Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Goin' Larry King on ya!

I've always hated when noted authors and columnists, suffering from a case of writer's block, take the easy way out and ruminate on a dozen or so topics just to fill space.

Man, I hate that.

If every family has its "black sheep" and mine doesn't seem to have one, wouldn't logic dictate I am the "black sheep?" What was it? That crazy haircut in high school? It was a phase. I'm normal, now - or so my therapist, psychic, life-coach, and imaginary friend tell me.

Better Made makes wavy chips, now. Morally I'm opposed. Physically and visually, I give props.

In this country, all you have to do is bring something up and people determine its an issue and take sides.

Heather Mills is on "Dancing With the Stars." I was unaware that she was a "star." Does that mean anyone ever associated with Paul McCartney is a "star?" Just asking, as I'm his stalker. NOTE TO SELF: Blog an entire entry on this topic and the modern world making celebrities out of thin-air.

TO DO: create my own Internet hoax. I recently thought about writing a very detailed "warning" - those always seem to get forwarded - from a Sgt. Something or other about starting your dryer right before you go to bed. I was going to say that prowlers watch for dryers that are left on and they clog them with rags so that the carbon emission from the dryer cannot escape, but rather fills the house and makes the residence there lethargic and unresponsive. Then, they come in and steal stuff.

Hey ...it's no more ridiculous than a
Nigerian billionaire leaving me millions or believing that boycotting gas stations for a day will affect giant oil companies.

I bought a book on blogging and it said to incorporate more pictures into my blog. The book also said a blog should have direction and purpose.

I watch too much TV. I blog too much. Crap! I didn't even have a dozen things to fill a page.

Friday, March 23, 2007

Blog a Movie with Me

I wanna make a movie (and who doesn't) but I only have a few, barely rounded-out ideas. I know I want the opening credits to feature Zombie's "More Human than Human" and the closing credits will fade out as "White Flag" by Dido plays (already contributed by a friend of mine).

Other than that, I have a few "must use" lines, but not much more. So, if i can rally a buncha creative friends who, no doubt, also have some movie ideas, scenes, and dialogue ...well.

I contend a movie will write itself. I'll edit all the ideas into a manusrcipt and start pitching it to studios.

Have an idea? Go to Blog-A-Movie, start "commenting" via the link at the bottom of the first entry. As the comments and ideas grow and grow, and the comments start to cement an idea, I'll organize it a little and create another post - to keep us "on point."

So ...let's hear it. Plot? Climax? Twist? Cameos? Start anywhere.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

The First Rule of Write Club . . .

. . .you don't talk about Write Club. Because it's too completely geeky.

But hear me out.

I love TV. I came of age in the infancy of cable television and my generation shaped the future of TV and the TV world you know today. We did it!!! Pre-teens and teens of the 80s!!! WOO HOO!!! We are GenX!!! Hear us complain ...er ...uh ...roar! Or something. We don't know how the phrase goes, of course, because we don't ...um ...read.

Ironic that I actually write so much on blogs even though I have such little faith in my generation to actually read it, eh? Trust me, if I could just talk on camera and post it on YouTube, I would (my sitcom ideas and my talk show concept have also been rejected/ignored by the big networks, as well).

Back to my love of TV. I love it. Society, however, would let you believe that TV rots the minds of the youth, causes A.D.D., and a buncha other stuff I can't remember - not because of excessive TV watching, dammit! What would educators and health professionals suggest instead of TV? Exercise, for one. OK. Well, that's sound advice. But old-curmudgeons will tell you "in their day" they had appreciation for art, music, and literature. Well, what is TV if not the complete fusion of all three!!! This has always been my argument. If paintings and pictures on a wall are good, if music played by a band or orchestra is good, and story structure and creativity delivered in a book is good ...well pictures set to music over a story is the best, yet!!! Pictures set to music over a story ...hmmm. What is like that? Oh, I know. TV!!!

People are afraid to embrace this medium because of what so-called-intellectuals keep saying about it. We must stop this injustice. A Nickel For the Swear Jar weighed in (sprayed bile), too. So accurate his assessment, I had to ask myself if perhaps I wrote it myself.

And then I thought ...what if I did write it myself. This author loves TV, loves "Lost", has a sister, incredible wit, and a fantastic writing style. He even has some of my same friends. What if I'm like Ed Norton in "Fight Club" and because of my split personality and frustration with daily life, I've created an alter ego, but in actuality, my alter ego is just me. A guy who wants to be in "Write Club" ...though actually I am the leader of "Write Club."

Well, until I start hopping flights and trying track down that blog author and come to the realization, while holding myself at gunpoint, that he is me, I'll just enjoy the writing and revelations there. Note: I hope I stop before I shoot myself through the cheek ...I'm too vain to have such a lifelong scar.

Last night, "Idol" bid farewell to SHORT-HAIRED-BLACK-GIRL, but the bigger surprise was that the bottom-two did not contain Sanjaya. Worse yet, when you go to see Idols Live this summer, you're going to have to sit through Sanjaya butchering something. Sad, sad days ahead.

"Lost" is good again ...meaning ...things are actually happening. My alter ego reviews it better than anyone.

"Survivor" took the twist I'd hoped it would. I ask you ...do you think Probst and the crew review all the footage at the end of every day? I do, now. They saw that one tribe was helpless, about to be systematically picked off at the merge, and changed the whole game. After last night, I firmly believe this happens.

Someday when I get picked for "Survivor" I'll use this to my advantage. I will also surgically implant a lighter in place of one of my fingers ... moohahahahhahahaha!

The second rule of Write Club is - you DO NOT talk about Write Club.

Blogging about it is totally cool, though.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

American Idol

Here is my recap of American Idol from March 20th, 2007. My favorite show.

I have many opinions on American Idol. I'll share one.

What does it say about our society that "Dancing With the Stars" and "American Idol" dominate the ratings? Do you really wanna know? It shows that America still loves a "variety show."

Think about it. What's the difference between the The Carol Burnette Show, The Sonny & Cher Hour, Donnie & Marie, or even Lawrence Welk and "American Idol" and/or "Dancing with the Stars?" All those old variety shows featured witty banter (Randy, Paula, Ryan, Simon), singing (AI), and dancing (Stars). The masses - which includes your's truly - feel we're above the old cheeze fests ...but actually ...we aren't. It's the same show just dressed up as a "competition" so we think we're better than we were 30 years ago. American Idol even goes so far as to bring marginal "stars" back to sing, promote a new CD, and engage in "sketches" - don't believe me ...check the dialogue between Peter Noone and Ryan in regards to Simon Cowell. Sonny Bono and Terry Bradshaw have nothing on these two. Would you rather see David Hasselhoff sitting in the audience (crying) or would you rather see him in a bad-not-funny Knight Rider or Baywatch sketch? Bottom line ...it's the same cheese on a different platter.

So ...last night. What happened?

HOT LEGGY CHICK. Wow! I guess she was singing. Not sure. I only remember a hot chick in Daisy Dukes strutting around the stage. She's through to next week. "Hotness" has its privileges. I voted for her ...148 times.

SHORT HAIRED BLACK GIRL. To quote Simon ..."forgettable." I know the tall black boots looked horrible with her aqua dress and there's no way she'll win.

JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE #1 (AKA NON-BEAT-BOXING-JUSTIN): Pretty good. Where'd he get that sweater? Randy liked him.

BALD GUY: He shouted another song at me. I didn't recognize the song. He was doing a Bo Bice meets Daughtry impersonation.

LAKISHA: I actually know her name. She's from Michigan. She was wearing $1million in diamonds ...wow! I only kinda knew the song, but she was awesome. The judges weren't overwhelmed and said she lost her "Lakisha" ...well ...what do you expect when you take a black woman from a forgotten industrial town like Flint with more soul in her pinky toe than in Clay Aikin's entire body, and ask her to sing some white-bread, soulless, 60s era British pop? Seriously! She is working hard, man! I can tell she's losing weight. She was awesome, anyway.

SANJAY'S HAIR: Was he wearing Michael Jackson gloves? Was a pre-teen girl crying because she loves him so much? Could Sanjay suck more? Whoa! Did you see his sister's tits? I'll vote for him just for more shots of his sister. YOWZA!

JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE #2 (AKA BEAT-BOXING JUSTIN): Very good. He sounds a little bit like Morrisey. He does. You don't have to admit it, but he does. And he's a showman. I think Simon wants him to win. Simon could use a male pop-star in the mix. This was a great performance.

LINEBACKER GIRL: She's only 17. But, DAMN ...can she sing, or what?!?!?!?! 17 year olds have a tough time making anyone believe they've had that kinda heartache, but she was coached up very well by that Tulula chick. Linebacker was very, very good. I'd vote for her.

SIDESHOW BOB: Lose some weight or cut-out the walking around and stair climbing. I could tell he was outta breath. Very good voice. Very confident and self-aware. Could go far. Tough to say. He'll host American Idol when Seacrest finally quits. Just my prediction.

RED-HAIR ROCKER-CHICK: Quick ...kick her off so I can see her in Playboy. She's good, I guess. OK ...she's not. But she has a pierced tongue and you know what they say about girls with pierced tongues, right? OK ...me neither. But its kinda slutty and that's cool. She'll be back for at least one more week.

MELINDA DOOLITTE: Another one so good I actually learned and remembered her name. If this was the 60s or 70s, she'd already be a star. Meaning, nowadays you can't just sound incredible, you have to kinda look good, too. She just doesn't. Great, great voice. Great, great showmanship. I love her. I might even buy her CD if she redid some classics. But if she wins (which she won't) she'll have a tough time sellin' albums, ala Taylor Hicks. I'm just sayin'.

I still think the winner of this season is going to be a black woman. I'm not going out on a limb, I know. But I gotta call my shot. The two Timberlakes and Sanjay are gonna split the white-teen-suburbanite vote and pave the way for Lakisha ...I love her. She's still my clubhouse leader.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Flat on My Back

If I'da had a blog back in 2005 - before they were invented, I think - this bizarre story would've made it on there. This happened about a month-and-a-half before I actually was hospitalized with a severe lung infection. But at the time ...it just seemed like a funny story.

Dateline, Saturday, Labor Day weekend. We left the Michigan State game at the end of the the 2nd quarter and the kids were asleep before we even got off campus (my kids were 2 1/2 and 1 at the time). The wife and I kept driving and headed up north to her parents' place at Canadien Lakes.

My nagging cough continues to get worse. But I am just plugging through.

All five of Kathy's brothers and all their kids were there and we celebrated Jimmy's 1st birthday and had tons of food and cake. It was great. All (15) nieces and nephews, my two kids, all the brothers and their wives. Busy, busy. All but four of them stayed the night and we had a great campfire. Marylin, quite simply, LOVES her cousins and at age 2 1/2, she thinks she's a 5 year old when they're all around. It's very funny to see her "act" older.

Sunday we went to the beach for hours, played in the water, relaxed. The beach is a great place for a 2 1/2 year old and a 1 year old. You plop 'em down, keep an eye on 'em, and you tie a string around their leg so when they fall in you can pull them out and they won't drown. But mostly, they keep themselves entertained the whole time.

Sunday night, everyone left, leaving only Kathy, me, and the kids for one last night. The evening was great ...but ...when I went to bed, my mother-in-law set me up on a "magic fingers" foam mattress enhancer. I told her it was not necessary and I'm always more than comfortable on the fold out without it. But she insisted. She bought it special for me. "OK," I said. What I didn't detect when I first laid down was that she had a queen-size version on a regular sized bed. She had folded it in half(ish) for extra thickness, but not completely in half. Only about 2/3rds of the way. So, I actually fell asleep on a ridge - at 11pm. Fast forward to 2am. I woke up PARALYZED!!! OK, so not really paralized, but I WAS in so much pain that I passed out while trying to roll out of bed and crawl down the hall. My back was spasming like crazy and I felt like Mike Tyson himself had punched me 20 times in the shoulder blade. I came-to about 2:20am. Yes ...read that again ...I passed out cold due to the pain. So I know I passed out for 20 minutes. Luckily, 1-year-old Jimmy didn't wake up - he was in the playpen near the couch - Kathy was asleep comfortably in another bed with Marylin. As I laid there, face down, with my back spazzing over and over and over again, and the pain of the Tyson-force punches still radiating just below my shoulder blade, I realized I had pissed myself upon passing out.

Have you ever wondered how much pee is actually accumulating in the toilet bowl while you're peeing? Well, I can tell you ...ALOT!!! I would say I was laying in a puddle of my own piss equivalent of a 20oz bottle of water. And it smelled like piss.

So, now, I'm face down, in major pain, laying in my own piss, and I still can't move because of the pain. And, for some reason, I still feel this responsibility to let my kids and in-laws sleep and I didn't call out for help.

2:35am ...I've had enough. My brain has decided that we're moving my body. I attempt a push-up. I nearly pass out, again. I start a coughing jag which causes more spazms. I'm in a half-kneel push-up pose, wincing, soaked in piss, and coughing like an 80-year-old man with emphysema. TRULY a site to behold. But I fought on.

Slowly I start crawling towards the tiny bathroom which I know has towels. Hand. Pain. Hand. Pain. Knee. Pain. Knee. Pain. And on and on for the 7 feet I had to traverse.

I'm not kidding when I say I was halfway hoping to pass out again and to just sleep it off.

I get to the bathroom pretty quickly and use only my arms to pull myself to a kneeling position in front of the sink/toilet station. I try to use as few back muscles as possible, but here's the thing ...human's backs are very important to almost everything a human does.

Like when raising an arm. Back muscles. When kneeling. Back muscles.

OK ...I'll post my exo-musculo-skeletal summary some other time.

Amidst all the pain, I'm able to get 5 towels onto the floor and somewhat clean up my mess at 3:05am. I think to myself, "I'll get back in bad and lay down."

I do. I immediately diagnose "the ridge" as the cause of my pain. And the bed, now, seems like a medieval torture device ...if a torture device would be a bed positioned on the ridge of a rooftop on a golfball.

3:10am I decide the ONLY way I'm going to even possibly get comfortable and get some sleep is to crawl into the bed with Kathy and Marylin ...a real bed. Off I go ...crawling again ...dragging myself on the ground, over the piss soaked towels, down the hall, through the room where my in-laws are sleeping, and out onto the additon/porch where Marylin and Kathy are sleeping ..warm and comfy.


I manage to crawl to our suitcase and get some dry-non-piss-soaked clothes out and then begin the near-impossible task of undressing myself while dealing with near-blinding pain and spazms.

Of course, Kathy wakes up as I'm butt naked on the floor next to the bed and she is like, "AHHHHHHHHH" ...(but in a whisper) ...and she asks me what the hell is going on?!?!?!?!

I respond with "COUGH" and "COUGH" ...then muster, "I'm ...para..." *(WINCE IN PAIN)* "...lyzed." But in a whisper ...*COUGH* *COUGH*.

Kathy rolls outta bed trying not to wake Marlyin, she doesn't know if she should be worried or mad or what. I try to explain what's going on, but we're both whispering and then I just beg her to help me get dressed and into bed. I tell her I'll explain in the morning.

It was then nearly 4am. I was dressed in fresh boxers and a t-shirt. I struggled mightily to get into bed and find SOME position that's comfortable. I'm not sure I slept more than 15 minutes at a time the rest of the night. I sat in one-spot for most of Monday while wearing a heating pad, coughing, and spazming. Kathy drove home. Spazming subsided. I was much, much better on Tuesday but still made a date with my doctor.

Isn't that fun.

Epilogue. One-and-a-half-months later I was hospitalized for 5 days with an advanced lung infection that had filled my lungs with fluid and pushed against my spine. I got better. I will not poo-poo such warning signs in the future.

Friday, March 02, 2007

If You Don't Know Your Past . . .

I heard a young radio DJ make this reference: "...it's like Queen Latifah and that Dad-from-American-Pie."

I screamed at my radio,"That Dad-from-American-Pie?!?!?!?!??!"

They went on and on, "who is that guy?" "He's made a career doing bit parts," they said. "Hollywood is full of these guys that find a niche and make a great living doing it."

He has a name, dammit! It's Eugene Levy. There aren't many comedians with a longer resume. And he's boiled down to "That-Dad" and "niche-actor." Granted, these past 6 or 7 years, he has played quite a few roles as a Dad, but there was about 30 years prior to that and these kids didn't seem to recognize that work - or even know about it.

This is what's wrong with kids-these-days. They don't know history - and I don't mean Magna Cartas and Nixon's Vice President-type history. Kids seem unaware that pop culture didn't start in 2001 and there was actually stuff on TV, on the radio, and in theaters before the year 2000. Before there was Zach & Cody, there was Ralph & Ed, Laurel & Hardy, Abbot & Costello, Martin & Lewis, and Keenan & Kel. But I wonder how many 12-year olds think that Zach & Cody are trailblazers?

There is a disconnect in this country that we need to address, and it ain't the falling math & science scores that worry me. I'm talking about the education at home. If your kids are going to watch, on average, 3 hours of TV per day, make it count.

I was watching the Grammy's (the best one ever televised, by the way) and Lionel Richie performed. I theorize the nation's teenagers were wondering if that was any relation to Nicole Richie and, if they knew, did they think he was trying to ride his daughter's coat tails, or worse yet, did they just change the channel. Do they even appreciate that Lionel came first, is one of the most successful recording artists of all time, and because of the money he made and his absence from his daughter's early years that they even have Nicole as a pseudo-celebrity-role-model?

Betcha they don't.

My parents made me do alot of things I didn't wanna. Some I still resent (that's for my therapist). But some things ...well ...I guess I can never tell them how much I appreciate their guiding hand. Dad didn't let me enjoy Jackie Gleason as the cop from Smokey and the Bandit or the Dad-from-The-Toy. He didn't allow my brother and I to know Clint Eastwood as the fighting-guy-from-Any-Which-Way-You-Can. He sat us down and made sure we watched the Honeymooners and old cowboy classics. He educated us.

Mom liked The Beatles, and I could sing their entire catalogue. Dad kept his old records, too. Barry White, Ohio Players, and The Drifters. We didn't listen to pop music in the 80s until we had every song on the Oldies station burned into our grey matter. Only then were we allowed to listen to Tiffany and Debbie Gibson. We didn't come to know classics like "You're the First, the Last, My Everything", "Fire," and "Stand By Me*" from a TV-show, a commercial, and a hit movie. No sir. We knew the history behind those songs and those artists.

Many aging blowhards step onto soap boxes every day ranting and raving about the possible causes of falling test scores and obese children. Many of them blame TV, saying it leads to inactivity, attention problems, and difficulty with reading. I say, pratfalls perfected as a result of watching slap stick classics are better exercise than bike riding. Want them to read more better? Your TV has subtitles, right? Enable that li'l feature and you'll have a regular Matilda on your hands.

It's not "less TV" that is the answer ...it's "better" TV!!! Join my movement. Use your Netflix and your cable subscriptions to the fullest. Educate your kids on the TV classics and make this world a better place.

I wonder if those DJs know Queen Latifah got her start as a rapper? Oh, I'm sure they do.

*I know this song is technically by Ben E King, but to appreciate Ben E King, he tutored us in the musical library of The Drifters).

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Peer Pressure Parenting

Remember how stressful highschool was ...peer pressure, acne, insecurity, and more cliques than an army of tap dancers (that's for my writing teacher)?

Well, you might find it sad/funny/interesting in that having kids, you get to experience it all again. Just when I thought it was all behind me, I forgot that I'll have to coach my three kids through it all. What's worse, I may have to deal with it again, too. More on that later.

I laid in bed last night with my first case of severe doubt on whether I'm raising my kids good/smart enough. A fellow 3-3/4 year old made fun of my oldest daughter. And it may have been my fault (for putting her in that position).

Here's the deal. Marylin had a hootin' hollerin' fun time handing out Valentines a couple weeks back. Then this past Monday she took little pieces of paper - 9 of them - and made cards for her friends. Why? Because of the pure joy she found in giving. An admirable trait. She literally sat at the kitchen table for 10 minutes (a long time for an almost-four-year old) and drew each one personally, each customized with a certain li'l friend in mind. Some had letters on them (Ms and Ls), some had criss-crosses, and some just had lines. She hand made them all and to me, her Dad, they were nine Picasso's as far as I was concerned. I said, "put them in your back pack." She excitedly did so. The next morning, she gave them out I presume she was awfully proud.

Later on that same day she had her friend, we'll call her Paris, over for a play date and when I called home I asked my wife to ask if she handed out her cards. Marylin said, "yes." Then "Paris" (that bitch) said, "she ONLY drew an 'L'."

"ONLY?!?!?!?" What? Are you kidding?

So this "Paris" chick is, apparently, the letter-writing champion of the world?!?!?!?!! Was Marylin sad about this? Did she even bat an eye? Probably not. But I was destroyed. What if my daughter was heartbroken?

Either way, my heart broke. What now? I should either (a) encourage more writing and reading so Marylin is better than everyone and so that her cards have many letters strung together in something called "words" or (b) discourage her from making and giving these heartfelt gifts so that her heart (and mine) don't get broken.

Break her heart now and that sets off the whole insecurity thing and will she be laughed at, never have any friends, dye her hair black, listen to The Cure (or the 2000s equivalent), and hang with "that crowd." She'll call me "Don" instead of "Dad" for heaven's sake. I can't have that.

Seriously ...she promised she'd be 3 forever and she's totally NOT staying 3.


And then what about me? I'm not from Birmingham or Bloomfield Hills (or even Oakland County for that matter). Maybe the parents (who I'm finding all seem to be from this area) will see me as an outsider. Maybe I need to pull "the ultimate prank" to ingratiate myself to the in-crowd? Maybe I need to make more money and buy a flashy BMW ...then I'll be cool. But what if BMWs aren't cool anymore and all the other Dads laugh at me and their wives say I "try to hard."

Well, here's hoping I'm reading too much into this, but just in case, I'm going to save the money I was going to spend on a new telescope and if the opportunity comes along to buy the friendship of the coolest-Mom when she spills red wine on her best friend's dress ...well, I can bail her out and she can pretend to be my friend and make me and my family "cool."

That would be rufus.

Friday, February 16, 2007

I Write the Jokes

I write jokes for nobody. Like Father McKenzie's sermons in "Eleanor Rigby" or Nowhere Man's plans in the song by the same name.

+ + +
gay advocacy groups were outraged at the Snickers commercial featuring two men almost kissing and Snickers immediately pulled that ad and went withtheir first concept ...two women almost kissing. the same gay advocacygroup released a statement ..."that's hot."

. . .laughter . . .

Snicker sales spiked 69 percent.

. . . moans . . .

gay advocacy groups actually were upset because they said "that was eventoo many nuts for our tastes."

* these jokes expire March 11th

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Life Goals

I think a good place to keep track of my goals in life would be my blog. Just like my diet-get-in-shape progression. Currently ...no progression. I'm workin' on it.

Two goals for starters:
  1. Become a Jim Rome Jungle caller and compete in the Smack-Off
  2. Take great pictures

Monday, February 12, 2007

Hinder = Wimp Music

What the hell? Could this band (or whomever writes their songs) be more weak? No. They could not. Between "Lips of an Angel" and "Better Than Me" I haven't seen more pussified songs since Nickelback's first album.

The main issue I have is this: I ain't buyin' it. I just don't think this shit actually happened and I think Hinder is pandering to the ladies so that they can sell "rock" CDs to men and women and make a quick buck. Or, worse yet, pandering to the broken-hearted frat boy who just got dumped on the eve of his Spring Fling date party.

I actually was willing to give Hinder the benefit of the doubt ...thinking, maybe, their label took the one sappy, cheezy song and said, "we have a hit with this one," and forced Hinder to make it their first single. And I could even forgive them "Better Than Me" because maybe the drummer wrote a song for the CD and, well, he's only a drummer and aside from Tommy Lee, drummer-guys just don't pull the kinda tail the lead singer and guitarists do.

I've always theorized that lead guitarists and lead singers want girls, girls, more girls, a tranny (from time to time), and then more girls ...two, three, or four at a time. The bassist, let's face it, is a family man. He wants, and probably has, a good relationship.

But the drummers? Stalkers, basically. Scratch a drummer, find an obsessive, I always say.

So ...yes. Hinder. I thought I'd give their CD a listen before making some wild claim to their wimpiness and you know what I found? Sappy, emo, drivel all over the place. Check out "Nothin' Good About Goodbye," "How Long," or "Shouldda," if you don't believe me.

In conclusion, I want them off my AOR radio station. Put them on the CHR or Hot AC station for all I care. But stop trying to sell them as a "rock" band.

Wanna laugh? Go to their site (hinderonline.com) and read their Bio ...

Hinder (verb): 1. To be or get in the way of. 2. To obstruct or delay the
progress of. 3. To interfere with action or progress.

Let nothing 'hinder' your appreciation of the subtleties purveyed by this Oklahoma City fivesome,
who are collectively dedicated to bringing back the good old decadent days
when sex, drugs and rock & roll weren't dirty words, but a way of life.

Who wrote this for them? And when should I expect their hard core CD so I can join their Hinder Army? Yes. I'm not kidding. They have an army ...with troops that cry.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Like, I know

Yo. Sometimes things happen and you just have to share. Or blog them, I guess. To "share" would mean that someone other than me is reading this and taking something from it.

On the way up the elevator today, I heard the following half of a cell phone conversation. It was awesome. Awesome as in a "man-walks-into-a-plate-glass-window-without-seeing-it" type of awesome, not so much the "grand-canyon-is-awesome" awesomness.

Here's what I heard. I hit the button and rode to the 3rd floor with this chick.
"No.
"No.
"Iiiiiiiii know.
"I toooooooootally know.
"That's what i said.
"I knooow. I knooooww.
"You totally know.
"I know.
"I was like, no. And she was, like, no."

"No.
"OKay.
"Call me when you know."
That shit is so unbelievable, no one would even believe it happened. But it did.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Breaking Down the MSU Coaches

Let me be the first to say, welcome back to the Spartan Estates neighborhood, Mark Dantonio.

For those who don't know, I'm a Michigan State alum and I am a dedicated sports fanatic.

I was really impressed with Dantonio's performance (at least what I've read and heard) at the Dream Team banquet. He's been solid in landing and tagging quite a few recruits. The simple things he does the right way are very good for the program. Got me thinkin' about our recent coaches and what they'd be like as neighbors.


Dantonio. Solid, solid guy. Church-goin' kinda guy. But not showy about it. When you ask him how he's doing, he doesn't say, "blessed." He says "good, and you?" Like a normal person. But you can tell he's devout. He's the neighbor you'd give your house key and ask to bring in the mail and feed your fish when you're on vacation. You'd never have to return the favor, because he'd be buttoned up enough to stop his paper and his mail whenever he goes out of town. He'd have a 12 foot power boat ...nothing flashy, but just enough to pull his kids on skis and fish a little. He'd have a dog. A lab or a collie.

In contrast, you'd never ask John L to bring in your mail. Never. He would just seem too scattered. He'd talk your ear off when you're out mowin' the lawn about his adventures and his fool proof remedy for gettin' ridda skunks and varmints. He'd probably "pop by" every time your garage was open and just start talkin' and talkin' about nothin'. Oh, and he would always have an "idea" or "plan" that he wanted you to help with. Like, oh, by the way, can you help me move a fridge from my basement to my garage? "Give me a hand for a quick minute, would ya," he'd ask? You'd go over and next thing you know you're sittin' in his car pressin' the gas pedal for a half hour while he tries to figure out what that rattlin' is in his engine. Come to think of it ...he'd probably try and get you into Amway. He'd have multiple dogs and they'd bark alot.

Saban would be the neighbor you never meet and know nothing about. Nice guy. Keeps his yard up ...but the extent of your relationship is a wave from your driveway or car as you pass each other's houses. He'd NEVER have a dog ...but maybe a pitbul because it represents power, just like his black Caddy V8 and his 120,000 BTU grill that he never uses. But he probably wouldn't have a dog.

Perles would be a good neighbor, too, but he'd get on your nerves. Not because of any one thing, but lots of little things. Perles would be a little lazy. Ya know ...the neighbor that leaves his empty trash cans by the curb for a full 24 hours or more, leaves his Xmas lights up 'til March, and doesn't mind all the dandelions in his lawn and that they're going to spread onto your lawn. He'd still be a good enough neighbor, however, that you'd feel comfortable asking to borrow his seldghammer or extension ladder - which you know he has because you can see it in his ever-openned-garage. Yes, he'd leave his garage door open for the world to see, almost all of the time. His car would always be parked in his driveway because his garage would be an absolute disaster. His mutt would poop on your lawn, never be on a leash, and just bother you.

And, of course with Perles, there'd be the mad bashes at his house where the partyers repeatedly piss on your lawn, sending his dogs (and John L's) into a barking frenzy and waking up yer kids. Not to mention the massive amount of littered empties that are found scattered about your lawn in a perfect sort of wishbone formation. But hey, the good news is that he never asks you for the money you got from Kroger when you returned them. Call it an annoyance payment, I guess.

Izzo would know everyone in the neighborhood, he'd organize the block party in the summer, the children's easter egg hunt in the spring, he'd be on the neighborhood board of directors, and ...dammit ...your property value would go up because he'd want sprinklers, flowers, and stone walls at the entrances. He'd also have a nicer car than you, the best lawn on the block, and ... well ...you'd have to go to confession every week because of all your coveting. His kids would always say "please" and "thank you" and call you "Mr. Spirit." He'd have a dual-engine, 24' Boston Whaler and his passion for life would be reflected in his love of fishing. He'd invite you out with him because he has such a big heart. Everything he'd do would be better than you and you would just know, somewhere in life, you missed whatever gene he carries that makes him this motivated and perfect. His dog would be a King George or Wineraimer and it would be the best trained dog you'd ever seen ...it would get Izzo's morning paper and would go for walks without a leash and never get more than two feet away from Izzo.

I can totally see it this way. I'm a real in-depth sportswriter, eh?