Break

Break

Hey guys. Gonna take a short break from the blog. Until 2005.

If you're bored, here's a couple of my favorites from this past year....

A whole slew of posts where I live blogged Game 1 of the Sox/Cardinals series...

My inner critic is revealed to be Gary Busey his own self....

We had a February 29th this year....

A lie about the Cosby Show

And just a few lies....

Have a Happy New Year, and we'll see you next week.

(You might also check out some other fine Rocky Top Brigade blogs...SKBubba's set up a Rocky Top Brigade Sampler, with feeds from many of Tennessee's finest blogs....it's kinda like when you go to the Breakfast Bar at Shoney's, and you can get canteloupe, shortcake, eggs, grits, fried baloney and a pound of sauteed mushrooms, cover it all with strawberries and maple syrup, and carry it to your table all on one plate....)

Monday Night Raw Thoughts

Monday Night Raw Thoughts

Wrasslin Thoughts:

Last night's Monday Night Raw was a solid show. Their best show in a couple of months. It did a good job toward moving the major stories along, or at the very least, not letting the major stories wander aimlessly. And they did so without highlighting the fact that right now the Raw group only has a couple or three plotlines going on right now (World title, Mohammed Hassan and this Simon Dean vs. the Superheroes mess)

The Filthy Hippy and I got to talking last night about Taz, current Smackdown commentator, and how the WWE really just kind of dropped the ball with the Human Suplex Machine. He started well, with a brief feud with Kurt Angle, and then got mired into an entirely too long angle with Jerry Lawler and Jim Ross. His character (little stocky badass) was pretty much robbed of any momentum from the get go. I don't think he'd ever be World Title material, but I think Taz could have had a good run as a scary little badass in the WWE.

The Hippy and I had just talked about this, and how is the Mohammed Hassan angle moved along? By attacking Jim Ross.

Now, I know that Jim Ross is all lovable and huggable. But don't mire this guys in an angle with the announcers. I'm thinking Stevie Richards or Rhyno (speaking of stocky little ECW badasses looked over in the McMahon regime) would have better for an opening feud with the Muslim Invader.

Speaking of which, has anybody else noticed that Hassan's ears come to a point? The point of his ears is in the back of the ear, rather than the top. But this makes me think that he's some manner of elf.

As for the World Title situation? The whole Quickest Pin contest was a good way to fill a show with a common theme.

I got to thinking about it, and I don't have a clue who's coming out of the Elimination Chamber with the World Title, though I'm afraid it's going to be centered around the current and former members of Evolution, Triple H, Batista and Randy "I'm barely sentient" Orton.

I feel like the direction to go would be for those three to screw each other out of the title, and have them tussle with each other all the way to Wrestlemania. You could have them eliminating each other at the Royal Rumble, and have them trade wins all the way to Wrestlemania.

But not over the World Title.

Also, I'm thinking Edge is moving toward a Wrestlemania feud with Shawn Michaels. This is my gut saying this, more than my head. But I think you can go all the way back to Taboo Tuesday, where HBK took Edge's title shot, and HBK possibly screwing Edge again (either percieved or actual) in the Elimination Chamber.

(Shit...I'm running late...why is my alarm clock twenty minutes slow?!?!?)

Quickly:

To me, that leaves Chris Benoit and Chris Jericho without a real direction moving toward Wrestlemania XXI.

There have been rumors of a Benoit/Kurt Angle cross-promotional match at Wrestlemania. If I were Vince and the WWE, I'd do just that.

And, you give Jericho the belt out of the Elimination Chamber. He's a former World Champ who doesn't get the attention as a World Champ that others get. Give him another chance.

Also the Vince McMahon dream promo of Royal Rumble? With the Raw and Smackdown crew going to rumble Sharks v. Jets style? That was great....

Christmas Evening

Christmas Evening

Today, I was dragged into the late nineties, as I became the owner of a cellular telephone. Man. I can talk on the phone. While taking a dump! In the woods! And not even my woods!

I can take pictures with my phone. Huzzah!

It's my emergency phone. I'll use the phone in case the truck breaks down, and a I need a ride. Or in case I need to be reached if something's wrong family-wise. Or I'm caught at somebody's house, and I have to use their restroom, and I end up clogging the toilet, perhaps with my billfold, and have to call a friend to help me in a zany scheme to unclog the toilet without the owner of the house knowing what is is I've done.

I got shoes, too. A new pair of shoes. A new pair of banana boats to put on these sheets of plywood I call feet.

Books were the order of the day. Lots of reading to do. Some Tom Robbins. Some Carl Hiaasen. A little Neil Gaiman. A couple of baseball books. And an almanac. That's a tradition. I like the almanac. You can't go wrong with an almanac. Usually, it's your run of the mill World Almanac. But this year, I got the New York Times version. I'll put it on the back of the toilet, and it's generally what I'll read out of for the first few months of the year.

(Jeebus I talk about the toilet a lot.)

And Beef Jerky. Lots of beef Jerky. My favorite part of the movie Trading Places is when Eddie Murphy enters the passenger car on the train, dressed in African tribal gear. He chants for a few seconds, stops abruptly, and announces "Beef Jerky time." This is not necessarily related to why I like beef jerky. I just felt like it was an interesting story.

Got the folks and sister and brother-in-law to be some reading too. Stephen King for the poppa, and a nature book for the mother. Janet Evanovich and Christopher Moore for the sister. A gift card for the brother-in-law to be, because I don't know what he has to read, and what he doesn't. (We're fairly impressed that he knows how, at all...)

Hope you guys had a good Christmas. I enjoyed mine....

White Christmas

White Christmas

Well, we're waiting on my sister to wake up. We see that Victoria, Texas has gotten its first white Christmas in 86 years.

I can remember snow flurries on Christmas in my neck of the woods. We got a dusting one year, about five years ago. But no major snows, that I can remember, even in my Christmas travels. I think we may have gotten one here in Tennessee when we were up visiting relatives elsewhere on Christmas. But I've never had a White Christmas in the terms of a good, get-out-and-play-in-it snow. Maybe next year.

It's clear and very cold at the BSTommy compound this Christmas. 16 degrees. It's frosty. I let the dogs out, and they look at me, wishing that I could teach them to use the inside toilet.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas

Good morning, and Merry Christmas, guys.

I hope you've all woken up to a happy setting, with friends and family.

I've never been able to sleep in on Christmas. Part of it is I've never been able to sleep in, period. But I think the bigger part of it is that little kid in me, the one who still gets excited about everything on Christmas morning.

I wrote about it last year, I think. And I think it's an experience a lot of kids experience, where they wake up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on Christmas morning, perhaps the only morning of the whole year where they are so eager to be awake. But they are made to wait for the folks to be awake.

At least, that's how it went down in my house. My sister and I would be awake at 6, or 6:30. And we'd have to wait to listen for sounds of my folks stirring downstairs. We'd have to get permission before wandering into the Christmas scene.

Once, I managed to sneak to the living room. I was six or seven. I NEEDED to see what Santa had brought. I remember seeing Castle Grayskull, the stronghold of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. I spent the next thirty minutes in my room, about to bust with triumph and excitement. I forget the circumstances, but for whatever reason, I'd become fairly certain that the parents didn't like the big skull looking thing, and wouldn't get it for me, and I was becoming less and less certain that Santa would come through....

I wrote last year that I think a good measure of Christmas revenge would be to not let my parents up until I say they can do so.

I'd do it if my father couldn't still twist me into a pretzel.

I've been thinking about some of my favorite Christmas mornings.

A couple of years ago, when I was still working for the folks at the Goodwill, we'd gotten a whiskey barrel in. The Jack Daniels distillery is in Lynchburg, just a few miles southeast of Murfreesboro. It was a nice, old thing. Somebody had done some work on it, replaced a couple of the metal bands, pasted a few tax and shipping stickers on it . But it was cool. And I bought it and gave it to Mom for Christmas that year. It's about two of her favorite things, antiques...and barrels. I liked giving that.

My sister and I got Dad his first DVD player a three or four years ago. It wasn't much, but it was the first big ticket we'd ever gotten for one of the folks. He's enjoyed it.

I've had good Christmases, too. I remember the ones where I've given cool things more than what I've gotten, the Castle Grayskull story not withstanding. They've all been really cool, and I often marvel at just how fortunate I've been in my life.

If one stands out, it's the bicycle year. Did all kids have a bicycle year, where they got a bike for Christmas? Or is it a vanishing thing? We'd gone to New Jersey to spend Christmas with my Mom's folks. We got a few Santa presents there. It had been a matter of much discussion, whether Santa knew to come to Cape May County or not--he did, but he left a note saying one item was too big to fit down my grandparents' chimney. It was my bike, which we found upon our return to Tennessee. It didn't occur to me until much, much later that it made no sense that the bike couldn't fit down the chimney of my grandparents' house, but it could be gotten into our old house, which had no chimney at all....

And one year, I got a necktie with the X-Men on it. And much to everybody's chagrine, I wore it to church, as Christmas fell on a Sunday that year. I was an usher, at the time. I got called down by the choir director for wearing the bright red, gaudy looking thing.

It got compliments from all the ushers, however.

Jesus didn't have anything negative to say. It's his birthday. He's alright for a party.

And then there have been the times I've helped out, or helped sponsor somebody less fortunate. The really rough one was in tenth grade, when our Geometry class sponsored some kids. They came after school. Everybody in the class pitched in money, more even than had been expected. Our teacher had bought coats for the two kids. When the mother and the kids came in after school, and everything was sorted out, there wasn't a dry eye in the room.

I've done the soup kitchen thing a couple of times. My sister wanted me to do it this year, and I felt like a heel when I couldn't. I try to help out how I can. I could only give money this year. Time was in short supply.

Weird Associations I have with Christmas?

The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Seriously. Every year for a while, we went over to my Aunt Charlotte's and Uncle Bill's house after opening presents, and there we'd eat Christmas Dinner. One Christmas, when I was eleven or twelve, my cousin Tim had gotten a whole mess of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles VHS tapes, and he and I sat in the basement of their house and watched episode after episode of the Turtles.

Testy Dogs. The folks have a black lab named Sally, who's a wonderfully polite and laid back little dog. But she's extremely dedicated to a routine, and having a big tree with decorations and people sitting around it opening presents seems to be something of a wooden shoe in her works. She gets testy, especially with and around food. The past couple or three years, there have been a couple of incidents with Sally getting territorial, and a little snippy.

Sausage Balls. Perhaps not so weird, you think, because there are other families who eat sausage balls on Christmas morning. But in our case Sausage Balls is the name we gave to the weird fungus we all came down with after taking a dip in the hot tub my aunt and uncle got for Christmas one year. Which is weird, looking back, because it affected the girls even worse than the guys.

(Yeah, I had to throw one weird one in there...my brain doesn't stop coming up with B-rate weird stuff just because it's Christmas)

Well. We watched A Christmas Story last night. I love that movie. It's a seasonal thing, but I've decided rate it in my top 10 favorites, regardless. I always laugh when Ralphie, attempting to hint at a BB gun, says that Flick saw Grizzly Bears next to the candy store. It's all good. The Major Award. Randy eating like a pig (that's the scene I remember from the first time I saw the movie, at my aunt Pat's house). The Bumpass's dogs. Fa ra ra ra ra.

Anyway. I'm going to watch the news, and wander up to the Christmas before too long.

I hope you've all found a happy place to spend yours. I hope Santa Claus brought you something nice, and at worst, he brought you a lump of coal, instead of a buttwhuppin'....

I hope you get what you wanted, and I hope you've given as well.

Merry Christmas, guys.

Santa Claus is Coming to Town

Santa Claus is Coming to Town

It's 9:30 on Christmas Eve, and right now, NORAD's Santa Claus radar has the jolly old elf somewhere over South America...

I'm going to bed soon. I think I'm going to drink some of the spiked egg nog, and chase it with a Benadryl or two. I don't want that fat man to catch me anywhere near awake.

See, I caught Santa one year. I used my mental powers, and my ninja training. I set a trap for him. You know the saying...build a better Santa trap and the world will beat your ass to the door. Or something like that. The trap? It was fly (I learned that word on TV). It was diesel-powered, and it ran on 1.21 gigawatts of electrosol, or something. I can't explain it well, because I'm inept in my ability to explain things technical. Suffice it to say this: think of a cross between one of those glue-based mouse traps, a helicopter, and Eskimo Ingenuity, and you're almost there.

Santa fell into my trap. At 12:14 on Christmas morning, in 1994. Santa has a weakness for Swiss Cake Rolls. I caught him. He was screaming in some language I didn't know. Considering the jaunty sneer and the swaggering swivel of his hips, I assumed that it was Elvish

I could only wonder at my achievement. How many millions of people had tried and failed to catch St. Nicholas? I stared at the man in red, and could barely begin to think of the acclaim, the public adoration.

Sadly, I could barely begin to think of the money. The Knoxville Zoo told me they'd pay me $20 if I could deliver the jolly old elf. I know that, because I called and asked how much a jolly old elf would bring me...they answered with a snort (which, at the time I took for excitement, but realize now was something more mocking) "twenty dollars."

But I was counting my chickens before they hatched (which, coincidentally, was plan B, to put Santa under a heat lamp and see what emerges). I managed to hold St. Nick for all of 28 minutes. He's a wily old elf. He knows how to think his way around a corner (or outside the box, as it were). In the future, I'll know that Santa's got a helluva bunch of good stuff in his Batman-style utility belt. I think it was the acid that freed him, though I'll never be sure. I was momentarily knocked silly by one one of his deadly accurate "Santarangs."

I gained my senses enough to try once again to subdue St. Nick. I've watched my share of pro wrestling in my life (and probably your share, too). But don't let anybody fool you. Thousands of hours spent studying the career of Bret "the Hitman" Hart is no match for Santa's rolling snowball Kung Fu. And let me say, Santa Claus knows his way around a choke hold.

When he was done beating me senseless, he tied me to the hearth with the stockings, which hadn't been hung by the chimney with enough care for Santa. I was left for Commissioner Gordon and the rest of the Gotham City police to find in the morning.

Most damning? Santa has connections. He told me, as he laid a finger inside his nose (Clement Moore had that one wrong), but before up the chimney he arose: "Young Thomas: because of you transgression against me, you will never be able to enter the Kingdom of Heaven!" That, in a word, sucks.

I've done my best in the decade since to atone. I've twice made a pilgrimage to the North Pole to offer thanks for my life, and to do whatever Santa wants me to do, so as to make up. (FYI: The North Pole thing is bunk, a story made up to throw off Santa's enemies....Santa's workshop is actually in Iceland, inside a volcano, where he and his elves and reindeer are protected by Magma Monsters and Lava Loons.)

I feel like I'm making progress. I am cautiously optimistic that, over time, he'll forgive me. I hope, anyway. The problem is that an immortal elf like Santa shouldn't have any problems holding a grudge for a long, long time.

But mostly, he tells me in no uncertain terms to go away, and to leave him be.

So, I'm doing all I can to make him happy, in that respect. Which means I'll have been asleep for several hours by the time Santa makes his pass by my house.....

And let me pass a word of warning on to you, as well: You'd do well to do the same. Don't do anything to draw his wrath. As if eternal damnation of the soul to Alabama (it's where Hell is, just south of Tuscaloosa) isn't enough, he's got heat vision and no problem with using it to burn off and instantly cauterize fingers. Also, I've got a permanent crick in my neck and an intense aversion to pointy hats that I'll carry with me forever, for my troubles.

You do the same, and you too, can have a Very Merry Christmas.

Random Christmas Eve Thoughts

Random Christmas Eve Thoughts

It's a shame Drew Bennett didn't make the Pro Bowl. He's one of my friend Julie's favorite players, though we always gave him hell (and her, by extension) because he's a pretty boy. But you can't deny how he's stepped up this season in the wake of just about every other member of the Titans being injured. Not that I spend a whole lot of time nitpicking and analyzing Pro Bowl rosters (I reserve that sort of obsessive thinking for baseball's All Star game). I just think it's an omission.

I still think they ought to play the Pro Bowl in the weekend between the conference championships and Super Bowl weekend, in those years where there's a two week separation between the games. You'd excuse the players on the two Super Bowl teams from playing in the Pro Bowl. As it stands now, the Pro Bowl's an afterthought. Kind of a "oh yeah, they're playing the Pro Bowl." That weekend between the conference championships and the Super Bowl sucks anyway. It'd give you something to do.

I've been playing 20 questions all week. I'd found it once before, but saw it again at Kung Fu Monkey. This morning, I managed to beat the computer with poinsettia, wrestling ring, and Loch Ness Monster. But the computer beat me on plantain, pickle jar, and it got Lint Roller in an astoundingly short time...something like 7 or 8 questions.

Happy Festivus

Happy Festivus

Bill McCabe reminds you that today is a very important day....

We'll air the grievances around the festivus pole tonight, and follow it up with a submission-only wrasslin' match as our make-do feat of strength....

Today's Funny

Today's Funny

I heard this one in another form, but I like it still:

An eskimo in Alaska brings his snowmobile to a mechanic.

The mechanic says, "What do you need?" The Eskimo replies, "I can't get it to start."

The mechanic then says, "Well leave it here and come back tomorrow and i should have it figured out by then."

So, the eskimo shows up the next day. The mechanic spots the Eskimo and walks up to him. He says "Blown seals."

The Eskimo laughs and says, "Oh no no no, just frost on my mustache."

Three Things Redux

Three Things Redux

Does it feel like Thursday, to anybody else?

I did the three things the other day. Here are a couple of others who played along...

Emily, at It Comes in Pints?

Sheila, at the Sheila Variations

Bill, at Leaning Toward the Dark Side

Norm, at Normblog

And Eric, at Straight White Guy, was among those I saw do it before me, but I failed to mention the fellow McMinn County resident.

This was great

This was Great

Maybe this is a glimpse into my psyche.

I'm not sure why I enjoyed this so much, except to say that I always was, and still am creeped out by mall Santas.

Kids scared by Santa pictures....

(Boing Boing)

(Jeebus, looking back through them, the Santa in picture #5 would scare me silly today, and I'm a 6'4" grown-ass man....)

A Brief Lie

A Brief Lie

When I was eight, I got to appear in an episode of The Cosby Show. I was visiting relatives, and through a series of friend of a friend meetings, I got to appear as one of Rudy's friends. I was only on set for a day, and I don't remember much about the taping, except that nobody was allowed to sit in Phylicia Rashad's ratty, duct-taped recliner.

In the episode (called "A Birthday Surprise"), I'm there in the Huxtable house for Rudy's birthday party. You can see me (I'm the kid with the blond curly hair) along with Rudy, Kenny (Bud) and Peter, and a couple of other kids. I don't have any lines, but I get to yell "Yay!" when Dr. Huxtable (who, in the story, has been up all night delivering babies and is exhausted, but has to participate in Rudy's birthday party) brings in pizza. Also, we sing "Happy Birthday" to Rudy, and we play some party games.

That particular episode was shown only once, in March of 1985. It was terribly controversial in its airing--most likely the single most controversial episode of the NBC series' long run.

Here's what happens: Theo, Rudy's brother, gets stinking, shitfaced drunk. After several pratfalls, he goes on a profanity-laced tirade in which he refers to Dr. Huxtable repeatedly as "cocksucker," "mad bastard," and once as "you sodding gobshite." In the episode's third act, Theo dies horrifically when he takes a headlong tumble down the stairs.

The secret to making Malcolm Jamal Warner act drunk? The producers got him drunk. On Manhattans.

The episode was extremely controversial. Most objected to the mature subject matter, in general. Also troubling, for many, was the cursing and frank sexual dialog: at one point, a sleep deprived Dr. Huxtable says that the only thing better than a nap would be a sloppy blow job.

But the network and the producers were also brought to task for the complete reversal in tone the episode has in comparison with other Cosby Show episodes. Generally lauded as a family show, where the family faced problems in a positive light, this episode deviated particularly from that norm.

For example, Theo gets drunk at Rudy's birthday party, drinking alcohol meant for the kids. In no other episode do the Huxtables even drink, let alone serve sipping whiskey to the kids.

Also, when Theo takes his tumble down the stairs, the sound of the cracking of his neck is amplified to a ridiculous, even comic degree. And the fall itself is shown again, and again in slow motion replay.

And lastly, as young Theo lies dead at the foot of the stairs, Vanessa and Denise perch ghoulishly over his body, casting lots over who gets his clothes.

The episode was never aired again, after its initial showing. The master tapes were destroyed by the order of Bill Cosby himself. Network affiliates were ordered to destroy any copies they had, or risk losing their broadcast license under orders of the FCC. And the episodes are not shown in syndication.

You may still be able to find a copy at an underground tape trading session, or some manner of sci-fi or other pop culture convention. Or, you can try Ebay, but only if you have the money to outbid the mysterious bidder "2MyBroRussell" who seems to have a bottomless pocket full of cash, and an endless resolve to outbid anybody who looks to purchase of copy of the episode.

I don't even have a copy of the episode myself. I was given a copy after the taping session, along with a keepsake cast photo, signed by everybody in the cast except Lisa Bonet, to have as souvenirs from the taping session. But one night, in 1993, our house was broken into while we were out to eat (at Western Sizzlin, don't ya know). The only thing missing was that tape, along with my signed cast photo, and one last thing.

When we left the house, we had a box full of them in the freezer, but when we returned, somebody had eaten one of the Jell-O Pudding Pops out of the carton in the freezer...

But you can take my word for it. It was a great episode...

From the Journals....

From the Journals.

I'm still fighting that cold from last week. It's stuck in my throat...I think it rented the condo in my larynx I saw advertised in the paper last week. All weekend, I've been doing the very best Harvey Fierstein impression that you've ever heard. The very best.

I wasn't in the mood to do much of anything last night. This creeping crud. It has me feeling run down. Not sick, really. Just tired.

I got to looking in one of my old journals, to pass the time. I got to looking at a few Christmas memories.

I looked at 1984, the first year of my journaling activities. I got to remember one of the trips to New Jersey, where my sister and I fought most of the way through Virginia about whether Santa Claus knew whether to bring our gifts to our grandparents' house in Cape May, or to our house in Tennessee. When the argument entered its fifth hour (by this point, we'd crossed over into Maryland), my Dad went insane and killed both me and my sister. With his shoes!

He dumped our bodies in a river, and he and my mother ran away to the wilds of Canada. There they live today, feared by the natives in that arctic cold...

And then there was the Christmas where I first got Nintendo! I got Super Mario Brothers, and I was playing, and playing and playing. After several minutes I was inspired to crawl down into the big, open pipes that ran all through the house we lived in at the time. The real surprise was that one of the large pipes was a warp zone, to the sixth level. I was fortunate to make it to the castle, but I was killed (savagely, I might add) by one of Bowser's minions. Flying hammers, yo. I'd lost my fireballs earlier in the level, and got smashed.

But I was paging through the journals, and was reminded of one of my strongest Christmas memories. I was reminded of the time family friends came to the house bearing gifts. It came time to open my gift, and beneath the wrapping was a G.I. Joe Motorcycle!!!!! And I nearly pooped my pants in joy.

And then I opened the box, intending fully to play with use the motorcycle to destroy the Cobra enclave located somewhere in my bedroom. It was not to be, however. Instead of a G.I. Joe motorcycle, there were six pairs of socks in the box.

I was not killed that Christmas. I was taken prisoner by Cobra. I was used, at first, for my value as a hostage. And later, as slave labor.

As we know, in February of the next year, Cobra launched a full scale assault on the house from their base in my bedroom. The operation was successful. It proved to be the first step in a much larger mission.

History shows that in 1988, COBRA managed to stake a claim to the southeastern quadrant of the United States, and by 1990 had Conquered the North American Continent.

I died in 1997, overworked and sickly.

It was three months later that a strike team comprised of Snake Eyes, Shipwreck and Recondo broke through to my house (prison) to liberate my family. It was in the year 2000 (around Christmas) that Cobra was finally vanquished (at the Battle of RFK Stadium), and America came to be once again.

Yo Joe!

Three Things

Three Things

Can't sleep. Watching Trading Places, the Dan Aykroyd/Eddie Murphy flick from back in the day.

I saw this various places, but I was inspired tonight by the Inn of the Last Home:

Three Names You Go By:
1. Tommy
2. Thomas
3. And here lately from one person, Big Dawg

Three Screennames You Have:
1. BSTommy
2. ATClown (mail and EBay)
3. My first AOL account name was "EarlBoy"

Three Things You Like About Yourself:
1. I like to think I've got a pretty good sense of humor
2. I'm fairly tall. That rocks.
3. Yeah, I'm growing forehead like nobody's business. But right now, I've still got a good head of hair on my head...

Three Things You Hate/Dislike About Yourself:
1. If I could find a happy medium between impulsive Tommy and tentative Tommy, I'd be happy.
2. Sometimes, I'd like to be more of a people person. I'd settle for it just being easier to meet new people.
3. I'm working on it, and doing well for a few months now, but I'm tired of being as heavy as I am.

Three Parts of Your Heritage:
1. German
2. Irish
3. Hillbilly

Three Things That Scare You:
1. Ignorance
2. Snakes
3. Fried Bologna

Three of Your Everyday Essentials
1. A banana
2. A shower
3. Robocop

Three Things You Are Wearing Right Now
1. Blue Jeans
2. Black T-Shirt
3. Socks

Three of Your Favorite Bands/Artists (at the moment):
1. Johnny Cash
2. Robert Earl Keen
3. The Asylum Street Spankers

Three of Your Favorite Songs at Present:
1. "Christmas with the Family" by Robert Earl Keen (it's in my head)
2. The Theme Song to "Batman"
3. The HBO Theme.

Three New Things You Want to Try in the Next 12 Months:
1. I want to travel. Not that I never have. But I want to travel more.
2. Sweet Potato Pie. I've never had it, though it has two things I love: Sweet Potatoes and Pie.
3. Keeping with the weight loss thing...this will sound sappy, but I'd like to buy a pair of britches off the normal people rack.

Three Things You Want in a Relationship (love is a given):
1. Laughter
2. Communication
3. All that physical stuff is extra good, too.

Two Truths and a Lie:
1. I was once hit by the mist of a male Lion spraying the wall at the zoo. Its stench, even after 20 years, is at the edge of my nostrils. It was the worst thing I've ever smelled.
2. I made a B in my college bowling class because I was unable to spell the word "polyurethane." I spelled it incorrectly three times, and was docked a point each time, on a 40 point exam. I made an 88 in the class, and got a B. It was the most ridiculous move by an "Educator" ever.
3. I was born with webbed toes. My folks didn't have a lot of money, or decent enough insurance (sad, since Mom was a State Employee) until I was about 7. I had the operation to correct it, and missed a week of school. I told everybody I had chicken pox.

Which is the lie? Guess in the Comments


Three Physical Things About the Opposite Sex (or same) That Appeal to You:
1. The Eyes. Especially when they smile.
2. Nice hair. (ponytails through the back of a baseball cap? drives me nuts)
3. I like boobs.

Three Things You Just Can’t Do:
1. Can't tell a joke for the life of me. Doesn't keep me from trying.
2. I muck up just about any handy repair I try. My buddy Josh was needling me today about my not doing my own car repairs. I trust my own handiwork about as far as I can throw me.
3. Listen to Tim McCarver call a baseball game.

Three of Your Favorite Hobbies:
1. Reading
2. Baseball (I'll play, but watching's more my speed)
3. Cataloging Spiders at the BSTommy compound.

Three Things You Want to do Really Badly Right Now:
1. I sure would like to go to sleep.
2. I kinda gotta pee, too.
3. I'd like to have the Christmas shopping done. I thought I was done. But a couple of things have popped up.

Three Careers You’re Considering:
1. Edumacation
2. Some of that fictional writing
3. I'd like to be the guy who puts the whupass in the can.

Three Places You Want to Go on Vacation:
1. Australia
2. Alaska
3. Wrigley Field (during baseball season, this'd be first).

Three Kids Names:

(I don't understand this question.)

1. Marvin Shithead Jones
2. Thomas Batman Acuff
3. Jennifer Aniston

Three Things You Want to Do Before You Die:
1. Write a novel and have it bought and read by more than the immediate family
2. Throw a visiting player's homer ball back from the bleachers of Wrigley Field.
3. Learn to read.

Heh.

Friday Bert Blogging

Friday Bert Blogging



Note to self: That's Bird Blogging....

A couple of links

A couple of links

What up, yo?

Just a couple of things I found on this here internet:

Pete, at a Perfectly Cromulent Blog, on just how much he would relaxed restrictions on cell phones on airplanes. Living in the "only child" generation like we do (where every person acts as if they're the center of the universe), I can't imagine peer-governance going over so well.

And:

A talk on scientific studies and a thing called "Common Sense," at The Unwinding Road (which I found only recently, but am enjoying muchly).

Hardee's...Huzzah!

Hardee's...Huzzah!

You know, it almost sounds like a made up story...but Hardee's is firing another shot in the war against health nuts, as it brings forth a Breakfast Burger:

While many of its competitors have downplayed traditional burgers in the last two years while scrambling to add lower-fat salads and grilled chicken offerings to their menus, CKE Restaurants Inc. has taken a different approach.

Carl's Jr. (Hardee's, to us redstaters--BST) on Wednesday introduced the Breakfast Burger, a hamburger topped with a fried egg, hash browns, bacon and cheese, that weighs in at 830 calories and 46 grams of fat.

Didn't Homer see something like this on The Simpsons?

I don't know what else to say, except that I think I'm going to have to move into a Hardee's, and just start getting my paycheck sent directly to corporate headquarters. I think I'll move in after the New Year, and be well on my way to having to wash myself with a rag on a stick.

Note to self: Move into the newly built (i.e. clean) Hardee's on the bypass. They recently built a new Hardee's in my town on the same lot of one they'd just torn down. I felt like it was probably easier for them to build a new one rather than to clean the old one completely.

On a side note, I've always felt like we ended up with both Carl's Jr. and Hardee's restaurants as a result of the merger of universes, chronicled in the 1985 DC Comics maxi-series Crisis on the Infinite Earths. The merger was close, but neither complete nor perfect--there were inconsistencies. That's why we have Hardee's in some places, and Carl's Jr. in others. Kind of like how there were 19 different Hawkman characters running around for the longest time.

I needed to be defined

I needed to be defined

Your Christmas is Most Like: A Christmas Story

Loving, fun, and totally crazy. Don't shoot your eye out!

What Movie Is Your Christmas Most Like?

Wednesday Night Random Puny-boy Thoughts

Wednesday Night Random Puny-boy Thoughts

--I believe that I have fallen under the weather. Well, I didn't fall, but I tripped a bit.

Just feeling a little rough. Stuffy head, sore throat. Kinda achey. Mostly, I'm just tired as hell. I've got one more thing to get as far as Christmas shopping goes, and I'd intended to use my first free Wednesday night in a while to go get it. But I got all puny, and just wanted to go home and sit on my couch.

--Gooseneck won the Most Esteemed and Honorable Llama Trophy the other night, with the Chiefs victory over the Titans. It was a fun game to watch, even if the two teams went in with identical 4-8 records.

--I haven't said much about the Titans this year. It's frustrating to be a Titans fan, what with all the injuries and whatnot this year. You watch the guys go out and play, but you understand that when they field a team, it's like coming to the gunfight with a bunch of machetes. They're fun to watch, but you know they're going to get mowed over eventually.

--The Eastern Time Zone kinda sucks, as it relates to all these sporting events. We don't start Monday Night Football until 9...and it's over usually around 1 in the morning. Which is well past Papaw BSTommy's bed time.

--My friends Chris and Jill went to Hawaii back in the fall, during baseball's playoffs. They'd watch a ballgame being held in prime time over on the righthand coast, and then still have much of the evening left when the game's over. All that, plus they're in freaking Hawaii!

--Magnum P.I. is usually among the first things I think of when I think of Hawaii. And Pickled Eggs are the first things I think of when I think of Magnum P.I. Because this one time, Magnum was working in a grocery type store, and his pal/helicopter pilot T.C. would come in and order "Pickled Egg, Please." And it really pissed Magnum off, because he hated pickled eggs.

That is the only thing I remember about that show.

--That's all I've got. I've been doing this post for thirty minutes. I'm kinda out of it.

Anagrams

Anagrams

"Anagrams" is probably my least favorite category on Jeopardy! Because I have trouble thinking my way through them. I've never been good at word scrambles. It's just not my type of thinking, I guess. Unless I can see the answer in the clue immediately, I'm not going to be able to decipher in the time allotted.

When the anagrams category comes up on Jeopardy, I get really angry. I usually break something. Last week, it was the glass top coffee table. A couple of times, I've gotten so angry that Alex Trebek has recanted, and said "Instead of Anagrams, the new category will now be "Baseball Name's the Same...."

If I were on Jeopardy, and the anagram clue came up, I would break into tears right there, I think....

I ran across this anagram site. At first, I was confused, and frightened. In fact, I'm still frightened.

But I did get brave enough to play with it.

My favorite anagrams from "Big Stupid Tommy:"

Bid Gummy, Tits Op
Bid Gummy, It Tops
Bid Smog--I'm Putty
Bid Gypsum. I'm Tot.
Big Mug, It My Post
Big Dummy's Tit Op.
Big Dummy. It's Top
Big Dumpty....I's Tom.
Big Sod, Tip Tummy
Bog Tidy, I'm Stump
Bog Dump, It Misty
Bogs Dumpty? I'm It.
Bugs Dim Mi Potty
Bug, I'd Stop Timmy
Bug! I'd Spit Tommy! (I like this one a lot...a big bug spitting me...)
Bug Tidy, I'm Stomp
IBM, Dig Stump Toy
IBM God! I'm Spy Tut!
IBM God! Smutty Pi!
IBM Dog? I spy mutt.
IBM Gods? I'm Putty.
By God! I'm Tits Ump! (This one might be my favorite)
Bus Pygmoid Mitt

Today's Funny

Today's Funny

Today's funny?

I have no interest in any movie that calls itself Return of the King, yet has no mention of Richard Petty in its credits. I mean, I just assumed Return of the King meant a story about The King coming back to drive #43 one more time.

Perhaps to fight vampires.

I wrote that a year ago today. It amused me, even if it did come from my own brain.

From the Flying Time Dept: It's also a year ago today that most of America woke up to the news that Saddam Hussein had been captured.

Snapper On Line!!!!

Snapper On Line!!!!

Need a pickmeup on this cold winter morn?

Well, check out Snapper...now in streaming video

The Challenge Has Been Issued

The Challenge Has Been Issued

What do you think, Tommy? Got enough faith in that crippled offense of yours and that soon to be beaten down defense to wager a little trophy love on it?

Gooseneck is referring to tonight's matchup between my Tennessee Titans, and his Kansas City Chiefs.

The fact is, I don't have a lot of faith in my Titans. Because everybody's injured. And because they called me the beginning of this weekend to see if I could suit up to play defense tonight, if need be.

But Mr. Neck threw down the gauntlet. First, he questioned my manhood, he questioned my honor, he questioned my integrity. When he found that these things did little to incite me, he went to my refrigerator, and ate the last slice of deep dish extra cheese and Eye-talian Sausage pizza, the last of the black licorice and drank the last of my whiskey, all of which I'd been saving for my Special Whupass Omelet for Special Whupass breakfast tomorrow.

That incited me somewhat, but I got distracted by his sparkling personality.

And then he did something to turn me insanely mad-like.

He referred to Jeff Fisher as "Mullet-Man!"

!!!!!!!!!

Nobody speaks poorly of The Greatest Coach On Earth, or His Haircut!

See, I wanted to fight. But I can't even pronounce Iowa, let alone find it on a map! So I decided to do the next best thing.

Mr. Neck has found something on this here internet. Something that he values very much.

I says to Mr. Neck: Let's Get It On!

Let's just say that the winner of tonight's football game gets to lay claim to something of supreme, ultimate and very good value.

You can see it here....it will not be seen publicly. It is a fine and noble thing, but custom says it will not be shown for all to see....posted on the winning blogger's blog until after the game is decided.

But as you can see, it is a prize most coveted, and the winner will display it proudly, for all to see, and to do with as we please (heh heh heh) for the duration of the time between tonight's game, and the next time the Chiefs and Titans play the game of Football.

I accept the Challenge, Gooseneck.

Because, as the saying goes: To the winner goes the Llamas.

A Music Thing

A Music Thing

I'm having a morning where writing for myself is tough. I can't even come up with anything to blog. Here now, a game:

1. Open up the music player on your computer.

2. Set it to play your entire music collection.

3. Hit the “shuffle” command.

4. Tell us the title of the next ten songs that show up (with their musicians), no matter how embarrassing. That’s right, no skipping that Carpenters tune that will totally destroy your hip credibility. It’s time for total musical honesty. Write it up in your blog or journal and link back to at least a couple of the other sites where you saw this.

5. If you get the same artist twice, you may skip the second (or third, or etc.) occurances. You don’t have to, but since randomness could mean you end up with a list of ten song with five artists, you can if you

Here goes, keeping in mind that I have no "hip credibility"--I'm a dork to my soul:

1. "The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight" (R.E.M.)

This is probably my favorite song on the Automatic for the People album. I like this line, for some reason:

Baby, the soup doesn't really grab me,
today I need something more sub-sub-substantial
A can of beans, or black-eyed peas,
Some Nescafe and ice....
A Candy Bar...
A falling Star...
or a reading from Dr. Seuss...

2. "If I Can Dream" (Mojo Nixon)

I've got most of this album on my "Writing Music" list, but I kept this one off. Listening to it, I think I made a mistake. I like Mojo's stuff for its energy and for the vigor and life he pours into his stuff. This one seemed a little slower, so I kept it off. But listening to it now, for the first time in a little while, I like it a lot....I like the statement at the end: "Okay...kill me now..."

3. "1969--We Came in Peace" (From the Independence Day Score)

Yeah, the movie's a guilty pleasure. But I like David Arnold's score. It's kinda cheesy, in that bad 50's SF movie way...which makes sense, since it's a bad 90's SF movie.

4. "Bat out of Hell" (Meat Loaf)

If #3 didn't qualify me as a dork, this one does. But I keep this one in the writing music queue, too. It's got an energy that doesn't let up for its duration (and it's like 9 minutes and change long). It's excessively grandiose, complete with a musical intro that last two minutes. There's nothing like heavy guitar and ten tons of passion thrown into a nickel's worth of lyrics.

I can't listen to the whole thing...I'd be here for a while....

5. "Seven Bridges Road" (Dolly Parton)

This one was on one of the CDs which came with one of Oxford American's music issue. I like this one better than the Eagles version, actually. It moves, boss! I think I'll have to find Dolly's album that this one's on. I like this one a lot, actually.

6. "Dickin' Around at Work" (Sean Morey, from Bob and Tom's "Gone Wild" CD)

I guess this appropriate. A song about procrastination.

I like this line:

Gotta put you on hold, sir. Your call's important to me...
It will be ignored in the order it was recieved

also:

I'm not apathetic, I just don't give a damn!

7. "The Battle of Stirling" (Braveheart Soundtrack)

One of the finest film scores ever, in my opinion

8. "The Foggy Dew" (The Chieftains, with Sinead O' Connor)

Probably my favorite song off The Long Black Veil album.

9. "Yesterday" (The Dillards)

The bluegrass group does the Beatles tune a capella. Good stuff.

10. "Feed My Frankenstein" (Alice Cooper)

Another I keep on the Writing Music queue, because it moves and keeps me moving while I write.

Well. There we go.

I'm actually kinda surprised none of the comedy tracks came up. I guess maybe the Bob and Tom/Sean Morey song counts, but none of the stand up came up. No Bill Cosby, or Henry Philips, or George Carlin. No Richard Pryor. No Stephen Lynch or Patton Oswalt.

There was no Monty Python. Huh.

Ah well. I've wasted enough time here....

Seen at Smoking Toaster

No No No...it's ALMS for the homeless....

No No No...it's ALMS for the homeless...

...not Arms for the homeless....

More Guvmint I could Get Behind

More Guvmint I could Get Behind

A helluva good idea seen at Smoking Toaster:



Flair for Prez in '08

Let's put the Nature Boy in the White House.

Guvmint I could get behind

Guvmint I could get behind

They've got a problem down in Australia:

With relations between black and white Australia at new lows, Australia's conservative government defended Thursday a plan to offer aid to a remote aboriginal community in return for a promise its children would wash daily.

and:

Under the draft agreement, the government will pay A$176,000 ($133,000) to install petrol pumps at a local store in a bid to improve community income and boost outback tourism.

The government will also guarantee more regular health checks to combat health problems, including the preventable eye disease trachoma and child skin infections, but it wants a promise children will shower once daily and wash their faces twice a day.

Now, I can see the point the Aborigines are making here. I don't like being pigeonholed myself. It's not the solution, but somewhere along the way, I think you could say "Everybody's gotta bathe. No exceptions." Now, I've never been to Australia, but I'm willing to bet you've got a fair share of white folk who could stand to take an extra shower or two a week, as well.

How about making it worth everybody's while?

I'm kinda joking, but I'd be willing to consider paying an extra twenty bucks a year or so in tax if we could get some of the dirty and particularly smelly people in my neck of the woods to take a damn bath and wear some deodorant at least three times a week. And I'm not talking about kids with eye diseases. I'm talking about grownups who should know that at some point in the day, you get in the shower and you wash the stink out of your armpits and throw some soap on that sheen of dirt you're calling your skin.

Not long ago, I went to a local Subway establishment (which one? There are four Subway shops in my town of 13,000 people...), and I ordering a turkey sub when a feller got in line directly behind me. I'm not exaggerating when I say this guy's body odor literally made me gag.

His stench was so rough I felt like even breathing through my mouth wasn't an option, because I was afraid his stink would somehow get into my mouth and onto my tongue. That's the kind of smell that gives you cancer. His was the kind of stench that wafts around him in one of those Pigpen clouds.

It was one of those "lose my appetite" type moments. Any time he moved, a wave of stink would wash at me. I decided to cut my losses, and skedaddle. When I go to Subway, I'll usually get a whole heaping bunch of veggies and condiments. I'd gotten tomato out of my mouth, and decided to leave it at that. "I'll put mustard and mayo on at the house," I said to myself.

I know I sound like a wuss here, but this guy's B.O. was in the top three (or bottom three, depending on how you look at it) worst b.o. odors I've ever smelled off a person in my life. And to be honest, I've never had somebody's B.O. make me gag and lose my appetite like that. It was nasty, guys.

Look, to the smelly dude: I'm all for your right not to do what you don't want to do. I'm not one who says there's a dry and cut right way and wrong way to act, and that my way's the right way and yours is the wrong. There's nobody who can make you shower, if you don't want to.

But what if we made it worth your while? What if we made it worth everybody's while?

Free Subway sandwich if you come in with your bath card stamped?

Eh. I'm just throwing poop on a wall to see if it sticks.

Still, at the very least, we don't have conservatives or liberals in this country demanding that the other group (or any group, affiliated or unaffiliated) bathe. Even a small subset of one of the groups. "Those Indiana Democrats are so dirty, we wish they would shower!"

We sure do.

World Title Belt

World Title Belt

In an attempt to alienate all my readers with the exception of the Filthy Hippy and Mr. Crockett, I'm gonna talk about wrestling some more.

I think I would like it very much if I had my very own World Title Belt.

I think one would get a lot of respect carrying a World Title on their shoulder, or wearing it around their waist. A World Championship Title Belt is the perfect accent to any outfit. What brings attention and respect? Necktie? Nope. Cufflinks? Nope. World Championship Title Belt? Definitely.

I don't think you'd get the crap jobs at work, wearing a World Title belt. Who cleans the shitter? Not the guy in the World Title Belt. In fact, I think you'd get promoted. I think you'd be the boss, before long. Wearing the World Title gets the attention from the big boys. Manager Smith? Make way for the World Champine.

And just think if you went into a job interview with the World Title Belt slung over your shoulder. Don't call attention to it. That would be kinda gawdy, to go into an interview with a title belt slung over your shoulder, and then refer to in nonstop. That's a Lex Luger thing to do. You don't want to be Lex Luger, do you?

I think you'd get seated quicker at restaurants. The World Champion doesn't have to wait 20-25 minutes before getting seated for Sunday brunch at Cracker Barrel. The World Champ gets immediate tableage. No wandering around the Old Country Store for the guy wearing the World Title Belt.

Taxi? Say there are two guys at the corner, waiting to go home. One of them is just Joe Schlub, wearing a suit and a tie, carrying a briefcase. The other is dressed exactly the same, except he has A World Title Belt slung over his shoulder, just so the taxi driver can see it. If you're a taxi driver, don't you naturally stop for the World Champion? I mean, that one's a given.

The drawback is fairly obvious. The axiom has long been, in the squared circle, "To Be the Man, you gotta beat The Man."

And if you're carrying a World Title belt on your shoulder, you're obviously The Man.

So you're walking around with a bullseye on your chest. You're a walking target. You gonna have everybody from the ham n' eggers to the cream of the crop wanting to knock you off that little pedestal of yours.

On second thought, since I don't think I could whip butter in a fair fight, it might not be prudent for me to be carrying around the World Championship Title around my waist or on my shoulder.

But the Intercontinental Title? That's something I could get behind....

Fandom

Fandom

Just a quick link, because I sprained my brains writing something this morning...there just ain't enough hours in the day, by the way.

John Rogers, whose Kung Fu Monkey is a fun read, with a little on Fandom and how some fanboys just aren't very nice, entitled: "If Optimus Prime is a Dump Truck, I will Kill Your Family."

Today's News Story with a Potential Band Name

Today's News Story with a Potential Band Name

Yeah, it's all touching and sad and whatnot, but don't you think Wake for Gorilla would make a pretty cool band name?

Come to think of it, I like "Gorilla Funeral" better.

And I like "Gorilla Hearse" even better.

Incredibles

Incredibles

I went to see the Incredibles yesterday. I liked it a lot. As superhero movies go, I appreciate it in this sense:

A movie that introduces a superhero (or even just an exotic character) tends to spend a lot of its time on exposition and backstory. A lot of movie is spent explaining just how that superhero came to be. Sometimes you wonder just who benefits from such exposition. In some cases, it's a necessary part of the mythos of a character, especially if the character is adapted from another medium. On the downside, it can be a tedious if you're already acquainted with the character, and can be especially tedious if the exposition is done clunkily, or done in a way that is trying to write down to an audience....

Spider-Man, for example, spends pretty much the first hour with Peter Parker getting spider-bit, learning about his powers, wrestling Macho Man Randy Savage and then letting Uncle Ben get killed before actually becoming "Spider-Man."

In the first Christopher Reeve Superman flick, we spend forever and a day watching Krypton finish its run before Kal El even gets sent to Earth, and then its an hour and a half of awkwardness as Clark Kent grows, gets his morals from Jonathan and Martha, and then goes to Metropolis.

The Hulk was even worse, because before Ang Lee could show how Bruce Banner becomes the Hulk, he has to show how Young Bruce Banner becomes Older, Tormented Bruce Banner.

It's not limited to the costumed superhero dept....Zorro, Robocop, Tarzan...most heroes, I guess, we get treated to having to find out exactly how these people got to be different from everybody else [as well as the viewer] before we can actually get down to the business of being a superhero. As an aside, I think it's why I like the Caspar Van Dien Tarzan and the Lost City movie, because it just starts with the story of Tarzan and the Lost City, and doesn't spend so much time explaining the whole Tarzan backstory.

I'm wandering off point. What I'm trying to say is that a certain amount of exposition is fine, even necessary. But a lot of superhero type movies get ruined when the makers spend too much time explaining just how these people came to be when they should be telling the story they want to tell. And a lot of movies want to give exposition, when there isn't really any needed (the first Superman movie again comes to mind...all the Smallville stuff is cool, but I felt like that movie should have started with Clark first coming to Metropolis).

I like the Incredibles because it doesn't waste any time with unnecessary exposition. The Incredibles just jumps right into the world of Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl, and doesn't spend any time explaining how Bob and Helen Parr came to be superheroes. Another movie might have been otherwise tempted. The Incredibles just tells the story that it wants to tell, and I appreciate Brad Bird for that.

I've watched too much pro wrestling

I've watched too much pro wrestling

A signpost that says I've probably watched too much wrestling in my life:

My sister April is getting married. We've known this for a while, so this isn't necessarily the news. What we don't know, is when this whole thing's supposed to take place. We don't know. She doesn't know. Originally, the plan had been to get the deed done sometime right around this December, but her school, her and her fiance's jobs and their money situation factored into make their wedding day "someday," instead of December the umptieth. Maybe they'll do it like my folks did, and get themselves hitched in by a county justice somewhere, and be done with it.

In my journeys out and about this afternoon, I ran into a lady I've known most of my life. She is the mother of my friend Sam. I went to school with Sam from kindergarten to the twelfth grade. I went to church with Sam and his whole family. Sam's mom knows everybody in my family, and she was asking about everybody, and got around to asking about my sister's theoretical wedding.

Actually, here's what she said:

"So, when's Double A getting married?"

It took me a second.

I don't advertise it, but long-time, careful readers, and those I've talked with via e-mail, will know that my (and my sister's) last name is Acuff. Combine April with Acuff, and you get the reference of "Double A."

But that's not what immediate popped into my head.

See, when the name "Double A" showed up, my years of watching the squared circle fogged and clogged the lines of communication. See, to me, the only person I'd ever heard referred to was the heart and soul of the Four Horsemen, the Enforcer his own self, Arn Anderson.



Arn's the feller on the right, in the picture, along with tag partner and fellow Brain Buster and Horseman Tully Blanchard.

I got that she was referring to my sister after just a second.

I mean, it wasn't like was was completely flummoxed by being asked when a member of the Brainbusters was getting married. I wasn't frozen by the question whether I was privy to Arn Anderson's wedding plans. (Yes I was).

I got that I was being asked about my sister's wedding. After a second.

In the end, the answer was the same.

I don't know when my kid sister's getting married.

Just like I don't know when Arn Anderson's getting married.

All I know is that it looks like my sister just picked up a new nickname. She hates nicknames. Actually, that's not right. She hates my nicknames for her.

Now all I gotta learn to do is merge it into one word, and shout it any time I reference her, just like Ric Flair did when for Arn: "Doublay!"

Yep. I think I'm gonna talk about wrasslin' nonstop from here on out....

My folks' anniversary

My folks' anniversary

Yesterday was my parents' 29th wedding anniversary. In December of 1975, my folks, fresh out of college, wandered over to the Justice of the Peace, and got hitched. They did so in the back of a five and dime store in Dayton, Tennessee.

Yeah, Dayton's not your typical wedding destination, but then, my folks have never been big on tradition.

I joked once that it was done at the end of a shotgun barrel. Naw. It was a small revolver.

The ceremony itself was interrupted by a woman needing to bring her children into the back of the store to use its bathroom (the JotP told her to wait). My mom wore blue jeans and a blouse. My dad wore his work pants and a flannel shirt.

My folks have never been big on ceremony or tradition. They're a very pragmatic couple of people. I kinda think the lack of pomp and ceremony as a youth is what's led to my fascination with both awards ceremonies and professional wrestling...

They're both the youngest children in their families (my Mom's the youngest of three, and my Dad's the youngest of eight), so they'd already both been through the hoopla and hullaballoo of a large family wedding ceremony. They way I understand it, they'd been dating, and they decided that it was time to get married, and they went and did it. No big ceremony. No big party.

Their wedding night, my folks went to a Tennessee Wesleyan College basketball game.

So, Happy Anniversary to my folks.

A couple of other quick things: I'd forgotten that it was their anniversary, until I'd talked to my mother and she said she and Dad were going out to eat. Luckily, my Dad doesn't have any problems remembering. He just remembers his anniversary's proximity to Pearl Harbor Day.

One last thing, for the benefit of extended family:

I was born in February of 1977.

Let's do the math, since it's a subject of much hilarity at family gatherings. Parents were born in December of 1975. I was born in February 1977. Some 14 months after they were married. The joke is that, somehow, the jokers in the extended family forget an entire bicentennial year, and they like to rib that I was born 2 months after the folks were married.

It's not much of a joke, especially when I have to eat Thanksgiving dinner out on the "Illegitimate's Porch," but you'd be amazed at the years and years and years of mileage out of it....

Today's Funny

Today's Funny

I heard this one a long time ago. I was probably eight or nine. Johnny Carson was still on the Tonight Show, and I was allowed to stay up and watch for some reason. This joke, or a variation, was told:

A news reporter is sent to cover a human-interest story regarding a couple celebrating their 75th wedding anniversary. He knocks on the couple's door and a very elderly gentleman answers. He lets the reporter in, who is invited to sit down next to his wife. Then the wife starts suggesting that her husband make them lunch, bring them iced tea, then walk the dog.

"Yes, Dear. Right away, dear," says the old gent, and off he goes.

The reporter says, "Excuse me for asking, but how do you get him to be like that?"

The wife explains. "We were on our honeymoon, a hiking trip in the Grand Canyon. We each rode our own donkey with our own things. First, my donkey tripped on a rock. I grazed my leg. I told the donkey, 'That's one.' Then he tripped on a tree root and I bumped my head on a branch. I said, 'That's two.' Finally, a rattlesnake scared him. He jumped and threw me and my things off his back. I said, 'That's three,' took out my six-shooter, and shot him dead, right on the spot.

That's when my husband hollered about how his donkey had to carry everything now and we had to walk and how stupid I was. I just looked at him and said, 'That's one....'"

King Tut Was Not A Honky

King Tut Was Not A Honky

Today's Funny:

Steve Martin, fittingly, offers up thoughts on King Tut.

Your Directive, for Today

Your Directive, for Today

I know a lot of you read this at work. This will work best for you. The rest of you, reading at home, save it up, and use it when you go to your work, but with one added item.

Do nothing, today. Absolutely nothing. If you're reading blogs at work, you're already a good way there. You can read blogs. And sports sites. And porn. But beyond looking at crap on the internet, do nothing.

Make a show of it. If somebody asks what you're doing, announce, loudly: "I ain't doing shit!"

If your boss should come by, and tells you to get to work, explain as you would to a retarded child "Working's for suckers."

And then do something dismissive, and turn your back.

If they make a point of being trouble, punch them in the back of the head. And tell them "Big Stupid Tommy said you deserved that!" And then start pinwheeling on the floor Curly Howard style.

Now, for those of you who are reading at home, and will be going to work at some point in the future, I suggest you get really, really drunk before going in. That, or carry a bottle in with you, and proceed to start your own drinking game with the blog world...just hit random links, and any time you run across a blog which refers to a member of the political party opposite that of the blog writer in anything less than a completely respectful tone, take a shot. You'll be drunk before first break. Then start in with step one, as listed above.

Because, if you think about it, work really is for suckers.

Pure Drivel

Pure Drivel

My favorite lines from Steve Martin's Pure Drivel:

An apology:

Several years ago, in California, I ate my first clam and said it tasted "like a gonad dipped in motor oil." I would like to apologize to Bob 'n' Betty's Clam Fiesta, and especially to Bob, who I found out later only had one testicle.

On Writing Dialogue:

Many very fine writers are intimidated when they have to write the way people really talk. Actually, it's quite easy. Simply lower your IQ by fifty and start typing!

On Writer's Block:

Writer's block is a fancy term made up by whiners so they can have an excuse to drink alcohol...

On, well, drivel:

But our love was extinguished quickly, as though someone had thrown water from a high tower onto a burning dog....

And the whole Ricky and Lucy sketch ("I Love Loosely"), where Ricky has tried to convince Lucy that oral sex isn't cheating is comic gold (Gold!) I laughed meself silly.

Friday Bird Blogging

Friday Bird Blogging

Per a conversation I had yesterday...I miss Mr. Cash, too:

Sammy, Are You Hearing This?

Sammy, Are You Hearing This?

Bill McCabe linked to some wondrous news, if your name is Sammy Sosa:

Boston Herald

HOW TO NAIL DOWN THOSE FREE AGENTS
By Inside Track
Thursday, December 2, 2004

ANNA BENSON, the former stripper who married Mets ace Kris Benson, says if her hubby ever cheats on her, she'll have sex with all of his teammates. "I told Kris because that's the biggest thing in athletics, they cheat all the time. I told him, cheat on me all you want. If you get caught, I'm going to (bleep) everybody on your entire team, coaches, trainers, players," the petite brunette told shock jock Howard Stern on his radio show the other day. "Everybody would get a turn. If my husband cheated on me and embarrassed me like that, I will embarrass him more than he could ever imagine." Now that's a real team player.

See Sammy? New York is the perfect place for you. Anna Benson beats Dutchie Caray any day of the week, doesn't she?

We could also use such news to ascertain the rumors of which team, exactly, Mike Piazza plays on, as well....

Thursday Morning Random Thoughts

Thursday Morning Random Thoughts

I's been busy.

Went Christmas shopping yesterday. I'm almost done, which was my intent. I like Christmas. I hate the shopping for it, though. My personal enemy, when shopping? The person who hovers around one spot in a section for a ridiculous amount of time. I'm not as goal oriented as perhaps I should be when shopping. Usually, I'll move on to another section to find something for somebody else before I ask somebody to move their ass. But I needed that Color Me Badd CD very badly for somebody on my list, so I feel like I was well within my rights to push that old lady down.

Baseball Hall of Fame Ballot? For me it's Sandberg and Boggs, and I'd be willing to listen to arguments for Jack Morris. My prediction is that Boggs will make it in easily, and it'll be the Third Annual National Baseball Hall of Fame BuFu for Ryno. Coming back from his retirement hurt him.

I'd vote for Otis Nixon, too. Not because he deserves it in the baseball sense. But because the Hall of Fame could use him as a Guard Ogre, or something to that respect.

It's kinda cool here in my neck of the woods. 30 degrees at the BSTommy Compound. Not cold. How cold was it at your particular compound this morning?