions:

"We're always looking for new ways to advance our business," Tim Brosnan, MLB's executive vice president for business, said.

Also: "We're unashamed of the fact that we are a business," Brosnan said. "We're mindful of the fans, but I don't think this is unreasonable."

Here exactly is the problem with Major League Baseball. The assholes in charge of it. These pricks who are all so aware that baseball is big business. For whom the biggest possible number underneath the bottom line is the primary goal.

These assholes who won't let it just be a game.

I think Brosnan's second statement is telling. We are mindful of the fans....but he doesn't think he's being unreasonable.

Let me tell you something. Unreasonable is in the eye of the beholder. Lizzie Borden didn't think she was being all that unreasonable when she was holding the axe, either.

He is mindful of the fans. He is mindful.

What does that mean?

Any time I use the term "mindful" is when I'm doing something in spite of something else.

Yeah. Brosnan is mindful of the fans' ideas on this little piece of bullshit. He just doesn't give a shit.

I know chili dogs are bad for me. I am mindful of the notes several different medical agencies who say things like "There's rat hairs and cholesterol" in chili dogs. And how chili dogs are "bad for the heart and arteries." And "I shouldn't eat 9 in one sitting."

I'm mindful of all these things. But when you've got a plate of chili dogs in front of you? What's your priority? I'm gonna eat me nine chili dogs.

Actually, without trying to, I've kind of stumbled into a good metaphor.

My friends and family are also telling me that chili dogs are bad for me. Granted, they were my initial source of chili dogs, and they tell me all things in moderation. But they see and know that if I do nothing but consume chili dogs, and search for new sources of chili dogs, I will become unsightly to look at and be around.

Soon, the more chili dogs I bring to myself, the less my friends and family want to be around me.

The fans aren't Bud Selig's or Major League Baseball's first priority. Their priority is bringing in the cash, even though the fans were their first and most loyal source of chili dogs...er...cash.

It's getting to be too much.

Bud, the more you try to get revenue from other sources, the less the ones you should be loyal to will want to be around you.

I don't have much uncouth to say about this, except Screw the Car Salesman. He doesn't love baseball. He's not looking to make baseball the great game it could be. He's not looking for the game's best interests. He's looking to see how he and his owner friends can line their pockets to the highest degree.

I don't want to watch Kerry Wood (brought to you by Old English Malt Liquor) pitching to Alex Rodriguez (brought to you by Hardee's) in the George Foreman Grill World Series next fall.

It's becoming so not about the players or the game.

And I guess that's what pisses me off most of all.

I just want to watch the game. A game that is happy to have me there, loyal and smiling.

But everything I see shows me that Bud Selig thinks I'm not the most important thing to the game. Because I can't belly up the most dollars for his pockets.

This is why I don't pay attention to the numbers aspect of the game.

Thanks to Bill McCabe for the link to the NY Post story.

Saturday's Funny

Gunny Walker's Joke of the Day.

Today's Funny

Laurenn McCubbin, who said in her April 7 ("it was the ethos of my tender years") post:

For awhile, me and my friend Laurel were convinced that her dad was the Zodiac Killer. He was silent, withdrawn and he travelled to San Francisco on business a lot. Plus, we had a lot of time on our hands that summer. We drew up charts and schedules showing how ihis schedule PRACTICALLY OVERLAPPED with the Zodiac killings, and we were ready to show all of this to the cops when Laurel's dad came out as gay to his family. Which is why he was so withdrawn, and why he spent so much time in SF.

Maybe it shows where I'm from, but a friend in high school was sure that his brother was selling drugs. But it turns out he was simply raising fighting cocks, and was going off in the night to take care of them.

Just shows you not to assume. It makes an ass out of you and Samuel L. Jackson.

I wonder how many hits I'll get from the use of the words "cocks" and "Samuel L. Jackson." I get enough searches for Tommy Lee's privates. Maybe I need to change celebrities. Yeah. That's the ticket.