Turning Japanese...

Wednesday was my niece’s fifth birthday. She’s an adorable and precocious child—which is wonderful to be around… for a very limited time. I’m too immature to be around others who are just as immature as me—we fight over toys too much (it’s not me: they won’t share).

We arrived at my brother’s house and the L’il Tyke (LT) was so excited, she ran out and immediately bypassed anyone not physically holding a gift. She eventually said “hello” after being prompted. She’s five and adorable, so she’s forgiven… sort of.

She burned through the gifts in about 40 seconds: She’d rip open the package, pull out whatever was inside, shout “neat!” and then tear into the next package: “Neat!” and then she’d tear in to the next package. Guess what she said then? “Cool.” (Kids—they keep you guessing.)

She opened the stuffed dog that my sister and I bought her (along with a cute little dress), and immediately wanted to name it “Princess.”

“But, honey,” I said, “you name everything Princess…” (She does. Which makes it hard when she’s crying and wants “princess.” There are 637 items in her roomed named princess—including three pairs of sneakers and her dresser).

“Princess!” she commanded.

I picked up the dog, turned it over and smiled, “But he’s a boy! You can’t name himt princess.”

My mother, immediately started in, “She wants it to be a girl,” she said with her death stare (meaning: she wants it to be a girl, so goddamnit, it’s going to be a girl!”)

I pointed the dog’s crotch towards my mother and said, “What do you call that?”

“The label, Mr. Smarty, now don’t be obscene and put it down.”

Eventually, my LT decided to name the dog Karina… which everyone immediately blamed me for. Apparently, it’s a little too close to the tragedy in New Orleans… (what’s the emoticon for eye-rolling?) Karina is not Katrina, so back off! If she remembers the name in a month, no one else will remember the hurricane. Seriously, how many people have stopped naming their kids Andrew since Hurricane Andrew practically wiped the East Coast off the map in ’8? What about Hugo? Camille? All still very popular kid’s names… (or so I would assume… how would I know?)

Anyhow, the dog was named so, my sister-in-law announces we are going to a “Japanese restaurant” for dinner, because LT liked Japanese cuisine. She’s freakin’ five, what does she know about cuisine? And Japanese? She’s a sushi expert at freakin’ five?! At five my menu choices would be either hamburger or hot dog.

I should note that I have a slight aversion to fish and sushi in particular. By “slight” I mean that fish—the smell, the taste, the mere concept of—makes me ill. I have been known to eat tuna… if it’s smothered in tons of mayonnaise, a dab of mustard and a little pickle relish and anything else that will completely obliterate any notion that it was once eating, swimming, and pooping in some sort of body of water.

Now, I have also been known to go to a “Crab Feed” at a club with my father once a year. First, it is ONCE A YEAR. Two, they serve plenty of alcohol, tons of raviolis and a good Cesar salad with no anchovies in the dressing… and (I can’t state this enough) plenty of alcohol. Also, they have a strong tartar sauce that can completely take away any notion that the crab was once eating, scuttling, and pooping about the bottom of the ocean. (Seriously… scuttling, eating, AND pooping just don’t mix people!)

My sister-in-law assured me that the restaurant was not a sushi-bar, but a Japanese restaurant serving “all sorts of Japanese fair.” I’m not sure what “Japanese fair” is, but I hesitantly agreed, after all, it was my adorable niece’s fifth birthday.

“What’s the name of this place?” I asked innocently as we walked out the door.

“Zoom-o Sushi… I think. I’m not sure about the ‘Zoom-o’ part…”

Son of a…!

So, we load my parents into the car, which is an adventure in itself. First, because my sister has an SUV (mind you, it’s a Honda Passport, not a Ford Excursion or some other giant SUV) and my parent’s grunt and groan as they struggle to figure out how to get in the car. It’s a car, you’ve been doing this for your entire lives, why is this such an effort?

I jokingly offered to help them with their seatbelts… which turned out not to be a joke. They couldn’t pull the seatbelt far enough without it locking, so they had to pull as much belt as possible out. Then they spent the next five to seven minutes trying to figure out how to lock it in. They grunted and groaned… “Just go… I think they’re broken,” my father kept muttering, which was the perfect idea: two 70 year-olds, unsecured, in the back of a moving vehicle in rush-hour traffic—safe as kittens!

So, I had to turn around in the front seat, and in 4.5 seconds managed to get the “broken” seatbelts to work. And we’re on our way!

We arrived at “Somesortofplace-o Sushi” in probably the rattiest strip mall in the county—and, mind you, we’ve got a lot of ratty strip malls. However, it is just past the only Del Taco (home of the “Macho Nacho!”) in the valley, so I thought I might keep that as an option in case it all turned horribly, horribly wrong. As we walked in, I noticed a number of large posters—all with freakin’ raw fish (chopped, sliced, diced, beaten, crushed… everything except cooked. Things had suddenly turned horribly, horribly wrong (I’m not sure if they were ever right, but I thought I would sound like I was making an effort.. .which I clearly wasn’t).

We removed our shoes—which excited LT until the moment I removed my shoes… yeah, it was pretty bad. It didn’t help that I had a big hole in my sock, so the big toe on my left foot was exposed…

The seating was something that only a sadist would design and a masochist would enjoy sitting on. Picture a solid, rectangular-raised platform/bench , about three feet high, tucked into a corner with a table rising out of the center, leaving a space in the center where one could put their legs… if one climbed up on the platform and crawled around to the other side. Already this was fun!

We sat down and they handed us the menu and page after page of uncooked items were listed, each of them more repellant and less appetizing that the last. I began to wish I had charged my cell phone before I left, because I wanted to place my to-go order at Del Taco immediately.

My brother felt that singing “Turning Japanese” at the table would be a terrific idea, which instantly put my moral outrage into high gear. The day was getting better and better…

The adorable Japanese waitress started taking our order—my brother immediately ordered two bottles of saki, some Japanese beer, and some wine for the folks. Oh, alcohol can only improve things…

Every time our waitress came by and graciously took our orders, my brother was saying something either vaguely offensive or outright offensive to the Japanese people. At one point, he sensed my extreme embarrassment, so he masked his bigotry by making comments in a German accent (I shit you not). “Oof,” he attempted in his lame accent, “zee saki is here! Das is gud!” Our waitress thought my brother was either an equal opportunity offender, or a complete idiot (I hope she caught my oh-so-subtle ‘crazy circles’ I was making with my finger by my head).

Salvation came when I noticed on the back page of the menu, in fine print: “Teriyaki Chicken.” Hurray! Everyone was ordering some sort of sea creature, my sister-in-law ordered “Sashimi,” which she thought meant tuna. It didn’t. She was incredibly disappointed when some sort of fishy thing arrived that was not tuna.* I was glad she was not enjoying herself as well. Now if only I could find a way to get the rest of the table to hate their food, they’d all have an idea of what I was going through. (I do not like suffering alone.)

Soon, the orders of fried, battered and beaten fish arrived. I kept chanting “Macho Nachos… Macho Nachos” as the food practically swam up to the table and flopped onto the plates.

The food was very good (according to those fish-loving types) and my Teriyaki Chicken was really good as well. It’s amazing what a little heat and a lot of sauce can do to something. Maybe they should try that on the fish?

My father got Shrimp Tempura, which my mother kept “trying” and eventually finished off. I’m not sure what LT or The Nephew ate, because they were hardly at our table—they spent much of the evening jumping off the platform/benches and tumbling precariously close to the birthday cake.

My brother kept the steady flow of alcohol coming, so I’m not sure if he got less racist (or as he said, “Am I being lacist?”) or I was getting more drunk. Either way, I didn’t care anymore—those benches made my ass hurt and I kept thinking of the Macho Nachos just steps away.

And then it happened: LT got too jumpy too close to the cake and it landed perfectly upside down. Oh, the tears! The kitchen staff running over to see if someone cut off a finger because the scream was so loud! Hey, I was really looking forward to that cake… a few tears were in order. Oh, and LT cried a bit too, I’m not sure, I couldn’t see through my tears or hear through my sobs.

We then ate our smashed cake in near silence. My mother attempted to save the day with, “Oh, I think it tastes much better like this!” Great mom, even a five year-old didn’t buy that. Someone had to do something bold to get us back on track, “Sushi shooters!” I cried! (Oh, right… like I’d do that).

Since The Nephew is ten and I’m still operating at a ten year-old level, I flicked a bit of cake at him and he immediately laughed and flicked a bit back in retaliation. LT saw that this and wanted in on it, which meant everyone else wanted to get in on the cake flicking. Even my mother flicked a bit of cake around the table and we were all quickly laughing. All was well and everyone was happy again—including me in a Japanese restaurant.**

So what lessons have we learned?
1. Fish sucks
2. Karina is a pretty good name for a stuffed dog…
3. Any restaurant with the name “Sushi” in the name can’t be trusted.
4. Never take my brother to any ethnic restaurants***
5. Del Taco’s Macho Nacho is the greatest nacho ever
6. Food fights always save the day.


*Like it makes a difference: it’s fish…

**The waitress wasn’t happy at all. “You people no nice! You cra-a-a-z-zy! Why you do this? Wait… why I talk this way? I American! I born in Campbell! I no talkie this way! You lacist! You lacist!” [I offered her a $20 if I could write her that way and she said for an extra Hamilton I could even have her say “me love you long time”—God bless capitalism!]

***I fear for the folks at The Olive Garden (not for my brother, but in general… because it’s such a bad restaurant).

Reporting on Rita
Is it just me, or does it seem like every time a hurricane hits, CNN grabs Anderson Cooper and literally throws him outside in the wind and rain to report on it?! I’m not sure what he’s supposed to report, because there is not much to report on from outside other than it’s cold, wet and very, very, very windy. As I’m watching right now, Anderson has just told Aaron Brown for the fifth time in the last four minutes that 1) it is raining really hard, and 2) that it is very, very, very windy.

Chad Myers, the CNN meteorologist, just explained to Anderson that the wind near the eye will move from 50 mph (where it is now) to 90 mph. “However,” he noted, “it won’t move 50, 60, 70, etc. It will move from 50 to 90 almost immediately.” I wasn’t watching on my TV with TiVo, but I think if you slow-mo’d the footage you could see the moment when Anderson crapped in his pants.

Because the wind is so loud, Anderson wasn’t quite sure he heard Chad correctly. “Am I to understand that you said it will go from 50 – 90 in seconds?”

“Yes.”

[Blank stare from Anderson... and possible crapping in his pants.]

For the love of Mike, Anderson! Get inside—you’re too cute to be out in weather like that. Can’t we get someone annoying like Al Roker or Willard Scott out there?

CNN also has Rob Marciano (who is quite adorable in his own right) and Dr. Sanjay Gupta standing outside as well. Poor Rob is reporting from what looks like a parking lot and reporting that “there is not a lot of debris flying about.” Um, Rob? Wherever there is debris, you don’t want to be there. I keep expecting to see a boat fly by…

And then there is Dr. Gupta (yet another good looking guy). However, while the rain is coming down hard behind him, he’s completely dry and the wind isn’t bothering him at all! Anderson and Rob are practically having their skin removed by the force of the rain and the good doctor really only needs a light sweater. It must be nice to be a doctor…

Now CNN has cut to Randy Kaye who is standing near a wrought iron fence… if the wind picks up any more, I have a feeling I know where she’s going to end up. She just mentioned that the palm trees that she is standing next to, have just recently been planted. Hello? Do you understand that roots take a long time establish themselves? Lady, you need to be standing somewhere else… like Oregon.

I decided to check out the idiots at FOX and they never disappoint. Shepard Smith is standing in a street and he’s taking a pounding. Sean Hannity is interviewing him and it’s clear that neither of them really knows what’s going on. I think they’ve read the briefs, but they don’t understand what is really happening. Shepard actually said, “With all these storms it makes you wonder just what is making this happen?” Then he paused for a second… Oops. Did he just insinuate Global Warming? “Uh… these are cyclical,” he said desperately trying to save his ass, “they had big storms like this in the 40’s and 50’s… but I’m not sure if they had two in a row.” He was immediately followed by a reporter stating that the Governor of Texas had asked for our prayers. Solid reporting by FOX!

Is there a better way to indicate tragic circumstances are afoot than with an elegant logo? Well, CNN has a simple, yet elegant Rita logo and I really like it. I guess the only better thing would be to paste it by Anderson Cooper standing in a hurricane.


[okay, I promised a funny one… I’m still thinking about it—I’m such a crappy writer. I just throw the words down and go, so I can’t start typing unless I have a basic idea and an ending, so I'm still thinking... check back tomorrow.]

Scary Quote

“Naturally, the common people don’t want war, but after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy, and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. This is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in every country.”
--Hermann Goering,

Speaking at the Nuremberg Trials after WW II

I think I just died a little inside…

(Cheer up: I’m working on something funny for tomorrow…)

Arrr! Don't forget to talk like a pirate today!

They Got Shoe!

Thank you so much to those who donated… the list is long and distinguished and a number of you have donated VERY generously to this great cause. I would like to thank (in no particular order),

Robert Joss
Wylea Kirkpatrick
Alexandra Lion
Stefan Nagel
Kenneth Shotts
Sarah Stone
Ann Templeton
Jule Torre
Christian Wheeler

In addition to the previous notations, you have helped me get to over $1500 in online donations! May thanks to your generosity.

For those of you who wish to donate, you still can by going to

Take a Licking and Keep on Ticking


Yahoo is celebrating Advertising Week, which, interestingly enough, I’ve never heard of—and you’d think these guys would know a thing or two about getting the word out.

To properly celebrate Advertising Week (September 26 – 30) they are conducting a poll on the greatest advertising icons and greatest advertising slogans. Some I haven’t seen or heard in years, others have worn so thin on my psyche that too never see them again in my life still wouldn’t be enough.

Click here to vote!

JDRF Update #1

I'd like to thank these generous donors for helping me get to my goal (but especially for helping the kiddies):

Sandy B.
Diane L.
Kathy L.
Jill P.

You were all very generous and I appreciate your support!

I’m a Quasi Hit!

Well, after several years, I’ve finally posted 1000 unique visitors to this website. Wow. Over 1000 people are more bored now than if I wasn’t writing at all…

Just a couple of stats to bore you with and I’ll let you get on your way, because I know you’re busy and can’t stay past your average of 260 seconds before zipping off to… well, that costs me to look up that information, so I’m just going to assume you leave my site and head immediately to the 700 Club or the NRC. After all, that is my target audience.

Only 16 of the 50 US states have visited my page… I’m definitely a Blue State kind of guy—however, Ohio, Florida and Texas did make a showing (a lot from Texas, actually…). I gotta work on the other, er, what is it? 23 states, or something like that? How many are there now? And do we really need that many? (Seriously, a North AND South Dakota? West Virginia is about as big as a zit I have on my ass right now… seriously, let’s tighten this up, people. And Rhode Island… why? I mean, really. Why?) Okay, so where was I…?

Ah, my precious… precious blog.

I’ve been visited by inhabitants of nine different countries (not counting the US). I’m not surprised by the UK or Germany… but Malaysia? Hungary (Lukas… is that you?) But I’m most surprised at Peru. Actually, not that they visited, but that they exist at all. Really, you’re the Rhode Island of South America… why isn’t someone on the UN working on this? Get a map and start working on this.

Referrals (How I LOVE Them)

The top five referrals from search engines are as follows:
1) Giada De Laurentiis brought in the most. Searches I’m particularly fond of are: “Giada Boobs” and “everyday italian host big boobs”
2) Tickle was the second biggest search on the web with such inquiries as “Finger tickle,” “tickle boys,” and my personal favorite: “tickle uncut dick.” Thanks for stopping in and I hope you enjoyed your Tickle… (you perverts)
And, finally, my personal favorite:
3) "vincent price's grave" Who the fuck ARE you people?

Lastly, I’d like to thank Google for their help when someone is searching for Slap and Tickle, they ask: Do you mean: slap and tackle? Thanks Google Geeks… thank you very, very, very much.

I would sincerely like to thank those few of you who do actually read my blog (and comment… God bless you for commenting—it validates me and my sad little life…). It is nice to know that someone, somewhere at sometime is reading what I wrote… even in Peru.

Walk This Way
Once again, I’m participating in the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation Walk-a-thon. Last year I raised just over $3000—and as much as I would like to hit that amount again, with the victims of Katrina being in such significant need, I’ve dropped my goal to $2500. I’m still not sure I’ll hit it, but I can I try.

The goal of the Walk to Cure Diabetes is to raise $86 million to help fund research for a cure for type 1 diabetes and its complications. Type 1, or juvenile, diabetes, is a devastating, often deadly disease that affects millions of people--a large and growing percentage of them children.

Many people think type 1 diabetes can be controlled by insulin. While insulin does keep people with type 1 diabetes alive, it is most certainly not a cure. There are many challenges for those who are living with type 1 diabetes, but there are many severer complications, which are often fatal, caused by the disease.

However, a cure for type 1 diabetes is within reach! JDRF funding has assisted in most major scientific breakthroughs in type 1 diabetes research to date, as well as funding the majority of type 1 diabetes research worldwide.

That's the bad news... and yes, it's pretty bad.

The good news, though, is that a cure for type 1 diabetes is within reach. In fact, JDRF funding and leadership is associated with most major scientific breakthroughs in type 1 diabetes research to date. And JDRF funds a major portion of all type 1 diabetes research worldwide, more than any other charity.

If you wish to make a donation, I would really be grateful. And anyone who donates online, will get a mention on my blog (I’m not sure if that will help or hurt getting donations…) If you give over $100, I’ll not only put you on the blog, I’ll write a little something about you. In fact, I’ll create a FABulous story about you and your generosity (both monetarily and ‘between the sheets’) that will surely get you noticed by members of the law enforcement community. (I know from experience, that after the shame, lawsuits, and media attention, you’ll laugh about it).

So, please, please give if you can. If you can’t… go do something nice for someone else and let’s spread a little love around.

Click here for my donation page (or the link on the sidebar).

DONATION ALERT!
My first online donation was made by Ms. Wylea Kirkpatrick, who is herself getting ready for a charity event: The Nike Marathon with Team in Training (benefiting the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society) in October – she is not only participating but is a mentor to other participants as well. If you’re one of those people that has crap-loads of cash, why not spread that love to Wylea as well? Thank you Wylea for your generous support and your charitable efforts.

So Long, Little Buddy
Bob Denver, the beloved Gilligan on Gilligan’s Island passed away at 70. Gilligan. 70. Who’d have thought?

Sure the show was inane, unrealistic, and silly, but all the best shows of the 60’s were: Green Acres, Petticoat Junction, and Beverly Hillbilly’s to name a few. But, it never failed to make me laugh. I don’t think Gilligan ever dropped a coconut--or some other heavy object--on the Skipper’s foot that I didn’t laugh.

When I was a kid and was sick, I’d crawl into my parent’s bed and watch TV and feel better. Game shows were in the morning, but in the afternoon, I Dream of Jeannie, Brady Bunch and Gilligan’s Island would come on. (If I was sick for a week with the flu, I would throw in “Dialing for Dollars” for a little variety.) It didn’t matter how sick I was, Gilligan always made me laugh.

It wasn’t until I got older and KBHK 44 would run its summer specials of old shows from the 50’s and 60’s (before TVLand) that I gained an appreciation for his Maynard G. Krebs and just how damn funny he and the Many Loves of Dobie Gillis were.

At least he left of with a legacy of very silly fun. So, a big thank you to Maynard and Gilligan for coming into my family room (and sick room) and making a little kid and a big kid forget the bad things of this world and letting me laugh really hard.

I think I’m gonna go get myself a big slice Banana Cream Pie and toast my favorite Castaway.

Thanks, Little Buddy! I’d tell you to hold onto those coconuts when you see the Skipper, but I have a feeling you won’t… and I'm smiling just thinking about it.

Katrina, Knock It Off, You Bitch!

What the hell just happened? I thought this was going to be another one of those lookout-it’s-coming-oh-it-wasn’t-that-bad kind of storms we’ve been seeing of late. It usually starts with FOX coming up with some exciting graphics and music and ends with CNN pushing Anderson Cooper outside in the rain so he can stand there telling us “It doesn’t look that bad, but it’s really windy…”

I think everyone got complacent. I think everyone in Jesus-Land felt that 1) everyone has cried wolf so many times that it doesn’t matter, and 2) that Jesus would never let anything happen to them (they did vote for Dubya… doesn’t that count?)

Have we learned our lesson? When they say to get out you should GET THE F**K OUT! God will protect you... if you follow the warning. Duh.

However, I think we have been looking at this wrong. We see the Atlantic’s fury being unleashed on an innocent and unsuspecting land mass who has done nothing to provoke these temper tantrums.

The problem isn’t the ocean or the storms; the problem is Florida. I always used to think of Florida as “America’s Wang” innocently dangling off the bible-belt buckle that is Georgia. Let’s face it: it looks like an “average” uncut dick (as geographic formations go). Now, Norway and Sweden are significantly better hung… but then they ARE European.

Also, note that Norway and Sweden look like they are glad to be in Europe, pleased to be well endowed (and double-headed to boot), but don’t go around shouting about it. Florida looks like it just blew spunk on Cuba… no wonder Castro hates us. The alternate theory is that Florida is just getting started and looks like it wants to “invade” (if you know what I mean) Cuba. Either way, Florida’s a dick.

Lately, I’ve come to notice Florida in a new light: it’s not a dick hanging off of Georgia like some 60 year-old nudist that no one has any interest in looking at… no. It’s a finger! A giant, angry finger! It’s America’s giant angry finger giving the bird to the lower mid Atlantic and the Caribbean. America is constantly flipping off the waters and they are pissed off. It’s so simple:

Florida: Hey, Caribbean… fuck you!
Caribbean: Wha…?
Florida: You heard me.
Caribbean: What’s up wit you, mon? We’re just hanging like a big calm ocean… relax.
Florida: I got your big hangin’ right here! Sit on this and spin, pussy!
Caribbean: You don’t want to make me mad. You won’t like me when I’m mad…
Florida: What are you gonna do about it.
Gulf Coast: Nuttin’! He can’t do nuth’n.
Caribbean: Who are you?
Gulf Coast: I’m that Gulf Coast, y’all. I’ma showin’ y’all my big ole pucker hole that you can get down on your knees and kiss.
Caribbean: Do you understand geography? I’m an ocean, mon. I don’t have knees!
Gulf Coast: Oh, so you’re a big ‘stand up ocean’, eh? Too big for us? You ain’t nuth’n. You’re just poor blue trash a-want’n to be like your cousin the Pacific… but always coming up short…
Caribbean: Oh… dat tears it! I’m bringin’ a world a’hurt onto you bitches.
Florida: What, you gonna smoke some weed and hope we get a contact high?
Caribbean: Katrina?! Girl, they done called you a ho!
Hurricane Katrina: Oh no they di’in’t! Jose, bring mama her shoes!

See? It really is Florida’s fault. Now if we cut a thirty mile gap between Florida and the mainland, they’ll just look like a turd floating in the ocean. Let’s face it, that’s a pretty apt description of Florida.

On a serious note: the amazing amount of destruction caused a huge amount of human loss and suffering. I encourage everyone to donate to The American Red Cross Hurricane Disaster Relief Fund. So many people lost everything, let’s help them get back on their feet.

“Never have a hysterectomy!”

The above quote is an actual quote given to me by a female friend. I can safely say that I will follow her advice and NEVER have a hysterectomy. Being a male, it’s impossible (however, I have been known to suffer from PMS, so I should be cautious and never say never… but, I’m feeling a bit smarmy today, so I’ll stand firm on my new policy of never having a hysterectomy). I’m hoping it will catch on with all my friends and we’ll be a big group of non-hysterectomites.

So, Dr. Cutie McCutie* called with all my other test results and everything is excellent. No HIV, no STD’s: nutt’n. Apparently, even my urine “looked good.” Oh, doctor… how you tease!

The pills have taken Pauly the Parasite to task and I’m pretty sure he’s dead. Poor Pauly, I hardly knew ye… but you helped me lose ten pounds, so I can’t fault you too much. Well, you did keep me stuck in a bathroom for about 10 hours a day for three weeks, so you did put a cramp in my social life.**

I received a number of comments, personally and in my blog, stating that no one wants to hear any more scatological references or how my bowels are moving/not moving/reacting or in any way “communicating” to the outside world. I’ve heard you loud and clear: no more shit comments.

However, did you see Oprah yesterday? Apparently, she farts 14 times a day. I’d discuss it more, but the public has spoken…***

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I got a jury summons for October in the mail. October? Now? Don’t they know I will spend the next month devising the best way to get out of my civic duty? It’s a “jury of my peers.” I can tell you this, my peers would not be on trial for something. They would have their parents use their significant influence to get them out of a jury trial—or daddy would do something to make it all go away. If I’m on a jury trial, it had better be for reading too many blogs at work or sleeping too late on the weekends, because otherwise, we are not peers.

Of course, if it’s for something that I want to do, then by all means sign me up! Knock down the slow lady in front of you at Starbucks that can’t figure out how to order a goddamn mocha? Not guilty! Run someone off the freeway for changing lanes without signaling because there are on their cell phone? Not guilty—and the US Medal of Freedom ****.

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I went to Macy’s today to buy a baby gift for a friend and wandered over to Macy’s Gift Wrap. What a lovely area that is. You know how bad it looks during Christmas/Hanukah (Hanukkah? Chanukah? Whichever). Well, it looks just the same now… only with less people to distract you from the prison-like atmosphere.

I rang the bell and this woman walks out who clearly wanted to be somewhere (anywhere) else.

“Uh-huh?” She says to no one in particular, because she’s not staring at me, but at the counter.

“Yes, I’d like to get this gift wrapped,” I smile, pulling out the cutest baby outfit you’ve ever seen.

“Eight twenny-nine.” Seriously: twenny. Apparently, she escaped the back woods of Louisiana and Katrina’s wake and headed straight to Macy’s Gift Wrap at the Stanford Shopping Center.

She looked at the outfit. No reaction. Nothing. Not a “cute.” No “awwwww!” Heck, not even an “ewww.” Nothing. I hated her.

As I wondered to myself, why the fine people of Macy’s would keep her disgruntled ass around, a woman walks up. Happy looks up and says, “What do you want?”

Oooh, girlfriend, there is gonna be a catfight, because the woman that walked up clearly had fifty (or would that be fiddy?) pounds on her and both looked like they’ve been in fights before—and lost as many as they’d won, based on the total teeth count between the two would not be enough for one.

“I’m returning these…” Girlfriend said as she hoisted up a large box containing 500 small boxes (I know this because on the side of the box it clearly read, Contents: 500 small boxes).

“What’r those?”

“Boxes.” Can’t she read the box? Duh.

“What do I want those for?” (Actually, it sounded like “whadoohI wan dose foh?” Seriously. Henry Higgins would shit in his pants if he were there…*****)

Girlfriend started to walk away, she returned them and she wasn’t taking them back, that much even I knew. “This is where I got ‘em… this is where I take ‘em back to.”

And she was gone.

“Angie!” Happy cries out, staring at the box. “Angie!” I’m thinking she’s talking to the box, so I lean over the counter to get a better look (hey, if the box is gonna talk, I want to see it happen).

“What?” Angie said. For a nano-second, I thought it was the box. Angie appeared from out of the back.

“Look what Lanquisha brung back.” Happy said, measuring the ribbon.

“What’r those?”

“Boxes.” Seriously, am I the only one that can read the box?

Thankfully, Angie asked the one question I wanted answered: “Why?”

Happy shrugged as she finished tying up the ribbon, “I dunno. She nicked ‘em, so now she brung ‘em back.”

Angie was prepping to wrap a gift, so she started speaking to the wall, “What’re we s’posed to do with them?”

The wall didn’t answer, but Happy did: “dunno.”

My gift was done. Let me say, that Happy did the most incredible job. It wasn’t complex, but she took amazing care putting it all together and it looked wonderful.

With tax and a little note card it was an even Ten. Now that made Happy smile! No pesky change to figure out! Hurrah! She gave me a big “Thank you and have a nice day!” (well, she smiled a bit and said, “thanks,” but close enough in my book). As I walked away with my beautiful package, my ten spot, sans pesky change jingling in my pocket, I thought to myself, I like her!


*Not his real name… but you knew that already, didn’t you? Of course you did…
**In actuality, I have no social life to speak of, but if I did, Pauly put a cramp in it.
***You are SO wishing I’d say more now, aren’t you?
**** If you have not already guessed, I believe in the death penalty for anyone using a cell phone while driving
*****Thankfully, he wasn’t. (Sorry about the “shit in his pants” remark. I said I wouldn’t mention that anymore… Obviously, I lied).

Getting Better

Well, I finally went to the doctor this week. I was blowing stuff out my ass like you've never seen before. Sorry to be crude, but when one is going to the bathroom every 20 minutes or so, one has a tendancy to lose one's propriety.

Anyhow... back to the ass flow:

Oh... I'll save you the details (email me if you want to know, I love talking about it... it's just that no one wants to hear about it).

So, I finally went to the doctor (or more acurately, found out my doctor is no longer on my plan, so I changed doctors) and Doctor Cutie McCutie, gave me a bunch of tests (none of them pretty) and today he called to say I have a parasite in me. Well, I've always wanted a new friend.

And like all friendships, this one is coming to an end real soon. Tonight, I pick up my prescription and in 3-5 days, Pauly the Parasite should be gone.

And, hopefully, I'll get back to writing again. Seriously, I started 7 different things and then I'd run off to the bathroom and come back with no desire to finish the article.

Seriously, I'll write... if I feel like it. Thanks for all your cards and letters... oh, that's right, I didn't get any. Thanks for your total lack of concern. 'preciate it...

The Story of My Life...

I took the The Director Who Films Your Life Test and found out that if my life were made into a movie, it would be directed by Kevin Smith. You can take the test yourself HERE.

My results:
"Your film will be 50% romantic, 49% comedy, 33% complex plot, and a $ 33 million budget.
Kevin will take your slacker life and turn it into the cult classic it deserves to be --- like Mallrats (just kidding). If you can handle the menacing presence of Jay and Silent Bob all throughout your film, then Kevin is willing to oblige. Basically, he can take the lives of people who don't have much of a life and make it entertaining, so you're in good hands."

Does this mean the Catholic Church will protest my movie? Do I get a cut of the gross profits? Most importantly, who will play me... Brad Pitt or Matt Damon? (I'm sure they want to think of themselves as "the next DeNiro," so let 'em pack on the pounds and see if they can do it).

I'm Sick...

As I was over the toilet, heaving up my guts, my thoughts turned to Seinfeld and how when he hadn't thrown up since January 31, 1985 (or some such date). I couldn't remember the date, but I immediately thought how I have not ralphed since I was in my 20's. Is this some sort of insanity, or was my brain trying to protect me from the horror of the moment? Most likely, it's that I watch too much TV...

On a side note, let's hope it's as least as long until I buick again.

However, I was able to get up from my "bed of pain"* to peruse the internet and see this:

It made me smile... and that was really needed.


*George C. Scott once said that to a friend of mine when he was called in to do more voice work for a Disney animated flick. Her memories of him are not fond... not fond at all.

Five Questions

I’m not sure where this started, but I saw it on the Diaspora South blog (written by the too fabulous Ari Graf von Rothberg. The rules are below.

Question 1: What is your favorite film of all time, and why?
Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967). While, it is a great movie (poorly “remade” this year) and the subject stirred a national debate and changed a lot of minds, it’s the interaction of Hepburn/Tracy that is magical. In Tracy’s final speech, I don’t believe he’s talking about “his wife, Christina” but about his relationship with Hepburn. The fact that he died three weeks after filming only cements the film in my heart.

Question 2: When did you first know that you were gay?
I’ve always known I was “different.” I just didn’t think like the other boys. However, it wasn’t until junior high that it all started clicking. The locker room was torture for me, because I knew I couldn’t stare at the other boys—but, Lord, how I wanted to…

Question 3: First name of the first person you ever crushed on, and a random memory about that person.
Mike Hamm, fourth grade. He was just so ‘together.’ He was cute, smart, and extremely funny. We went through all six years of elementary school together, but we went to different junior high schools. In the 8th grade, I was walking on campus when he rode by on his bike—he ‘recognized me,’ but didn’t know who I was. I was crushed.

Question 4: What are 5 things you would never be caught doing and why?
1. Voting republican (because they are small-minded and evil)
2. Using a trough urinal (I need a reason?)
3. Saying, “I can think of a number of wonderful things George Bush did for America…” (because he’s Satan)
4. Walking up to a cute guy in a bar and saying, “can I buy you a drink?” (too shy and too insecure)
5. Robbing a bank (I’m not saying I’m not going to do it… I’m saying I’m not going to get caught doing it… for I am a criminal mastermind. Well, I’d like to be anyway, but that’s for another interview).

Question 5: Shag, Marry, Push Off a Cliff. Please put each of the following people into the aforementioned categories: Chris Evans, Oscar Wilde, Ryan Seacrest.
Shag: Chris Evans. Lordy, how I love that boy’s bod!
Marry: Oscar Wilde: Lot’s of fun conversations—plus, with him as my husband, I’m guaranteed tons of cool party invites.
Push off a Cliff: Ryan Seacrest… I need a reason?

Want to play?

The Official Interview Game Rules:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying “interview me.”
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person’s will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

PETA... The Game

Okay, so it's not PETA approved (I'm sure a number of cyber-animals were hurt in the creation of this game). Scotty Mo sent me this. It's pretty easy, but can quickly become an obsession if you don't have a life... not that I would know anything about that.

To play, click HERE and save a monkey!

As Time Goes By…

So much has changed in the last 30-some years… I’m much older, maybe a little wiser, and I most certainly have better taste in clothes (check out the collar on that shirt, it looks like I'm about to take flight!).

However, Mrs. Clarke, my third grade teacher certainly had me figured out. Not much has changed in that respect… not much at all.

(click on the pic to get a better view of her comments.)

Ho! Superquiz!

I found a cool poll link on the web and decided to have a weekly poll. I came up with this week's quiz in a flash, so it's not very original--however, it is a subject near and dear to my heart...

Possible upcoming quiz ideas: "Balls!" (shaved or un-shaved), "Unkindest Cut" (circumcised or not)... man, I have got to get my mind out of the gutter...

Anyway, enjoy the quiz (it's off to the right...)

Fun With War
I don't know who wrote this... I only know it's genius: World War II as if online game.