Sunday, November 22, 2009

Baker Street and The Year of the Cat

I almost ruined an hour of my limited social life.

So we're on our way to Jockamo UC Pizza and Stuck in the Middle With You by Stealer's Wheel pops onto one of the XM Radio stations. It's not bad for a pop song that was whelped in the early 70s, so I didn't wish it to the cornfield by punching another preset. Instead I offered one of my music challenges to my dear wife about the song. The offer usually is for a sizable cash prize in line with the difficulty of the question. I pride myself in my knowledge of American music and the wife was sequestered in a Baptist home for many years and has, despite a ongoing effort to bring herself up to speed, no more than a cursory knowledge of such things

The question: Who is the lead singer / front man for Stealer's Wheel? This was for $10, because it is relatively easy. Nonetheless, she gives up after making a who-gives-a-shit guess of Chuck Berry. She wanted to listen to the song. After it ended she said, "Well, who was it?"

"Who was what?"
The Stealer's Wheel guy.
"Oh, that was _______________..." My mind goes blank as we arrive at Jockamo.

We greet our friends, but I'm preoccupied with coming up with the singer's name." I appear to be in some sort of snit. giving distant and terse answers to questions thrown my way. I apologize explaining I have something on my mind. When I divulge just exactly what is on my mind, I get puzzled looks. I am assured that I can look it up when I get home and should let it go. I try, but can't stop rolling around names in my head as I hopefully give the impression that I am engaged in the conversation. Al Stewart? Criss Cross? Edward Bear? Gilbert O'Sullivan? All the leisure suited lightweights of the era when Top 40 radio was nearing its death were considered.

"His last name begins with an "R". ", I blurt.
Eyes roll.

After sucking back 11 ounces of Fat Tire, the synapse fires. "Rafferty."
The table is mildly happy for me; more happy that I am done with this nonsense.

"But what was his first name?" John? James? Something with a "J".
I'm alone in my conversation by now. Can hardly blame the people.

More Fat Tire then BANG. "Jerry Rafferty!" - "no Gerry Rafferty with a G"

The Pizza arrives. I come back from the ionosphere just in time to enjoy my pizza and join the party. Later, we come back to our place to play Dominion and I catch a little teasing about having my cards in plastic sleeves. I'm refereed to as Monk for the rest of the evening for my OCD behavior.

Gerry effing Rafferty.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Apple ][ 48K

30 END

Waxing nostalgic for days when life was supposedly simpler afer an all day migration from Vista to Windows 7, I took note of all the expensive geeky "must have" hardware items that have been purchased and subsequenty trashed. I sold my old Apple ][ setup for $2000 for a leg up on a IBM 286 Machine running at 6mz. I remember my first hard drive, all 20 mb of it. That's mb, folks, about the size of 7 or 8 MP3s. There were EGA monitors, dual-sided 5 ¼" floppy disks, zip drives, dot matrix printers with tractor paper, 2 mb memory expansion modules , 300 baud modems ...


Friday, November 20, 2009

One Two Three Four

On XM Radio, Sirrius XM Radio, or whatever the hell they call it now, I was tuned into the Underground Garage Band station and heard the gawd awful but catchy tune by The Grass Roots entitled Let's Live for Today. The hook, "na na na na na na live for today." is preceded by a count of "one, two three, four" that is probably finest segment of the record.

People (I consider myself one) seem to be sucked in by "1234" being sung or spoken in a song. Take Feists's appropriately titled 1234. Like it or not, it can get into your head. Is it a need to get our minimal daily allotment of mathematics or the need for those with no sense of rhythm to be guided into the proper beat? I don't know but there are maybe hundreds of tunes that feature 1234. Mostly it is found at the start of the track. like in the Ramones' Rockaway Beach.

I particularly like Sam the Sham's Spanish intro to the start of the Tex-Mex classic Wooly Bully.

Don't forget Springsteen's Born to Run.

Gee, wouldn't it be cool to compile a play list of the best songs that have 1234? No? Then bite me. Otherwise, comment here or on Twitter with your submissions and I will put together a play list on this very blog with your entries. Promise.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Previously Untitled

This nation is desperate for entertainment

I only remember three stories from the glut of pablum that passed for news last week. Is this a trend, or just a side trip into the land of the weird and disturbing?

1. Tom Delay was on Dancing with the Stars I do not watch the show, but avoiding this clip was as difficult as securing one's home with duct tape during a biological attack. Delay all but assured that I will not warm up to the idea of gay sex. He went a step further and has dampened my appetite for straight sex. Knowing what this guy's ass looks like and not knowing if Iran is developing nukes for malevolent purposes bothers me.

2. Some woman plans to wear a different dress every day for a year. That's not very hard. Maybe there's more to this, but didn't delve into the details. (insert smartassed misogynystic comment here)

3. Then there's the MacKenzie Phillips thing. What people will so or say to sell a book these days. I can see incest experts lining up to appear on Oprah, Larry King and the like to help people come to grips with this problem. I'm punching Dr. Phil in anticipation of his efforts to capitalize on the new fad.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

There is nothing funny about a stroke.

I was confident that I could mine a bit of humorous material from my Labor Day Weekend incident, but I have abandoned the idea. I'm not offended when friends joke that my bumper-car approach to problem solving shrouded the effects of my stroke. I'm more concerned for those in my ward who did not bounce back from their strokes and are facing long rehabilitation.

Some are curious as to just what it's like to have a stroke. I wish I could tell you. I was almost oblivious to the situation. I thought I was perhaps just having an off day and crashing my car, forgetting where I was, and not being able to locate letters on my keyboard were simply due to lack of sleep or a reaction of some sort. Only after I was finally convinced to voluntarily check in driven by ambulance to the hospital that I thought that maybe I belonged there.

As is turns out, I had thousands of microscopic strokes. My vision was effected, with me literally not being able to see straight. My mind would go completely blank for a minute or two, I could not tell time or dial a phone. While various neurological tests were undergone, I started snapping out of the perplexing funk. After one week in captivity, I was released and almost all the vestiges of the attack have disappeared.

The worst part of the seven-day hospital visit turned out to be the best.

I need Xanax to deal with tight spaces like airplane cabins or even sitting in the middle of a row at a concert. I made damn sure I was loaded up for the MRI scan. There wasn't enough Xanax on the planet. I declared "I can't do this!" with such urgency that they pulled me out of the tube at once. A nurse came down and arranged for a special injection of a magic potion. Ten minutes later, I was groovin' to the cool sounds inside the tube. If an MRI is in your future, go the claustrophobia route. When the scan was over I wanted to go again. Drugs rule.

So that's all I have. I'll try to get back to posting via social media. I have plenty of catching up to do.

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Dog Derby

Being cute will not save you.

I almost sent for Winston Wolf (Pulp Fiction fixer) to clean up this mess. I'm pretty damned proud of myself for taking control of the situation without resorting to desperate means.

I had five dogs in my happy home for most of yesterday. These would be:

1. Bosco - our resident male Tibetan Spaniel. I've imprinted my personality on him. We thus have a dog who is fiercely independent and doesn't cotton to disturbances in his daily regimen.

2. Smooch - The grand old girl and Bosco's big sister. She calls the shots for all things dog. Part diva, part matriarch, part assassin; she requires one's full attention and all the food you can shove her way.

3. Wendy - She came for in an overnighter. She's been here before and acts better than our dogs (#1 and #2). She's a Golden Retriever and we often fail to account for her relatively large frame. She asks that people fulfill her needs by wedging her massive head onto your lap. It's frustrating for Wendy and us because we don't, try as we may, properly respond to her prompts.

4. Spirit - The neighbor Chihuahua is here for a week. In a word, she's spoiled. She wasted no time making herself at home and is not shy about intruding on dogs #1,2, and 3's space.

5. Paco - Also a chihuahua from the neighbor, he's young and brash. Nervous and active, he may be a candidate for a doggy Xanax.

Wendy arrived Thursday evening and outside of feasting on a pair of underwear that I carelessly failed to hamper during a shower, she was no problem at all. Later the chihuahuas were dropped off. Los perros are immediately intimidated and retreat to their bed in fear of Wendy and the foreign environment. Then Wendy gets rescued. This must be like when the tough guy is bailed out of the county lock up. The chihuahuas make their move. The little heathens tear around the house, and have scattered all the dog toys about. It was cute at first, but at 3:00 was getting old. They did not stop to go out for piss breaks, instead they let loose on the run. Bosco and Smooch are able to shut this out and are sound asleep with my dear wife. I'm on pee pee patrol and trying to localize the mayhem by shutting off rooms. I'm afraid Smooch is going to be rudely jarred from her sleep and murder (justifiably) one of the little demons. With no help, I'm being routed.

I'm up today and the mayhem continues. The wife is not here ( she owes me big time for abandoning me in a time of need) and my dogs are not interested in intervening. Spirit takes a leak on the carpet and I, without regard to the feelings of the neighbor's precious pets, give Spirit all kinds of hell for the "accident" and swoop her up, set her in the grass and wait until she pees again before offering any praise. Paco is stunned. He sheepishly, slinks outdoors. Bosco and Smooch take the opportunity to browse about the yard and walk past the two midgety dogs and shoot them a disdainful look.

All is well now. I don't care how adorable you are. Mess with my stuff or pee on my floor and you pay the price. Word is out. Don't screw with the alpha dog.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Let it be known.

I do not like being an overnight house guest.

The experience makes me miserable. That's right, this is all about me. The discomfort starts with me knowing that I am intruding. No matter how much you tell me otherwise, you'd rather have me stay over at the Marriott. Even if the room is costing upwards to$200, I am not going to use your home to save money. There's a reason the hotel charges what it does. I'm a $200 pain-in-the-ass. It's a bargain.

The rest is about control. I know of no one who stays up later than me. What am I going to do with myself if you turn in at 10? I may want to watch TV all night, or raid your refrigerator. If I carry on like normal, you will not get a good night's sleep. I might add that I sleep in. Don't wake me up at the crack of dawn and feed me breakfast, or talk to me, or look at me. I require coffee, a newspaper, and quiet. I start each day by rearranging my balls, scratching my butt, taking a long whiz with the door open and stumbling to my paper and black coffee. No, I don't want cream or sweetener. That's for the weak. Besides, your coffee is probably not nearly strong enough, is served in a cup (as opposed to a mug) and perhaps has some not-as-God-intended flavor to it like vanilla.

Then there's my mysophobia. It's not quite the severity that was experienced by Howard Hughes, but just enough to pique my already rising anxiety level. I feel as bad about me having my ass on your toilet and wiping my infested hands on your towels just as much as I wonder if your fixtures and linens are clean. Sure, the Marriott presents the same issues, but I know, as a paying customer that I can call them out on this. It would certainly hurt your feelings if I mentioned your lackluster effort in maintaining a sterile environment. The biological remnants of my visit are certainly no joy to you.

It's your rules. Your routine. Your schedule. Your habits. You have a right to live in your castle as you see fit. No matter how accommodating you may be or not be, I am stressed. No matter what you do, I think your actions are driven by my presence.

What I'd like is to meet up with you, go eat somewhere ( I buy) , let you show me around town, have some drinks during a long overdue chat. When the evening closes, I go back to my room and reflect on the great day we shared. You can go home and do what you normally do.

See you tomorrow, my friend, but not before noon.

Oddly enough, I don't mind having overnight guests. You get the run of the house and I do whatever I normally do. I show you where the loose food is and afford you a private bathroom and a TV in your bedroom. All I ask is that you buy dinner.

Monday, August 24, 2009

I'm Doing Great. Bite Me!

The problem with a blog with a title that suggests a stream of grumbling, carping, bitching, pissing, moaning, sniping, ranting, and constant complaining, is that when life is treating you well and / or the meds are doing their job, there is litttle to say that is germane to the theme.

Going by lack of material on Harrumph, Harrumph , one may think I'm in the midst of a halcyon era. This is not the case. I'm simply taking all in stride these days.

There are always necons milling around making audacious statements that have me shaking my head like a can of paint. Where they get Nazi out of a moderate and accommodating leader is beyond me. Congress still operates under a system where bribery is legal through lobbyists. Our troops and contracted killers still patrol foreign lands.

Around home, I gimped around on a sore knee for two months before finally being diagnosed as having arthritis. It hurts, but I can handle it.

Each sojourn to Meijer or Wal-Mart spawns annoying circumstances. The latest being a lady leaving the self-serve lane to go back into the bowels of the store for a forgotten item.

My happy engine is dialed in. I am experiencing just enough annoyance and conflict to keep me motivated and sharp. I've managed to casually solve the day-to-day problems with minimal stress. I've been making the right decisions. I'm on a roll.

The last thing someone wants to read is how wonderful I am doing while they are battling through a shit storm. This is why I've had little to say. I guarantee that these days won't last. My prosaic mood will fade and my capricious nature will return as will the entertaining posts.

Fucking unicorn! Get out of my yard. You're scaring away the butterflies and stomping on my flowers.


Saturday, August 1, 2009

Too much time on my hands

Is wasting time possible in eternity?

This question reared its head today. I jumped all over the tasks I had planned for the day and knocked them out by 2:30 this afternoon. Nothing is slated until tonight, so that leaves me with about 3-4 hours to do anything that I please. I don't want to read a book, because I have a boatload of problems to solve next week that can't be acted upon until Monday. I don't like being interrupted for more than a day or two part way through a reading. I'm not motivated to drag out a guitar , tune it, and evaluate what eroded skills, if any, I still possess. My knee hurts, so jumping on the treadmill is out. It's becoming evident that I don't want to do anything. These are just weak excuses.

This is not the case when I have limited free time. I'll get more enjoyment out of 20 minutes in the middle of an action-packed day than I will during stretches like I'm now facing. So what's it like in eternity? Not a cosmological eternity, but a rendered down, simplified, popular notion of eternity.? (The wings and harp scenario, for example) If today is any indication, trying to fill 50 million years with gratifying activities would not suit me.

Monday, July 27, 2009

New Shoes: The Paolo Nutini Experience

Right out of the chute, Paolo Nutini jumps on his early hit, "New Shoes". The mix is bass heavy and somewhat muddy, but despite the result of an obvious half-assed sound check, the crowd recognizes this song and gets moderately involved. Now what? Paolo goes with another tune off his new album that maintains the pace and fortunately the sound guy starts dialing up a bit more clarity on behalf of the talented band. Nutini's vocals are cutting though the mix. I'm enjoying myself. This is going to be a good night after all.

I had already accepted to conditions of this venue, The Vogue. The Vogue is an old neighborhood theatre that was converted many years ago into one of Indianapolis' best venues for national acts. On the plus side, smoking is banned and the ventilation is top notch. The bar service is good and security keeps things in order without being heavy handed about it. You have to be 21 to enter. Another positive. The drawback is that seating is sparse. You either have to call ahead for seats or queue up an hour or more before the show. I arrived 15 minutes before the first act came on stage and found a parking spot right across the street. I'm in the door, meet my daughter right off. She buys me a big-assed can of Foster's, and PaPa's pretty happy at this point. I don't mind standing around for a couple of hours, especially when I'm only 30- 40 feet from the stage.

The opening act is Matt Hires knocking out a few pleasant acoustic numbers. The second performer is Erin McCarley. She was restricted to her guitar and a few synth sounds. She may be a headliner one day, same for Hires. The predominately young female audience was here for the dreamy Paolo Nutini, so Erin did not get the props she deserved.

So Nutini finished the two snappy numbers and went into one of his soulful ballads. In my opinion, this is where he shines. The mix is still not what it should be and numerous people are talking like this is a cocktail party and the band is merely providing background music. But hey, the venue is like a party with folks standing around, drinks in hand, and with good friends. Let's just say that Nutini could not overcome obstacles of The Vogue on many of his subtle offerings.

The sound finally gets fixed and the rolling bass is gone. Nutini warms up, and I have found good value for my ticket price. Paolo Nutini worked hard to deliver a top notch show. He had a smokin' band behind him and finished strong. "Jenny Don't Be Hasty" during the 5 song encore was the highlight of the evening.

A couple of notes:

During the show, a random drunk appears out of nowhere and points at me and starts laughing about my lethargic demeanor. The diminutive fucker is no threat to me. I'm more surprised than insulted. He babbles on for a few seconds while I go into Anton Chigurh mode and stare at him. I finally point to the back of the room and he ambles along. There but for 1 mg of Xanax, nothing came of this bizarre encounter.

There was one fellow whose head was so big, it looked like a stop sign was erected in front of the stage. My daughter remarked that this wasn't a head, rather a planet.

Speaking of obstructed views, many of the petite ladies strained to elevate enough to see the handsome singer. Nutini, however insisted on singing out of a crouch early in the show. He looked like was looking for a lost contact lens he was so low. Anyone under 5'5" was not seeing the dude.

I think Paolo Nutini was either stoned or else hammered on the Corona he was gulping down.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Cate's Game 7-11

Hard weeks make for better weekends.

Friday, July 10, 2009

In the wake

The big week for celebrity deaths has flushed a few of my latent ideas on related subjects to the surface. To the best of my recollection, these are some of the utterances that were heard in my home as I learned of the passing of McMahon, Mays, Fawcett, Jackson, and others.

1. Michael Jackson's golden casket.
What a waste of money! Once lowered into the ground no one is going to see it, even Jackson, himself. If his estate gets low on funds, can they exhume the body and swap it out for something more affordable like a Tupperware coffin ? People waste too much money of funerals. Personally, if someone bitches about the low quality of my casket, that's their problem. My survivors will appreciate the extra inheritance.

2. Billy Mays
He was a fixture on my most punchable list. When he was on the Pitchmen show, I began to realize that he was just a guy trying to make a living and the grating demeanor was his shtick. I already miss the fellow. Sorry, pal.

3. Why are we mourning people we don't know?
The past week, many people lost mothers, fathers, wives, children, and close friends. Spending more time making things to place on a celeb's memorial than you do honoring your own is fundamentally wrong.

4. The news coverage of Jackson was deplorable.
I felt sorry for his close family (Except for that sleaze ball father of his) to have to endure the public spectacle. ...and it continues.

5. I do not believe that
what happens to your container (body) after you die is of any importance. It can be disposed of any safe manner with no consequence in any possible afterlife. If it comes to pass that you get more life and your body back at some point, some physicists agree that matter and energy can be reconstructed to a previous state. Being eaten by a shark or preserved in Lenin's tomb, or vaporized in an atomic blast makes no difference.

6. Al Sharpton
I thought the hyperbole of Michael Jackson's super powers got a little out of hand when he was credited with somehow advancing civil rights and racial harmony in the country and around the world. This is total bullshit! His performances had wide appeal, but he didn't get into vigorously pushing for the social and political changes that have made life today a bit better than the days of old. This is not a knock on MJ. He was a flat-out great entertainer and made many people happy for a number of years. That's what he did. The remoras like Al Sharpton sicken me with their self serving and demonstrative accolades. The man will not champion a cause that advances all of humanity. Instead he lurked in the shadows waiting for an opportunity to exploit a popular Black man to pimp his narrow political agenda.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Founding Father

Thomas Jefferson did not shoot fireworks.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

We be dum

As usual, an innocuous trip to the local store supplies me with fodder for a blog update.

I was waiting for my prescription to be filled and meandered into the toy section. I was curious to see if there were any new family games on the retail shelves. There wasn't. I did see something that was moderately disturbing.

I am aware that Monopoly comes in all flavors these days. In fact, I have a Simpsons version. I also realized that the game has been released as a computer game. which invites online play and computer opponents. No problem with that either. The version that had me cursing the stupidity of the masses did not have Monopoly money in it. No, no, no. Instead, the players are provided credit cards and and a hand held balance calculator to keep track of their assets. No math skills required. No having to make change. No banker. As many of us will attest, Monopoly helped us hone our skills in handling money and involved mental arithmetic skills. I wouldn't be shocked to see the game tally the pips on the dice an show you where to put your marker.

Just another example of the dumbing down of America.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Horror at the Apple Store.

The rub was this. My iPod dock wasn't doing what it was supposed to do. That is, not powering my iPods. No problem, as I have another dock, but a problem because my iPod Touch will drop from the wireless network after 30 minutes on battery power. I like to stream Last FM and Radio Paradise to my home theatre sound system, but don't like having to reset the connection twice each hour.

I take the docking unit to the Apple store.

Egads. There are two lines formed outside the storefront. People are STILL going ape shit over the 3GS iPhone. One line was to buy a phone and the other was for those seeking permission to enter the store. I truthfully stated that all I wanted was an answer to my docking problem. I was directed to the I-am-not-getting-a-phone-today line. A couple of people were allowed to go right into the store. Just as if this was a hot club and only A-List people were invited to enter. A guy in shorts and a tee shirt who did a half-assed job of shaving his face doesn't fit the big spender profile, so lying and saying I wanted the biggest and most expensive Mac on the planet wouldn't have had legs anyway. The wait was a mere 10 minutes and I got a free bottle of water. The clerk wasn't much help, but he did test the dock and said it was fine.

But this wasn't the horror suggested by this post's title. Not even close. What I saw while waiting in line will stay with me for years. I wanted to take a picture so badly, but I didn't have the stones . Besides that, the picture would have been quickly dismissed by skeptics. I will attempt to describe what I saw.

I saw this girl who had the darkest tan I have ever seen. She's scantily dressed to show off her nice figure and bronze skin. At first this made the wait more bearable, but as my male eyes check out this lovely lady from the bottom up, my jaw literally drops, and I immediately mouth an F-bomb. It seems that this dear girl has failed to tan her neck and head. Her facial skin is somewhat pasty and she has dyed her hair blond. Imagine if you will some little girl had ripped the head of her Black Barbie and replaced it with another Barbie head with the skin tone of Andy Warhol. Perfect head, perfect body. In combination - a mythical beast.

I hope I didn't gawk too long at her and come off as a drooling pervert. How could such a contrast between skin tones be achieved? Was she too tall for the tanning bed? Was she dipped into brown dye up to her neck? Head transplant?

...and no I'm not so desperate to post on this blog that I would made this shit up.

I saw her.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

One week later

No meat found in Saturday sandwich.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Six Word Saturday - June 13

My life: Better than my dreams.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Travel Tips for the Pragmatist (Part I)

Vacationing with family and friends can be a rewarding experience. Can be. Can be in the land of unicorns and fairies. For me, a group of 4 is the maximum sized travel group that I can endure. Over that and it's a recipe for a fiasco. Three is better and two is almost ideal. I am capable of striking out alone and enjoying myself, so one is no problem. Loners can see plenty and do not have to compromise their fun.

TM's Law: At any given time, you are only as fast as the slowest person in the group.

Speed, of course is the only criteria for a good outing, trip, or vacation. I do contend, however, that the more people you have on the trip, the less fun you will have. Trying to find Aunt Flossie so you can go to dinner, or not hitting the beach right away because Cousin Hank forgot his sun screen, will have a negative effect on your vacation enjoyment.

I have undergone much research on the matter and have mathematically derived what I call the Aggravation Index which is based on the total number of people that are traveling as a unit.

The formula is simple: A = n! That being, Aggravation index equals the number of people in a group, factorial.

  • one person carries an AI of 1.

  • two people and the AI doubles to a barely perceptible 2 (2 x 1)

  • With three, the AI jumps to n=3 or 6 (3 x 2 x 1)

  • Packs of fours punch the index all the way up to my limit of 24 (4 x 3 x 2 x 1)

  • Basketball team sized crews bump the AI to 120 (5 x 4 x 3 x 2 x 1)

  • Try roaming around with 6 people and aggravation index is red-lining for most at 720 (6 x 5 x 4 x 3 x 2 x 1)

  • Skipping ahead, A 10-person herd will ratchet up the AI to a mind-boggling 10! or 3,628,800
As the potty breaks, moments of indecision, stragglers, and the inevitable arguments mount, the AI rises and the vacation itself is in jeopardy. More people equals more factors equals more permutations.

This formula does seems to exaggerate the negative impact of each additional member. Remember though, that factored in is the reality that you will not likely find everyone in your tribe to be of like mind on what to see or do. You may want to spend an hour photographing the elephants, but some other travel companion may want to watch the feces fight at the monkey house . Person C may not want to be at the zoo at all.

The math doesn't lie.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Equal Time

Smooch requested that I post about her today. She's an tough old girl that covers the waterfront around here. Anything or anyone strange to her that enters her perimeter is asking for trouble. If she gets to know someone, they will be a friend forever. This is a picture of Smooch looking through the slats in the fence at the neighbors' chihuahuas, Spirit and Paco. Spirit is her BFF.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

A Dog Named Cheese

Bosco is a rascal.

Getting Bosco indoors so we can leave the house proves difficult. He picks up clues that we will soon be driving away and leaving him alone with his sister. At the last moment he decides to go outside to pee. He's holding all the cards and he knows it.

Calling out "Bos - Co!" to get him back inside may or may not work. I never knew why this dog who understands scores of words and phrases would not grasp the most basic of commands. When we whisper the word Cheese, for example, he charges into the kitchen looking for a small pinch of cheddar. The joke is that maybe he actually thinks his name is Cheese.

I figured this out just the other day. Bosco can follow relatively complex directions. If I tell him, "Bosco, get in the house.", he rushes right inside without hesitation. So why does his so-called call name fail to rouse him?

When I say his name he must be waiting for more information.

"Bos -co!"
"Yes, my name is Bosco, what do you want?"
"Bosco, get in the house"
"Sure, why didn't you say so?"

It's that simple.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Think Tank

Epiphany usually occurs while taking shower.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009


Melissa Ferrick When we went to the Ani DiFranco concert a few weeks ago, I knew going in that Ani has a large following among lesbians. The audience confirmed this. We were one of the few opposite-sexed couples (Prejean and her NOM shitheads are back on my punch list by the way. ) in the house. You do not have to be gay to enjoy Ani DiFranco and you are certainly not gay if you do. My wife and I thought it was a tremendous show.

My musical tastes are somewhat diverse. Country, rock, alternative (whatever the hell that means), folk, soul, oldies, bluegrass, rap, hip-hop, reggae, ska are all represented on my iPod. So being an Ani DiFranceo fan certainly isn't any more of an indication of who I am no more than grooving on Wyclef Jean makes me Haitian. Right?

There may be more to this. Itunes always alerts me when gay pride play lists are released. I'm cool with my manly-man demeanor and raging heterosexuality. I clicked through.

Melisa Ferrick, Mary Gauthier, Tracy Chapman, Tegan and Sara, Dusty Springfield, Chris Pureka, The Gossip, Catie Curtis, Annie Lennox! ... The list of my favorite artists goes on and on. Maybe there's something to this. Even a Rachel Maddow app. was available and I never miss her show.

So I check the list for gay men. Meh. Only the Scissor Sisters and a couple of old Elton John tunes are in my music library. As I suspected, not my style.

It appears that I'm profiled as a 35-year old lesbian. Well, I apparently embrace the culture, if there is such a thing. Is the GLBT community's taste in music a myth and a stereotype? Do most older gay men like show tunes, for example? I see many senior citizens driving big silver Buicks. I suspect that dudes that who wear mullets like classic rock. There are hardly any people of color at NASCAR races. Should people be offended that iTunes tries to define us because of the music we enjoy?

ITunes can keep sending me these suggestions. I've found some terrific music this way. Maybe I'm a lesbian trapped inside a man's body. Maybe I just happen to like edgy tunes by female vocalists. Whatever, the case, I'm going with it. You feelin' me, my sisters?

P.S. Project Runway is one of my favorite TV shows.

Sunday, May 31, 2009


I am as guilty as anyone else. I've been feeding my intellect with far too many unwholesome snacks. Snacks come in the form of Twitter updates, sound bites, video clips, one-liners, quips, bumper stickers, T-shirts, skinnies, fortune cookies, blurbs, and slogans. Folks just don't seem to take the time needed to fully explore issues properly. Enterprise stories in newspapers are far and few between. (Newspapers may soon become far and few between) On television, Outside of of shows like Frontline on PBS, there isn't that much meat. Political shows present mere talking points and argue them ad nauseum.

The danger of all this is that our politcal opinions are often based on shallow information and little understanding of the total situation. No wonder our political conversations come off like a Henny Youngman routine. If that's the way it's going to be, I'm now going to aim my buttocks toward the sky like those plasma shooting beetles in Starship Troopers and rip off a few nuggets of my own.

Here goes. In my social/ political utopia:

1. All USA students are required to be fluent in a second language.
2. Marijuana is legal.
3. Churches have to pay taxes like any other business.
4. Artists and scientists are pictured on our money, not just politicians.
5. Medical care is free (socialized, if you will)
6. Schools are not viewed as day-care facilities. Short student days. More emphasis on parent involvement.
7. Each athletic scholarship granted by a college must be matched by 3 academic scholarships to students of the same high school
8. Flat tax for all. No local or state taxes.
9. No blackout rules for televised sports.
10. Only one boxing champion per weight class.
11. Free wireless everywhere.
12. No censorship.
13. Race, gender, sexual preference and nationality are all non-issues.
14. Mandatory military or social service for those of ages 19-21.
15. Consensual fist fights are an acceptable means of resolving personal disputes
16. All Cable / Satellite TV stations can be selected ala carte.
17. Salary cap for MLB.
18. Fox news must include a laugh track.
19. Neckties go the way of spats and hats.
20. Children under 13 tethered to parents in public places.

Saturday, May 30, 2009


Writing task lists wastes valuable time.

Friday, May 29, 2009

Fading Fast

I accepted the NaBloPoMo challenge this month in hopes of jump starting my blog activity. The challenge is to update the blog every day for a month. I should have done this in February, rather than in May. I face three more days instead of being finished.

I was reminded today that I had more readers than I realized. I was restricting comments too tightly and as a result, I was getting minimal feedback. This may be the encouragement I need to push through until the end. I've now opened up comments to Ellis Island level. Any and all are welcome. The good news for the few who are kind enough to read this running diatribe is that I will go back to maybe 8 or 9 quality posts per month and there will be less filler.

My "A" material is being broadcast on Twitter, which has made it difficult to muster 31 good ideas for this month. I was going to write about people who let their kids run wild in public. I'm saving it for a feature length entry later this summer. Too good of a subject to waste on a Friday night quickie.

I had hoped to write about my doggies and get some new pictures up. Bosco and Smooch were too busy fussing over the neighbor's chihuahuas and wouldn't hold still. All I have are a few blurry butt shots of them.

Folks, this beer is going down REAL easy tonight and I have some quality TV to watch. Better that you read my Twitter timeline, which will serve as my entry for today.

@GuiltyBystander 52 year old cigar? They must have not sold very well. from web in reply to GuiltyBystander

@jsttmfb Little fuckers. I'll keep that in mind. Don't want to offend one of them and get bit on a buttock. from web in reply to jsttmfb

Undomesticated dogs of mine won't cooperate for back yard photo shoot. from web

@cln0103 Thanks for the follow back. Followed from @LazyBuddhist #ff list. I have empathy for folks with urges to punch people. from web in reply to cln0103

@superbadgirl A replacement DVD of Dexter? Mace? Pumps with 5-inch heels for tottering around the mall? Full sized 'rita glasses? from web in reply to superbadgirl

@returntorural Props to your sis. Meaty degree too. Refreshing to see. from web

@PrincessAndy Do not go into a weekend with unfinished business. Get all your punching out of the way before this evening. from web in reply to PrincessAndy

@112mirabela Thanks. Open ID is an option. No wonder comments are far and few between. from web in reply to 112mirabela

@112mirabela That google only comment rules is their doing. It's not a restriction I chose. Maybe I should rant about it? from web in reply to 112mirabela

@112mirabela Back atcha. The sun have must be shining over the whole planet today. from web in reply to 112mirabela

Stayed up until 8:30 a.m. watching 'The Wire' Have to get out and enjoy the rest of this bright sunny day. from web

@superbadgirl No more unkind than me wishing guys wearing $100 ties wiould get them caught in a car door. from web in reply to superbadgirl

@LazyBuddhist Appreciate the #followfriday. Thank You. from web in reply to LazyBuddhist

Dropped a beer bottle on garage floor. It did not break. Worried that this is the opening scene of a Twilight Zone episode. from web

Thursday, May 28, 2009


The way products revolving around sex are presented in their television commercials annoys me. These products can be about nothing but sex. The pitch comes off as juvenile and naughty. Straight, mature, talk would be less offending. I don't require silly euphemisms. Tell me what your wares can do for me in no uncertain terms. I cannot be embarrassed. I'm not here to be titillated. Talk to me. I'm an adult.

Actors speak about sexual subjects with the same nervous apprehension as those in 'polite society' Never mind that it's 3 a.m. and I've been watching an uncut Comedy Central show . The commercial still has to go to ridiculous lengths to skirt the subject matter in order not to offend any viewers.

The ad for Enzyte has this... this... woman coming on my TV with her smirky-assed grin. In a cooing voice she tells you how these sugar pills, or whatever the fuck they are, will help enlarge "that certain part of the male anatomy." I just want to punch her. Lady, Just say, "It will make your penis bigger and as a result girls seeking big penises will now have sex with you. ."

Then there's these two gals giggling it up because of Trojan's Vibrating Touch. As far as I can tell, the vibrating touch is a retrofitted joy-buzzer that aids in masturbation. Fine. I can see where that would come in handy when your work break is only five minutes long and there are hot dudes like me walking about your office. I just can't take the embarrassed twittering about these ladies' use of the product. Even the senior female chimes in that she's a satisfied customer herself. More girl giggles. A side issue: If a man is caught punching the clown on the job, wouldn't he be cast out for being a perve? Anyway, why isn't there mention of how this product is superior to other methods of self pleasure. I want charts. I want statistics. Maybe a graphic or two.

Girls Gone Wild: College girls lifting their shirts and revealing a blurry chests for 30 straight minutes gets a bit tiresome. In fact, college girls lifting their shirts for 30 straight minutes and revealing their nipples may get a bit tiresome. And what's this fixation with "coeds"? I don't know of any data that says higher education results in firmer, rounder, or perkier breasts. Will beating one's meat to these DVDs result than a higher IQ for the end user? I am puzzled by the selling point of "This time we've gone too far!" Naked is naked. Maybe going too often is more accurate. I'm of the opinion that one DVD can be considered a lifetime supply of GGW material. Maybe that's why we have the blurry chests. If one DVRed the commercial with the entire chest revealed then there would be no reason to buy the whole DVD.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Rock Around the Clock

Whenever possible, I listen to music.

In the car, while the house, while working on the computer, sometimes just sitting and listening. I ahve something playing almost all day long.
I now listen to music ALL NIGHT LONG. I stream Radio Paradise or Last FM through my iPod Touch and wireless network . The earbuds I use completely block out the sounds of snoring dogs, passing motorcycles, cat nookie, and other household noises. I've been sleeping very well for the last few days.

Radio Paradise does throw in a jarring tune on occasion and my sleep is mildly interrupted. Last night I tried something new. I picked up an iPod app (White Noise) that plays ambient sounds. It took a few trials before I settled on Airplane Travel. I sleep on planes mostly because of the fistful of Xanax I down before a flight. I only dropped one last night. The abundance of leg room on my virtual flight and the absence of flight attendants, or talking passengers made up for the low level dose.

8 straight hours on a flight to nowhwere in particular. Ah.
I may try Camp Fire tonight. The ocean and stream selections are good but make me want to get up and pee. I think there are 40 sound selections. I'm also working on a play list of sleepy time music. In any case, my insomnia and / or irregular sleep schedule may by finally corrected thanks to my trusty iPod Touch.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Film of the Decade

Each decade seems to have a film indelibly tied to it. In most of these movies an attempt is made to show modern people of the time in their natural habitat. These accidental period pieces are the prodigies of the prevailing pop culture.

1950s - Rebel Without A Cause. I think I heard the term Daddy'O in this one. If not, it was certainly implied.

1960s - Doctor Strangelove - Forget the Beach Blanket Bingo crowd. This Kubrick masterpiece captures the mindset of the decade.

1970s - Saturday Night Fever - The political impetus of the 60s fizzles out and this is what we have in terms of residue. Sucked. But so did the 70s.

1980s - We have a tie. Desperately Seeking Susan and Wall Street. Respectively, Those who didn't give a shit and the reason why they didn't give a shit. (The brick Michael Douglas talked into is worth a good laugh today. )

1990s - Clueless - Seems like all the other movies of the day were period films. Once again watch the cell phones and you'll have a clue about this 1995 release,

2000s - So far it seems to be all cartoons or comic book hero fare. Take your pick from one of the Bourne films and their ilk. Gadgets vs. terrorists seems to be the theme so far this century.

Monday, May 25, 2009

More odds and ends

1. I'm thinking of shutting down my Facebook account. I have my hands full in the way of social media with two-business related discussion groups, blogs , and the preferred Twitter. I appreciate the few folks who took the time to find my bare-bones front page on Facebook. I contribute nothing, which makes me appear to be rude. I doubt if I'll be missed.

2. Kahn's Fine Wines is the best place in the universe. Hyperbole? I think not. The selection wine, beer, and spirits is vast. The staff is knowledgeable and I also seem to get in a discussion with fellow customers about which beer or Scotch to try next.

3. Speaking of beer. Sarah, Brenden and I played a short game. The idea was to come up with exotic beer names that might be brewed by notorious people. Sarah won hands down with Ted Kaczynski's "Montana Manifesto Pale Ale"

4. Where I'd like to be right now? Sitting on a craggy bluff in Northern California with dear wife, eating smoked salmon, drinking Laphraoig, and silently looking out over the Pacific Ocean.

Saturday, May 23, 2009


Found old Bible in recycle bin.

Friday, May 22, 2009

What transpired

Went to Binkley's on 54th and Keystone. I wanted to go anywhere that was lively. Meh. Wasn't lively enough. The food was just fine but the drinks were sold at ballpark prices. A 23 oz Blue Moon ran $7.25. Frakken Bill Gates couldn't get a buzz on at that rate.

I insisted on continuing the night at Chatham Tap on Mass. Avenue. More like it. My lady escorts had dessert chased by coffee spiked with Bailey's. I downed 3 glasses of Gaffel K├Âlsch. This is what I had in mind. Could have skipped the first destination altogether.

Back home. Beer 5 or 6 is that point in the evening where you have to decide to either call it a night or go on a serious bender. Beer 7 is the point of no return. I put it up for a vote. Lost 2 to 1 despite filibuster.

Here I sit, telling my tale

Unknown Location

We are going somewhere tonight. We are going to eat and have a few drinks. Where? No idea. We will be picking up a friend in Broad Ripple and then go to this place. We are picking her up some time after 6:30. On one hand this is an adventure. One the other hand, it's a recipe for disaster ending up at Burger King and a liquor store. Tonight's destination is not being kept a secret , but rather it's a case three people crippled by indecision. Follow up post coming later tonight.

Idea for a new restaurant chain: Dick Cheney's Unknown Location.

Thursday, May 21, 2009


Swoon is the new release by Silversun Pickups.

I've listened to the entire album* every night for the last week. I take the iPod to bed with me and fall off to sleep shortly afterwards. The soundscape produced by the lush mix is hypnotic. This is not New Age music. Swoon rocks hard. The tracks are heavy on drums and bass. The structure of each song is not limited to theme and variation on a single groove in the style of, say, a band like Spoon. The sound is thickly layered, yet each instrument has clarity. maintaining a crispness where one would expect a muddy result. Swoon is an amazing audio engineering feat. The music is good, too. It is composed, not simply written.

This is one of those albums that need to by listened to from start to finish in one sitting and with headphones or earbuds. Listening to one track off your car's Sirius XM radio will probably leave you cold as will iTune's 30-second sample. I would not recommend playing Swoon at a lively party. It won't make you want to get up and dance This is music that requires your attention.

In all aspects, Swoon is a work of art.

*albums get there name from the days when a recorded body of work, like a symphony, required multiple 78 rpm records. The discs came stored in a bound volume of sleeves that resembled a photo album.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009


I admitted to my neice that I enjoy watching Project Runway. She quickly shot back, "Well Gah!, I know why. Heidi Klum." She had me. Heidi Klum is a draw and a small part of the reason I don't miss an episode of the show.. Easy to look at, wicked sense of humor, intelligent. Come on, who wouldn't have a crush on her?

These aren't my nominations for Maxim's 100 hottest women on the planet. I just happen to be smiiten. These ladies warm my heart. In realistic terms, my dear wife would gouge out my eyes and start removing vital appendages if any of these romances came to fruition. But for the record, here's' the short list (with annotation) of my dream girls.

1. Heidi Klum - fore mentioned.

2. Kari Byron - Mythbusters darling who is cute and energetic. She operates power tools, shoots rifles and drives heavy machinery.

3. Samantha Brown - Perky. Seems like the kind of girl who would insist on paying for her own meal.

4. Rachel Maddow - I like the way she talks. A truly beautiful person from what I can tell.

5. Jane Kaszmarek - Reminds me of the Polish girls in my old neighborhood.

6. Zooey Deschanel - Great eyes. Voice of an angel. Better elf than Liv Tyler.

7. Tamron Hall - The news is so much better with her.

8. Michelle Yeow - I liked her best in 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon' I can't resist a lady who can kick butt.

I am so dead.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Wait Time

I turned off the car radio today during a trip to a nearby medical lab. The traffic was slowed due to road construction. The wait at the packed lab was unusually long. Forgot my foil hat. Here's what the forces of evil may have picked up with their mind-scanning satellite:

Dead cricket on garage floor. It's been there since last summer. Jiminy lies in repose right under my transmission case. When I come back home, I'm not inspired to get out of the car, remove the insect, get back in the car, and park it for the night.

Missed a big swath of grass while mowing today. Meh.

Don't kids play outside anymore? Looks like the Pied Piper has paid a visit. School is out. yet no kids to be seen.

Per client, there are more handicapped parking spaces at Wal Mart than at this medical center.

The elevator in the medical center serves two floors. The control panel displays buttons indicating each of the two floors, that being "1" and "2". Everybody seems compelled to push their floor number. [Think about it]

No music is played in the lab waiting room. Reading material is sparse. The chairs are arranged around the perimeter so people are forced to look at each other. It's like a big group therapy session, except no one is talking. I'm wondering why the other folks are here.

One poor lady is missing a leg.

Being stuck in the arm does not bother me. Most everything else does. I watch in interest as my cardio vascualr system is relieved of the sample. That was quick. Waited 20 minutes for a 45-second procedure.

Hey, a band aid! C'mon I like the purple binding they usually use to hold down the cotton ball.

Pressed the "1" in the elevator.

Left the sun roof wide open. To my credit, I did lock the doors.

Sonsofbitches raised gas prices again today. I want to move to vibrant neighborhood in a big city where owning a car is unnecessary. San Francisco.

Fewer people are washing their cars . This includes me. I don't see the point of shining up my Honda every time a few raindrops fall on it. This is a good thing.

The traffic is backed up along the road cutting through two cemeteries. The grave markers on the left are from the 19th century. These people didn't live long. One fellow lasted 65 years. All the others died in their 50s.

Cell phone conversation while smoking while driving. Feel like flipping her off.

Examining the change in my cup holder. What did they do with all those annoying little 1 centime coins in France after the Euro came to be?

The weather is delightful, yet construction equipment sits idle as I drive over a clangy metal plate temporarily covering an excavation in the middle of the road.

Maybe I should clean up that spot I missed with the mower. Nah.

Parked right over the cricket again.

Monday, May 18, 2009


I was fresh out of material for today's post and only a miracle could keep me from running an old blog entry or still another report on my two rascal dogs...


I make it my business to monitor all Jeebus sightings and add my irreverent comments. Today we have JHC making an appearance in Cheetos ™ form. Once again, I repeat my contention that God, His son, and any other prophet worth their salt ain't going to lower themselves to go on the snack food circuit to feed the faith of their followers.

Besides that, how the hell do they get the idea that this particular Cheeto even remotely resembles Jesus. To me it looks like Davey Crockett shooting vermin with his flintlock. Bite off the torso, turn the snack upside down and it looks like some guy's package. Perhaps that of Davey Crockett or even Jesus himself (I assume he had one, though it's never mentioned in the Bible.)

I didn't pray for this miracle (What deity would answer such a lame-assed prayer?) , but I'll take it.

You still may be getting the animal story later this month, but for today we're covered.

I present: Cheesus

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Too many pies, not enough fingers

When the work is done and all matters requiring my attention are put to rest, then (and only then) am I able to enjoy leisure activities. The time is there, but I have so many hobbies and interests that I've only found the time for diversions rather than projects.

I present a brief list of neglected pastimes I should be enjoying.

1. Guitar - I used to play at least two hours per day. I have 2 6-string acoustics, a 12-string acoustic, a Fender Telecaster, and custom-built Fender Stratocaster. They sit in closet. I haven't touched them in months. My meager skills have no doubt eroded to the point of facing frustration if and when I resume playing.

2. Reading big books without pictures - I have about 20 unread books that I have acquired in the past 18 months. I was knocking off one a week during the winter, but I have had trouble lately deciding which one to read next. My reading time consists of magazines and newspapers. I have not been inclined to pick up a book and devote the hour or two minimum needed to achieve the continuity needed to finish. To top this off there are many titles I want to reread.

3. Games - I have a nice library of tabletop war and sports games. Some have yet to be played. The issue here is that I should have settled on one game and grasped the strategies needed to be successful. Instead, I am a novice player of a multitude of games. Finding opponents is difficult. Note to self: Do not buy any more games at Gen Con this summer.

The plan is to avoid the nickel and dime distractions and focus on one of these interests.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Kick Me

Wasted time dreaming about today's plans.

Friday, May 15, 2009

El Jaripeo

My favorite Mexican eatery is hidden far off the road in an all-but-abandoned strip mall. The exterior is not inviting to those who fear eating their burritos anywhere else but Don Pablo's or other widely advertised Mexican-themed chain restaurants. It's none too fancy inside either. The restaurant is completely staffed by Latinos, giving no comfort to xenophobes.

The place was packed tonight. El Jaripeo has a cult following among Indianapolis EastSiders. No wonder. The food is terrific, the staff is friendly, the service is top rate, and the prices are low. The fare is touted as authentic, and I have to believe it. I think some of the dishes served are on the menu for the ambivalent diners. I'm not expecting the same food one would get from a street vendor in Guadalajara, but it's about as real as it gets in Indianapolis.

I'm most impressed with the beans and the tortillas. The beans you gt here aren't the refried beans you get out of an Old El Paso can. These have flavor. I think lard is involved. Whatever the case, if they don't make them from scratch on site, I'd be shocked. Same for the tortillas. You can see the fresh scorch marks on them.

The enchiladas are excellent, but I've been going with Tacos al Pastor for the last few visits. The pork is tender, the sauce is perfect, and the side of salsa is well prepped. The salsa contains finely chopped cilantro, jalapeno pulp (not the hot seeds), tomato, onion and other goodies. I drop the taco onto the bed of rice and beans, smother it in sauce and add the salsa. I usually have a big 32 oz. Dos Equis from the tap to wash down the three generously filled tacos.

The good news is that El Jaripeo / El Rodeo has added more restaurants over the last few years. Our El Jaripeo is the original. I can't speak for the spinoffs, but if you are an eastsider and have even a drop of adventurous blood in you, and haven't eaten here . . .? What can I say?

Thursday, May 14, 2009


The truth of the matter is that I don't have a thing for today's blog. Normally that would result in no post at all, but I've challenged myself to post every day of this month. I did this in March 2008 and was successful. I am also determined to complete the 2010 min-marathon here in Indianapolis next May, but that's another story. I take these personal vows seriously.

The point being that I'm torn between putting up a crappy entry just to keep the May blog streak alive or drop out in shame. In the face of yesterday's sub standard article - which will be removed after the month is over (or revised) , I was hoping to come up with a real whiz-bang post today. This has caused me to reflect on Harrumph, Harrumph, which has served me well for the last 2 years.

Harrumph, Harrumph originated as Mr. Sparkle's Land of Enchantment. It was a real copy-cat title (Simpson's and The Great State of New Mexico) which made so sense whatsoever. The blog had no direction, but did seem to rely heavily on rants, diatribes, and grumbling. MSLOE was out. The name, Harrumph Harrumph, makes sense only if you have seen Blazing Saddles. The title is derived from the scene when Mel Brooks' character demands that his syncophat cabinet "Harrumphs" at the outrages befalling the state. I am easily outraged and the bolg almost writes itself. But wouldn't you know it, there haven't been any new petty annoyances today.

So we're going to the archives.
Five Peeves and a entry from the archives for each.

1. Classic Rock - Old farts listening to the same six songs that the did in 1975.

2. Laws made to appease fundamentalist Christans.

3. Talking Machines.

4. Prophets and Soothsayers

5. Other people's bodily fluids.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009


It is unfortunately time for me to adapt to Twitter's decision to hide @replies in my conversations to people you don't follow.

Prerequisite reading:

Be it far from me to tell anyone how to benefit from their social media experience. I will tell you what I am going to do.

I'm simply going to be aware that your replies to those I don't follow will be hidden. I'll check your profile's timeline to see these replies. An inconvenience, but like many others, I've found some of my best Twitter friends from their conversations with you.

Some of my replies to you will be preceded by a ":" so others can see the exciting conversation you have started. Hopefully some of my folks can give you a follow. Consider a mention of you anywhere in the post to be a testimonial.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009


Indianapolis Star headline today: On Skid Roe?

The story was about caviar demand depleting population of paddlefish. This is THE headline on THE front page of a city newspaper.

Underneath that: Gambling lobby rolls dice on special session.

The Star is rife with this cutesy crap. I'm finding it harder to take them seriously. The newspaper used to be the only local respite from cotton candy news. Not anymore.

While I'm at it. I prefer to read my news when on line. The trend of having videos backing up news stories from CNN, USA Today, et al is not as journalistic, if you will. I'd rather read 15 or 20 column inches than see a talking head read sparse copy while stock footage is being shown.

Monday, May 11, 2009


I challenge anyone to get me out of today's funk. Knute Fucking Rockne couldn't light a fire under my ass. Piss on The Gipper. Put me on the bench, Coach.

Just seems I can't do anything right today . Forgetting to take wallet to the store, paper cut on hand, washing the dishes twice, spilling a diet soda, walking around Wal Mart with my fly open... It goes on and on. The world moves to the left, I go to the right. Even my Magic 8- Ball is on the fritz. I can't read the answer to "Will this get any better?" The text is obscured with bubbles and that blue inky crap.

I just know my PC will freeze before I can save this post and it will be lost forever.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Original (Part III)

I often come across a late night infomercial on my program guide called, "Is Colon Detox Hype?"

So what does this have to do with today's evaluation of the new "Star Trek" movie that I saw last night? Simple. The series of series based on the original Enterprise and its crew had degraded into a convoluted glob of space-themed stories. The Stark Trek movie provided the need colon flush. Forget about all previous prequels, sequels, retellings, future generations, past generations, nineteen different Starship Enterprises blown up, multiple variations of Klingons, and thinly stretched variations on the theme. The slate (colon) is clean. We've started over and it feels so good.

In lieu of an extended string of Twitter updates, I offer these comments:

This was the first movie that my wife and I - 1. Saw together. 2. In a theatre. 3. At full price. 4. Both enjoyed. That's saying something. We are two fiercely independent people and have different ideas of what is entertaining. We do agree on what isn't entertaining and skip most films altogether. Her last movie was "Benjamin Button", mine was "Che". She goes to movies with her friends. I go alone.

I was disappointed in the visual quality of the film. Perhaps I got the hind tit of theatres and was shown a lower quality print. It was grainy and lacked in contrast. Actually it was no better than DVD resolution. The sound was satisfactory. While not a true Trekkie, I am Mr. Picky McPickPick when it comes to all things AV. I think a second viewing at the IMax i is in order.

Best line of the movie? "Olson is...gone!"

The casting was spot on. Hopefully they inked these folks to long term contracts. They're all young and can keep this cash cow grazing for years to come. Uhura is hot. Kirk out Shatners Shatner and John "White Castle Harold" Cho is a delight as Sulu.

Pike is not nearly as jacked up as he was in the 60s version. A head on a vending machine was more amusing, I'll miss that.

Space is more realistic in this one. More science in the fiction, if you will.

Kirk makes out with a green alien. Kinky, but titillating.

The film has a sweet nature to it. I tire of the post apocalyptic, dark, Blade Runner ripoffs that abound. Lots of fighting and shit blowing up in Star Trek without the nihilism.

Did I mention that Uhura was hot?

Saturday, May 9, 2009

True Story

Once ate fortune along with cookie.

Friday, May 8, 2009

Original (Part II)

Music on my terms holds that cover songs seldom improve on the original. Most of the butchery occurs when the song is polished up for main stream consumption. This started long ago when terrific R&B and rock songs were recorded (known then as race records) and covered/stolen by by white bread artists such as Pat Boone for the tender ears of prepubescent suburbanites. Boone's cover of Little Richard's "Tutti Frutti" stands along with white/colored drinking fountains as atrocities of an ugly era.

The Beatles and Rolling Stones were main offenders in the 60s with their well-intentioned, but weak tributes to American R&B and country artists. Ringo's distorted "Honey Don't" from Carl Perkins wins the grand prize.

I offer three sets of songs and covers:

1. Joan Baez, sweet as she could be at times, put so much sugar on "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" (even changed the time signature) that it came off like an improperly mixed fountain drink. No fizz. All syrup.

2. Faith Hill, as they say, did not pay her dues, that is, unless you count a rogue sequin on her jeans chaffing her thigh as suffering

3. Mr. Broadus had to have smiled at this send up of "Gin and Juice" Both versions have merit.

Get a playlist! Standalone player Get Ringtones

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Original (Part I)

I mentioned yesterday that I would very much like to punch Joe Biden in the nose. I'd like to punch him so hard that his hair implants would fly around the room like the needles from a vigorously shaken, two month-old Christmas tree. That's the only reason I want to punch him; fake hair. I don't trust anyone who tries to drastically change their appearance to help advance their agenda. Sure, look your best, but don't try to deceive others.

My hair is starting to thin.
I have a receding hairline.
I'm experiencing some hair loss.
I'm damned near bald. *

Sure, hair like that of a TV Evangelist, country music star, or werewolf might be preferred, but it wasn't to be. I simply get my survivors of male pattern baldness buzzed off every few days. No problem. Like my daughter said in kindergarten when told she was printing her "e"s wrong, " If you don't like it, you don't have to look at it."

I might add, that not having to deal with a troublesome coiffure has shortened my morning regimen by 5 minutes or more.

So much for my head. I bristle at ads by Bosley, Hair Club for Men (First rule of Hair Club - There is no Hair Club), and other hair-restoring systems. The before picture has the follicle-challenged dude with a dour look on his face, unshaven, and looking a bit hung over and horny. The after picture shows presumably the same stud with a shit-eating grin on his face after his trip to a health spa and a weekend of hot sex. There also appears to be a dead badger sitting on his pate. This is no sweet deal for those who desire false hair. The remedy can cost thousands. Not to be crass... OK I am crass. But prostitutes don't charge extra for bald guys and if getting "dates" is the purpose of buying hair, then you can buy plenty dates for that price.

I submit Indiana Speaker of the House, Patrick Bauer

I can't take this guy seriously. Lose the hairpiece and I might.

* Cate style