There’s never a dull moment with these aging rock stars. It seems while on vacation in Fiji, Keith Richards, the 62 year old guitarist for the Rolling Stones, was climbing a coconut tree…and fell off. According to the doctors treating him, Keith suffered a mild concussion. My question is, how can they tell? I’ve seen him interviewed on television several times before and I barely understood a word he said.
Although Keith gave no reason why anyone as rich and old as he is would be climbing a coconut tree, I’ve come up with a few possible explanations…
1. He was going to hang himself, but forgot the rope.
2. Was just trying to find out if the spider that bit him was radioactive.
3. Addicted to fresh coconut milk.
4. Heard that Dick Cheney was hunting nearby and panicked.
5. Wanted to prove that gravity is just a scam created by "the man".
6. The transplanted chimpanzee liver is starting to have strange side effects.
7. Trying to impress cute dolphin he met while swimming.
8. Thought he saw a kitty stuck up there.
9. Hides his money in trees because he doesn’t trust banks.
10. Mick Jagger has taken up the art of voodoo.
11. Mistook tree for a really tall woman.
12. The ghost of Brian Jones dared him to do it.
Then again, maybe there are some things we aren’t meant to know.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Friday, April 28, 2006
For sports fans only...
I’m not sure when it happened, but the term "soccer mom" seems to have gained a place in the American vernacular and it does seem that a fair number of suburban kids are playing the game. This has led some people to claim that soccer will eventually be extremely popular in this country.
As I’ve stated before in this here blog, I no longer watch a lot of sports. However, I did watch enough in my time to come up with a theory (who am I kidding, I’m a fountain of crackpot theories) that explains why these people are probably wrong about soccer ever catching up to the big three…baseball, football and basketball.
My theory is simple (hey, if you want complicated I’m sure there must be a physicist with a blog somewhere) and it goes like this:
As far as the typical American sports fan is concerned, the quicker the pace of the game the higher the score should be and conversely the slower the pace of the game the lower the score should be.
The problem with soccer is that although it has a lot of fast paced, back and forth action with the players running around like the energizer bunny on a caffeine binge, the score is always very low. I’m talking single digit low…2 to 1 or 1 to 0 are typical scores after 90 minutes of play!
It’s the same story with hockey, where the pace is even faster, not to mention the teeth shattering brawls. I’ve tried watching once or twice before and I was certain I was going to pull an eye muscle trying to keep up with the action. If it wasn’t for the puck occasionally (and I do mean occasionally) winding up in the net, I’d swear these guy are just swiping at thin air.
Still awake? Good…basketball on the other hand has a lot of the same type of quick paced, back and forth action as well as a lot of jumping up and down by men who are only slightly shorter than your average oak tree. But, and this is a big but, it’s not unusual for one or both teams to score 80, 90, or more points. That’s the kind of points to pace ratio that sits well with the American sports fan.
Now, compared to the sports previously mentioned, baseball is played at a pace comparable only to a tortoise with a bad ankle sprain (assuming they have ankles), but according to my theory that’s ok because the scores are relatively low. Yes, I know that every so often a team will go crazy and score 20 runs, but even the highest scoring baseball game doesn’t come close to the point totals in basketball.
"Where does football fit into all this?" I hear you ask…assuming of course anyone has actually read this far. Well…it’s sort of in the middle, with a slower pace and lower scores than basketball, but a quicker pace and higher scores than baseball, it fits my theory perfectly…hence, it’s popularity here in the states.
"What about rugby, Australian Rules football and cricket?" To be honest I’ve never watched any of those sports and don’t know a thing about them, so I guess it’s possible that any one of them could poke a big hole in my theory and then it’s back to the old drawing board. Damn you and your probing questions!
One final personal observation about soccer…I was watching a match on TV and every once in awhile the entire crowd would start to sing in unison. I’m not talking about some simple chant like USA…USA, I’m talking an actual song without any musical accompaniment and with the precision of a well rehearsed choir. I don’t know how they all know when to start, but to tell you the truth…I found it a little creepy.
Cheerio!
As I’ve stated before in this here blog, I no longer watch a lot of sports. However, I did watch enough in my time to come up with a theory (who am I kidding, I’m a fountain of crackpot theories) that explains why these people are probably wrong about soccer ever catching up to the big three…baseball, football and basketball.
My theory is simple (hey, if you want complicated I’m sure there must be a physicist with a blog somewhere) and it goes like this:
As far as the typical American sports fan is concerned, the quicker the pace of the game the higher the score should be and conversely the slower the pace of the game the lower the score should be.
The problem with soccer is that although it has a lot of fast paced, back and forth action with the players running around like the energizer bunny on a caffeine binge, the score is always very low. I’m talking single digit low…2 to 1 or 1 to 0 are typical scores after 90 minutes of play!
It’s the same story with hockey, where the pace is even faster, not to mention the teeth shattering brawls. I’ve tried watching once or twice before and I was certain I was going to pull an eye muscle trying to keep up with the action. If it wasn’t for the puck occasionally (and I do mean occasionally) winding up in the net, I’d swear these guy are just swiping at thin air.
Still awake? Good…basketball on the other hand has a lot of the same type of quick paced, back and forth action as well as a lot of jumping up and down by men who are only slightly shorter than your average oak tree. But, and this is a big but, it’s not unusual for one or both teams to score 80, 90, or more points. That’s the kind of points to pace ratio that sits well with the American sports fan.
Now, compared to the sports previously mentioned, baseball is played at a pace comparable only to a tortoise with a bad ankle sprain (assuming they have ankles), but according to my theory that’s ok because the scores are relatively low. Yes, I know that every so often a team will go crazy and score 20 runs, but even the highest scoring baseball game doesn’t come close to the point totals in basketball.
"Where does football fit into all this?" I hear you ask…assuming of course anyone has actually read this far. Well…it’s sort of in the middle, with a slower pace and lower scores than basketball, but a quicker pace and higher scores than baseball, it fits my theory perfectly…hence, it’s popularity here in the states.
"What about rugby, Australian Rules football and cricket?" To be honest I’ve never watched any of those sports and don’t know a thing about them, so I guess it’s possible that any one of them could poke a big hole in my theory and then it’s back to the old drawing board. Damn you and your probing questions!
One final personal observation about soccer…I was watching a match on TV and every once in awhile the entire crowd would start to sing in unison. I’m not talking about some simple chant like USA…USA, I’m talking an actual song without any musical accompaniment and with the precision of a well rehearsed choir. I don’t know how they all know when to start, but to tell you the truth…I found it a little creepy.
Cheerio!
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Blame it on the brainfreeze...
According to a recent article in the news, the ice cream company Ben and Jerry’s issued an apology to anyone they might have offended. How does a company that makes something as benign as ice cream offend anyone? It has to with the wacky names they tend to give their products…you know, Cherry Garcia, Chunky Monkey and so on.
Well, they decided to call one of their new flavors "Black and Tan", which as it turns out was the nickname of an auxiliary British police force serving in Ireland in the early 1920’s, so brutal and violent that they are still remembered with hatred.
While this may be the first public incident for Ben and Jerry’s, I have managed to obtain a top secret list of names for new flavors that were considered but ultimately rejected as to controversial or inappropriate…
Mussolini Mango
Tranny Banana Surprise
Neverland Ranch Boys ‘N Berries
FEMA Fudge Up
Iraq Attack
Abu Ghraib Grape
Dixieland’s Vanilla Dreams
Cannibal Caramel Crunch
California Mudslide Mocha
Deadeye Cheney Chocolate Chip
Weapon of Mass Deliciousness
Santa’s Big Red Sack
Don’t forget that no one is supposed to know about this…so keep it under your hat.
Well, they decided to call one of their new flavors "Black and Tan", which as it turns out was the nickname of an auxiliary British police force serving in Ireland in the early 1920’s, so brutal and violent that they are still remembered with hatred.
While this may be the first public incident for Ben and Jerry’s, I have managed to obtain a top secret list of names for new flavors that were considered but ultimately rejected as to controversial or inappropriate…
Mussolini Mango
Tranny Banana Surprise
Neverland Ranch Boys ‘N Berries
FEMA Fudge Up
Iraq Attack
Abu Ghraib Grape
Dixieland’s Vanilla Dreams
Cannibal Caramel Crunch
California Mudslide Mocha
Deadeye Cheney Chocolate Chip
Weapon of Mass Deliciousness
Santa’s Big Red Sack
Don’t forget that no one is supposed to know about this…so keep it under your hat.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
This product is brought to you by...
I recently saw a commercial on television that took me by surprise. It was for a product called Bayer Complete Insect Killer…that’s Bayer as in Bayer aspirin. Now, I don’t know about anyone else but I found it very strange to think that a company that I’ve always associated with pain relief is also selling products that kill…even if it’s just lawn destroying insects.
I don’t know if selling products completely unrelated to what a company is most well know for is common practice or the wave of the future. But in my usual delusional desire to get a piece of the action, I’ve come up with a list of product ideas that some well known companies might want to consider…
Martha Stewart Living OmniMedia Mortuary Services: Perfume scented embalming fluids and pastel colored caskets…they’re a good thing.
Hallmark’s Blended Scotch Whiskey: Because only a maudlin drunk would be moved by the "poetry" printed on those cards.
Mrs. Butterworth’s Home Pregnancy Test: If it turns blue you’re pregnant, if it turns red you’re not and if it turns a golden brown it’s time for pancakes.
Fisher-Price Body Armor: Brightly colored, washable and able to stop anything up to a 45-caliber bullet.
Chanel Mace No.5: Really sends a message to that obnoxious blind date that you’re not interested.
Ferrari’s Male Enhancement Pills: Because lets face it…if you bought one of these cars, then you probably need them.
Exxon Plant Fertilizer: Finally…a use for all those animals killed by those huge oil spills.
Quaker Oat’s Quick Drying Cement: If you’ve ever tried to get oatmeal out of a bowl after it’s hardened, you know this idea is a natural.
Goodyear’s Steel Belted Condoms: When you REALLY can’t afford any "accidents".
Pillsbury’s Weight Lifting Equipment: Of course, that pudgy, out of shape mascot Poppin’ Fresh has to get buff or get out. Maybe he could benefit from Folgers Anabolic Steroid Crystals: Just add water.
Remember corporate America, as always, all I’m asking for is ten percent and an office with a window…
I don’t know if selling products completely unrelated to what a company is most well know for is common practice or the wave of the future. But in my usual delusional desire to get a piece of the action, I’ve come up with a list of product ideas that some well known companies might want to consider…
Martha Stewart Living OmniMedia Mortuary Services: Perfume scented embalming fluids and pastel colored caskets…they’re a good thing.
Hallmark’s Blended Scotch Whiskey: Because only a maudlin drunk would be moved by the "poetry" printed on those cards.
Mrs. Butterworth’s Home Pregnancy Test: If it turns blue you’re pregnant, if it turns red you’re not and if it turns a golden brown it’s time for pancakes.
Fisher-Price Body Armor: Brightly colored, washable and able to stop anything up to a 45-caliber bullet.
Chanel Mace No.5: Really sends a message to that obnoxious blind date that you’re not interested.
Ferrari’s Male Enhancement Pills: Because lets face it…if you bought one of these cars, then you probably need them.
Exxon Plant Fertilizer: Finally…a use for all those animals killed by those huge oil spills.
Quaker Oat’s Quick Drying Cement: If you’ve ever tried to get oatmeal out of a bowl after it’s hardened, you know this idea is a natural.
Goodyear’s Steel Belted Condoms: When you REALLY can’t afford any "accidents".
Pillsbury’s Weight Lifting Equipment: Of course, that pudgy, out of shape mascot Poppin’ Fresh has to get buff or get out. Maybe he could benefit from Folgers Anabolic Steroid Crystals: Just add water.
Remember corporate America, as always, all I’m asking for is ten percent and an office with a window…
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Dear diary...
It occurred to me that the tantalizing view into my soul in my previous post may have left readers more curious than ever about me (stop shaking your head no and just play along). So to give you some idea of a typical day in my life, I present a page from my diary…
I awake at the crack of dawn after a good night’s sleep…or was it another sleepless night spent smoking crack till dawn? Probably the former, anyway, I hit the snooze button on my alarm clock for another hour or two of sleep.
11:40 am: OK…I forgot I don’t own an alarm clock, just one of those little devices that replicates the sounds of the ocean. That might explain all those nightmares about drowning.
11:45 am: Jump into the shower.
11:46 am: Discovering there's no hot water I jump out of the shower, shrieking loudly as I do so.
11:48 am: Answer the door wrapped in a towel and explain to my 78-year-old neighbor, the widow Jansen, what had happened and apologize for screaming as though someone was trying to murder me.
11:50 am: Politely turn down the widow Jansen’s offer to check me for "cold water trauma", apparently a little know hazard that she says killed her first husband.
12:02 pm: To the kitchen to make breakfast or brunch or whatever the hell you want to call it. Bacon, eggs and an English muffin has always been my favorite breakfast…at least it was the last time I could afford all that stuff…so a bowl of Cocoa Puffs it is.
12:10 pm: Sat down at the computer for my next online ukulele lesson from the Don Ho institute.
12:30 pm: Turn on the TV and start flicking from channel to channel every thirty seconds or so as usual thanks to my ever decreasing attention span.
4:25 pm: Drop the remote and run to the kitchen to put ice on my thumb, which feels like it’s on fire. Worry that I might have Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.
4:55 pm: Stop by the office of my friend who is a doctor…ok, he’s a proctologist but without insurance I don’t have a lot of options. He reluctantly takes a look at my hand and tells me it’s not serious, probably just a cramp. After I insist on something for the pain he finally writes me a prescription and I head to the pharmacy.
5:10 pm: Halfway to the drugstore I read the prescription he gave me and it says " one Band-Aid for the big baby". Some friend…I consider reporting him to the AMA.
5:33 pm: Stop at Momma Nuchek’s Coleslaw Emporium to pick up dinner.
6:42 pm: Read a few chapters of "Yoga for the Semi-invalid" by Yogi Parahansagraba.
8:02 pm: Check phone messages…just two, both from the widow Jansen. Sort through 284 e-mails, all spam, and then stare at computer screen while trying to think of something to post on my blog.
9:47 pm: Wake up with a jolt, wipe drool off keyboard and promise myself I will definitely think of something to write tomorrow.
10:25 pm: Make myself a nightcap of NyQuil and ginger ale and stagger off to bed. It’s been a full day and the crack of dawn awaits…
I awake at the crack of dawn after a good night’s sleep…or was it another sleepless night spent smoking crack till dawn? Probably the former, anyway, I hit the snooze button on my alarm clock for another hour or two of sleep.
11:40 am: OK…I forgot I don’t own an alarm clock, just one of those little devices that replicates the sounds of the ocean. That might explain all those nightmares about drowning.
11:45 am: Jump into the shower.
11:46 am: Discovering there's no hot water I jump out of the shower, shrieking loudly as I do so.
11:48 am: Answer the door wrapped in a towel and explain to my 78-year-old neighbor, the widow Jansen, what had happened and apologize for screaming as though someone was trying to murder me.
11:50 am: Politely turn down the widow Jansen’s offer to check me for "cold water trauma", apparently a little know hazard that she says killed her first husband.
12:02 pm: To the kitchen to make breakfast or brunch or whatever the hell you want to call it. Bacon, eggs and an English muffin has always been my favorite breakfast…at least it was the last time I could afford all that stuff…so a bowl of Cocoa Puffs it is.
12:10 pm: Sat down at the computer for my next online ukulele lesson from the Don Ho institute.
12:30 pm: Turn on the TV and start flicking from channel to channel every thirty seconds or so as usual thanks to my ever decreasing attention span.
4:25 pm: Drop the remote and run to the kitchen to put ice on my thumb, which feels like it’s on fire. Worry that I might have Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.
4:55 pm: Stop by the office of my friend who is a doctor…ok, he’s a proctologist but without insurance I don’t have a lot of options. He reluctantly takes a look at my hand and tells me it’s not serious, probably just a cramp. After I insist on something for the pain he finally writes me a prescription and I head to the pharmacy.
5:10 pm: Halfway to the drugstore I read the prescription he gave me and it says " one Band-Aid for the big baby". Some friend…I consider reporting him to the AMA.
5:33 pm: Stop at Momma Nuchek’s Coleslaw Emporium to pick up dinner.
6:42 pm: Read a few chapters of "Yoga for the Semi-invalid" by Yogi Parahansagraba.
8:02 pm: Check phone messages…just two, both from the widow Jansen. Sort through 284 e-mails, all spam, and then stare at computer screen while trying to think of something to post on my blog.
9:47 pm: Wake up with a jolt, wipe drool off keyboard and promise myself I will definitely think of something to write tomorrow.
10:25 pm: Make myself a nightcap of NyQuil and ginger ale and stagger off to bed. It’s been a full day and the crack of dawn awaits…
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
To meme or not to meme...
If you are a regular denizen of the blogosphere then you know that memes are all the rage now. Being the "with it" kind of blogger that I am, I couldn’t let this meme thing pass unnoticed. So, here are 12 things you didn’t know about me…The Drive-by Blogger…
1. When I was eight years old I was shocked to discover that contrary to what I thought, my friend was real and it was my family that was imaginary.
2. I believe that relish is Satan’s own condiment.
3. In high school I made the unfortunate decision to start sniffing glue. I was cured of this bad habit however, after having the wing of a small model airplane stuck to my nose for nearly a week.
4.I had to give up a promising career as a landscaper after being savagely attacked by a rabid gopher.
5. When it comes to shampooing, I always lather and rinse, but I never repeat. I guess it’s just the rebel in me.
6. I’m convinced that Shirley MacLaine owes me money from a previous life.
7.On my first and last hunting trip I bagged an eight point buck…and by bagged I mean wounded it just enough to make it really angry and chase me up a tree.
8. I almost worked at one of those Renaissance fairs, until I found out that the job of "codpiece inspector" had nothing to do with checking on the quality of the fish in "ye old mess hall".
9. One of my friends used to complain that he had actually invented the "Atkins" diet before anyone else. This turned out to be partly true…unfortunately, his version of the diet consisted of eating only people named Atkins.
1o. I may be married to a woman from a tiny island nation somewhere in the Pacific Ocean…either that or I co-signed a loan to cover her country’s national debt. Either way I should have hired a translator.
11. I was once in People Magazine’s 50 most beautiful people issue…not all of them… just the copy I bought and pasted my picture into.
12. Although I consider myself something of an amateur scientist and I have watched almost every documentary that was ever made about evolution, I still giggle whenever anyone on the screen says the words "Homo erectus".
Now...wasn’t that enlightening?
1. When I was eight years old I was shocked to discover that contrary to what I thought, my friend was real and it was my family that was imaginary.
2. I believe that relish is Satan’s own condiment.
3. In high school I made the unfortunate decision to start sniffing glue. I was cured of this bad habit however, after having the wing of a small model airplane stuck to my nose for nearly a week.
4.I had to give up a promising career as a landscaper after being savagely attacked by a rabid gopher.
5. When it comes to shampooing, I always lather and rinse, but I never repeat. I guess it’s just the rebel in me.
6. I’m convinced that Shirley MacLaine owes me money from a previous life.
7.On my first and last hunting trip I bagged an eight point buck…and by bagged I mean wounded it just enough to make it really angry and chase me up a tree.
8. I almost worked at one of those Renaissance fairs, until I found out that the job of "codpiece inspector" had nothing to do with checking on the quality of the fish in "ye old mess hall".
9. One of my friends used to complain that he had actually invented the "Atkins" diet before anyone else. This turned out to be partly true…unfortunately, his version of the diet consisted of eating only people named Atkins.
1o. I may be married to a woman from a tiny island nation somewhere in the Pacific Ocean…either that or I co-signed a loan to cover her country’s national debt. Either way I should have hired a translator.
11. I was once in People Magazine’s 50 most beautiful people issue…not all of them… just the copy I bought and pasted my picture into.
12. Although I consider myself something of an amateur scientist and I have watched almost every documentary that was ever made about evolution, I still giggle whenever anyone on the screen says the words "Homo erectus".
Now...wasn’t that enlightening?
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
I hope she brought her crystal ball...
We are in luck today because my dear friend and world renowned psychic Madame Putwonovaonya has agreed to be interviewed by yours truly…
TDB: Welcome Madame Putwonovaonya and thank you for coming.
MP: You’re welcome…can I have my dog back now?
TDB: Ha ha, what a kidder. Madame P. lets start at the beginning. When did you first realize you had these amazing gifts?
MP: Since I was about six or seven years old. I used to think it was much earlier because I always had this vague memory of someone from the spirit realm trying to speak to me while I was still in the womb. However, the spirits have since convinced me that it was just my mother breaking wind.
TDB: Fascinating…Tell me Madame P. what is the range of your gifts? What can you offer those who come to you for help?
MP: Oh, I do horoscopes, seances, exorcisms and the occasional bachelor party.
TDB: You give psychic readings at bachelor parties?
MP: Uh, right…readings…yeah, lets go with that.
TDB: Madame P. why is it that despite the fact that predicting the future is a large part of what you and other psychics do, none of you ever seem to see the really serious catastrophes coming?
MP: You see, sometimes the enormity of the event is so great that our psychic vision can’t take it all in, we’re just too close. You know the old saying about not being able to see the forest for the trees? It’s something like that.
TDB: Well that certainly sounds convenient…uh, I mean reasonable and it brings me to my next question. Why is it when you or one of your fellow mediums is in contact with the "other side" everything is so vague? It’s always something like "I’m feeling a strong male presence…goes by the name of Mark or Max…something starting with an M. Is there someone here who had a grandfather, father, uncle, older brother or cousin who’s name started with an M…anyone…?". Why can’t any of you ever just come out with very specific information, you know… names, dates and places?
MP: My dear, simple friend there are several reasons for this…
TDB: Somehow, I thought there might be.
MP: First of all, many of these people are in a transition from this world to the next and often don’t even know that they are dead.
TDB: Really? How odd…I would have thought that if the funeral didn’t tip them off, the burial would have made it quite clear.
MP: Also, there are dark forces on the other side and you don’t want to go shouting your name and location all willy-nilly. You never know who or what is listening, so the spirits only divulge a little at a time.
TDB: The other side sounds like a combination witness protection program and waiting room for ghosts. What are these dark forces you mentioned?
MP: They include everything from your garden variety demons to ancient, nameless entities so evil you wouldn’t even wish them on Geraldo Rivera.
TDB: Madame P. are you ever tempted to use your powers to do things like win the lottery or break the bank in a casino?
MP: Never, the spirits make it quite clear that we are not to use our gifts for personal gain.
TDB: But you do charge your clients a fee, don’t you?
MP: Yes, but it’s just enough to put food on the table and pay the rent.
TDB: Would that be the rent on your house in Malibu or the one in The Hamptons?
MP: For your information, that house in Malibu happens to be a school where I teach others to develop their own psychic powers.
TDB: I see…and how many students are enrolled now?
MP: Well, at the moment none, but that’s because I’m having a thermal regulated hydro meditation unit installed.
TDB: Do you mean a hot tub?
MP: Whatever…look are you implying something?
TDB: Of course not…well, we have just enough time left to mention your new book "Kiss me I’m Psychic: a hot chick’s guide to the paranormal." I must say that I think it’s the most compelling literary work since Suzanne Somers epic poem "Ode to my ThighMaster".
MP: Thanks…I think. Listen, about my dog…
TDB: Madame P. it has been a pleasure talking to you…but I’m sure you already knew that.
TDB: Welcome Madame Putwonovaonya and thank you for coming.
MP: You’re welcome…can I have my dog back now?
TDB: Ha ha, what a kidder. Madame P. lets start at the beginning. When did you first realize you had these amazing gifts?
MP: Since I was about six or seven years old. I used to think it was much earlier because I always had this vague memory of someone from the spirit realm trying to speak to me while I was still in the womb. However, the spirits have since convinced me that it was just my mother breaking wind.
TDB: Fascinating…Tell me Madame P. what is the range of your gifts? What can you offer those who come to you for help?
MP: Oh, I do horoscopes, seances, exorcisms and the occasional bachelor party.
TDB: You give psychic readings at bachelor parties?
MP: Uh, right…readings…yeah, lets go with that.
TDB: Madame P. why is it that despite the fact that predicting the future is a large part of what you and other psychics do, none of you ever seem to see the really serious catastrophes coming?
MP: You see, sometimes the enormity of the event is so great that our psychic vision can’t take it all in, we’re just too close. You know the old saying about not being able to see the forest for the trees? It’s something like that.
TDB: Well that certainly sounds convenient…uh, I mean reasonable and it brings me to my next question. Why is it when you or one of your fellow mediums is in contact with the "other side" everything is so vague? It’s always something like "I’m feeling a strong male presence…goes by the name of Mark or Max…something starting with an M. Is there someone here who had a grandfather, father, uncle, older brother or cousin who’s name started with an M…anyone…?". Why can’t any of you ever just come out with very specific information, you know… names, dates and places?
MP: My dear, simple friend there are several reasons for this…
TDB: Somehow, I thought there might be.
MP: First of all, many of these people are in a transition from this world to the next and often don’t even know that they are dead.
TDB: Really? How odd…I would have thought that if the funeral didn’t tip them off, the burial would have made it quite clear.
MP: Also, there are dark forces on the other side and you don’t want to go shouting your name and location all willy-nilly. You never know who or what is listening, so the spirits only divulge a little at a time.
TDB: The other side sounds like a combination witness protection program and waiting room for ghosts. What are these dark forces you mentioned?
MP: They include everything from your garden variety demons to ancient, nameless entities so evil you wouldn’t even wish them on Geraldo Rivera.
TDB: Madame P. are you ever tempted to use your powers to do things like win the lottery or break the bank in a casino?
MP: Never, the spirits make it quite clear that we are not to use our gifts for personal gain.
TDB: But you do charge your clients a fee, don’t you?
MP: Yes, but it’s just enough to put food on the table and pay the rent.
TDB: Would that be the rent on your house in Malibu or the one in The Hamptons?
MP: For your information, that house in Malibu happens to be a school where I teach others to develop their own psychic powers.
TDB: I see…and how many students are enrolled now?
MP: Well, at the moment none, but that’s because I’m having a thermal regulated hydro meditation unit installed.
TDB: Do you mean a hot tub?
MP: Whatever…look are you implying something?
TDB: Of course not…well, we have just enough time left to mention your new book "Kiss me I’m Psychic: a hot chick’s guide to the paranormal." I must say that I think it’s the most compelling literary work since Suzanne Somers epic poem "Ode to my ThighMaster".
MP: Thanks…I think. Listen, about my dog…
TDB: Madame P. it has been a pleasure talking to you…but I’m sure you already knew that.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Ah, those mad hatters...
What is it about hats that have caused people at various times in history to completely loose all sense of proportion? I’m not talking about esthetics here…I know that fashion changes and outfits that Liberace would have found tacky were considered everyday wear in another time.
I’m just talking about the size of the hat relative to the size of the head on which it sits. For example, from about the last decade of the nineteenth century to the first decade of the twentieth century, women’s hats grew to a size only slightly smaller than an ottoman (the foot stool…not the empire). These creations were so large they had to be held in place with oversized, dangerous looking hatpins, presumably stuck through the hair and not the scalp.
Men have not been exempt from this phenomenon. Consider the famous stovepipe hat that not even Lincoln, as tall as he was, could pull it off (the look that is…I’m pretty sure the hat came off). Then there’s the sombrero, the design of which probably had it’s roots in providing protection from the sun, but it still ended up with way more brim than is needed for the job.
Of course, it’s not always a case of the hat being too big, sometimes it went wrong the other way. The pillbox hat immediately springs to mind, though how women were convinced to wear a fashion item that was clearly inspired by an organ grinder’s monkey is a mystery to me. In previous centuries Asia has also produced some variants on the tiny hat, so these mysterious lapses in millinery proportions transcend borders.
Historically speaking the world’s military forces have also produced the occasional doozy, but I don’t include them because the general public didn’t wear them and the men who did had no choice.
Oddly enough, no other fashion accessory that I know of has ever been affected by this tendency. I’ve never heard of people wearing gloves or shoes that are three sizes too big or too small. "What about those boots with the eight inch heels from the early seventies?" I hear you ask. Well, they don’t count either because again, other than Glam rockers and Frankenstein’s monster, most people never wore them.
All in all, hat sizes seem to have settled down, but I have this dreadful feeling that it would only take one really popular celebrity wearing an absurdly proportioned hat to start it all up again. Let us hope that the fashion police stay vigilant and long live the baseball cap!
I’m just talking about the size of the hat relative to the size of the head on which it sits. For example, from about the last decade of the nineteenth century to the first decade of the twentieth century, women’s hats grew to a size only slightly smaller than an ottoman (the foot stool…not the empire). These creations were so large they had to be held in place with oversized, dangerous looking hatpins, presumably stuck through the hair and not the scalp.
Men have not been exempt from this phenomenon. Consider the famous stovepipe hat that not even Lincoln, as tall as he was, could pull it off (the look that is…I’m pretty sure the hat came off). Then there’s the sombrero, the design of which probably had it’s roots in providing protection from the sun, but it still ended up with way more brim than is needed for the job.
Of course, it’s not always a case of the hat being too big, sometimes it went wrong the other way. The pillbox hat immediately springs to mind, though how women were convinced to wear a fashion item that was clearly inspired by an organ grinder’s monkey is a mystery to me. In previous centuries Asia has also produced some variants on the tiny hat, so these mysterious lapses in millinery proportions transcend borders.
Historically speaking the world’s military forces have also produced the occasional doozy, but I don’t include them because the general public didn’t wear them and the men who did had no choice.
Oddly enough, no other fashion accessory that I know of has ever been affected by this tendency. I’ve never heard of people wearing gloves or shoes that are three sizes too big or too small. "What about those boots with the eight inch heels from the early seventies?" I hear you ask. Well, they don’t count either because again, other than Glam rockers and Frankenstein’s monster, most people never wore them.
All in all, hat sizes seem to have settled down, but I have this dreadful feeling that it would only take one really popular celebrity wearing an absurdly proportioned hat to start it all up again. Let us hope that the fashion police stay vigilant and long live the baseball cap!
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Take me out to the ball game...
I don’t watch sports as much as I used to, but every once in a while some sports related news item will catch my attention, the most recent one involves baseball. It seems that relief pitchers from two different teams are using the same theme song as they make their entrance on to the field. Apparently, this is the baseball equivalent of the old cliché of two women showing up to an event wearing the same dress.
Now I thought it amusing enough that some players even have theme songs, but funnier still is the fact that this business caused an uproar on sports-talk radio. By the way, I don’t believe in Hell, but if it does exist I’m sure that at least one of the outer circles is reserved for everyone responsible for talk radio of any kind…but I digress.
Anyway, while reading about all this I remembered something even stranger having to do with relief pitchers (at least I think it’s a memory and not a hallucination, but whenever the distant past is concerned I’m never completely sure).
Years ago relief pitchers were actually driven from the bullpen to the pitching mound. Now for anyone not familiar with baseball, let me explain that we are talking a distance of approximately four hundred feet…give or take fifty feet.
The vehicle they were driven in was usually something like a golf cart except that the top half would be shaped like a giant baseball or a giant baseball cap or stranger still a giant baseball wearing a giant baseball cap. Some teams took this idea even further and used a real car…a genuine automobile to chauffeur the pitcher to the mound, at which point he would take off his team jacket (which I can only assume he was wearing because the driver kept the AC on full blast during the long ride in) and start to pitch.
Harder to believe still is the fact that no one at the time seemed to think this at all strange or unnecessary, at least I never heard anyone say so. I can’t for the life of me recall when this practice came to an end or if I was even following baseball anymore when it did. But whenever you hear someone talking about modern athletes being spoiled, remember these valiant men who must jog (or at least walk really fast) those four hundred or so feet before they can hurl a single pitch.
Now I thought it amusing enough that some players even have theme songs, but funnier still is the fact that this business caused an uproar on sports-talk radio. By the way, I don’t believe in Hell, but if it does exist I’m sure that at least one of the outer circles is reserved for everyone responsible for talk radio of any kind…but I digress.
Anyway, while reading about all this I remembered something even stranger having to do with relief pitchers (at least I think it’s a memory and not a hallucination, but whenever the distant past is concerned I’m never completely sure).
Years ago relief pitchers were actually driven from the bullpen to the pitching mound. Now for anyone not familiar with baseball, let me explain that we are talking a distance of approximately four hundred feet…give or take fifty feet.
The vehicle they were driven in was usually something like a golf cart except that the top half would be shaped like a giant baseball or a giant baseball cap or stranger still a giant baseball wearing a giant baseball cap. Some teams took this idea even further and used a real car…a genuine automobile to chauffeur the pitcher to the mound, at which point he would take off his team jacket (which I can only assume he was wearing because the driver kept the AC on full blast during the long ride in) and start to pitch.
Harder to believe still is the fact that no one at the time seemed to think this at all strange or unnecessary, at least I never heard anyone say so. I can’t for the life of me recall when this practice came to an end or if I was even following baseball anymore when it did. But whenever you hear someone talking about modern athletes being spoiled, remember these valiant men who must jog (or at least walk really fast) those four hundred or so feet before they can hurl a single pitch.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Let's "kick it up a notch"...
Man, there sure are a lot of cooking shows on television. They run the gamut from complicated gourmet cuisine to simple meals anyone could make in thirty minutes. However, the one thing they all have in common is that they lack "edginess", there’s no one "pushing the envelope", not even on "cable TV"(alright, I’ll stop with the quotation marks).
Not surprisingly, I have some ideas for what could be called "alternative cooking shows" (sorry, those were the last quotation marks, I promise) that ought to spice things up a little…
BUSHMEAT FOR BEGINNERS: Chimps, gorillas, leopards and many other exotic animals not normally considered food by most people are on the menu for this show. You will never be caught without a good recipe for spider monkey again.
THE LAST CHANCE DINER: Travel each week to a different state penitentiary and watch as the nation’s top prison chefs prepare the last meals of death row inmates on budgets tighter than a hangman’s noose.
FRYIN’ WITH THE PLAYMATES: Taped at the Playboy mansion this show will feature topless playmates frying everything from bacon to zucchini, all the while jumping and jiggling to avoid the splattering grease. The show will be hosted by Hugh Hefner who, ironically no longer eats actual food, but is kept alive with oxygen and large doses of vitamin enriched Viagra.
EXTREME CUSINE: This show would be the ultimate in adventurous cooking. You will see chefs with more courage than common sense attempting things like:
Roasting hot dogs over the rim of an active volcano, deep frying chicken in a canoe while riding the rapids and serving up elegant examples of Novelle cuisine while dressed up as a Union soldier in the middle of a trailer park somewhere in the deep south.
Hey, even if the Food Network isn’t interested in any of these, I’m sure the Fox Network will be.
Not surprisingly, I have some ideas for what could be called "alternative cooking shows" (sorry, those were the last quotation marks, I promise) that ought to spice things up a little…
BUSHMEAT FOR BEGINNERS: Chimps, gorillas, leopards and many other exotic animals not normally considered food by most people are on the menu for this show. You will never be caught without a good recipe for spider monkey again.
THE LAST CHANCE DINER: Travel each week to a different state penitentiary and watch as the nation’s top prison chefs prepare the last meals of death row inmates on budgets tighter than a hangman’s noose.
FRYIN’ WITH THE PLAYMATES: Taped at the Playboy mansion this show will feature topless playmates frying everything from bacon to zucchini, all the while jumping and jiggling to avoid the splattering grease. The show will be hosted by Hugh Hefner who, ironically no longer eats actual food, but is kept alive with oxygen and large doses of vitamin enriched Viagra.
EXTREME CUSINE: This show would be the ultimate in adventurous cooking. You will see chefs with more courage than common sense attempting things like:
Roasting hot dogs over the rim of an active volcano, deep frying chicken in a canoe while riding the rapids and serving up elegant examples of Novelle cuisine while dressed up as a Union soldier in the middle of a trailer park somewhere in the deep south.
Hey, even if the Food Network isn’t interested in any of these, I’m sure the Fox Network will be.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
History revisited...
If I could go back in time, I think I would like to meet Alexander Graham Bell…and smack him in the head with his newly invented telephone, or at least interrupt his dinner by trying to sell him something.
Of course, there are many other historical figures that have annoyed me in some way. Here are just a few, along with the revenge I would take if I could…
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE: I would have this self-proclaimed "emperor" shot out of one of his own canons, partly for plunging Europe into war, but mostly for giving short men a bad name.
GUTZON BORGLUM: Yeah, I know…Gutzon who? He was the sculptor who defaced Mount Rushmore with those absurdly large presidential heads, for which I would imprison him for one year in Teddy Roosevelt’s left nostril.
NOSTRADAMUS: The sixteenth century crackpot…er, I mean astrologer who wrote a book full of vague and obscure "prophecies" that many modern crackpots, excuse me, I mean "star gazers" still believe to be true. To get even with Nostradamus I would probably arrange for him to discover his wife in bed with a group of wandering troubadours, at which point I would turn to him and shout "You didn’t see that one coming, now did you Nostry old boy?"
CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS: Since it was basically his poor sense of direction that eventually led to my having to study about him in school, I would tattoo a very small but accurate map on his forehead and make him stop for directions every time he walked more than twenty feet.
MOSES: As I see it, by performing tricks like turning his staff into a snake, turning the waters of the Nile River into blood and parting the Red Sea, Moses is responsible for starting a tradition that would eventually result in cheesy Las Vegas magic acts like David Copperfield and Siegfried and Roy. To even things out I would subject him to forty days of Wayne Newton concerts. No wait…make it forty minutes, I don’t want to over do it. After all, they say he has friends in high places.
Of course, there are many other historical figures that have annoyed me in some way. Here are just a few, along with the revenge I would take if I could…
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE: I would have this self-proclaimed "emperor" shot out of one of his own canons, partly for plunging Europe into war, but mostly for giving short men a bad name.
GUTZON BORGLUM: Yeah, I know…Gutzon who? He was the sculptor who defaced Mount Rushmore with those absurdly large presidential heads, for which I would imprison him for one year in Teddy Roosevelt’s left nostril.
NOSTRADAMUS: The sixteenth century crackpot…er, I mean astrologer who wrote a book full of vague and obscure "prophecies" that many modern crackpots, excuse me, I mean "star gazers" still believe to be true. To get even with Nostradamus I would probably arrange for him to discover his wife in bed with a group of wandering troubadours, at which point I would turn to him and shout "You didn’t see that one coming, now did you Nostry old boy?"
CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS: Since it was basically his poor sense of direction that eventually led to my having to study about him in school, I would tattoo a very small but accurate map on his forehead and make him stop for directions every time he walked more than twenty feet.
MOSES: As I see it, by performing tricks like turning his staff into a snake, turning the waters of the Nile River into blood and parting the Red Sea, Moses is responsible for starting a tradition that would eventually result in cheesy Las Vegas magic acts like David Copperfield and Siegfried and Roy. To even things out I would subject him to forty days of Wayne Newton concerts. No wait…make it forty minutes, I don’t want to over do it. After all, they say he has friends in high places.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Thinning the herd...
"Don’t try this at home!"…I’m sure you’ve heard that phrase more times than you can count. Whenever someone on television is about to do anything dangerous, someone else on the show is bound to utter some variation of those infamous words. They do this even when it’s extremely unlikely that anyone could attempt it even if they wanted to…
"We are just moments away from ‘Mad’ Max Borstein’s attempt to disarm a nuclear warhead while strapped to the wing of an F-16 fighter jet as it soars over Antarctica, but remember ‘Mad’ Max is a trained professional and under no circumstances should you try this stunt on your own!"
Don’t misunderstand me, when it comes to kids I’m all for warning them against doing risky and stupid things, but as far as full-grown adults are concerned…I’m not so sure. I mean, if people who should know better want to attach rockets to their cars and try to jump over a canyon because they saw someone else do it on TV, maybe we should let them. Hell, as long as they do it where they can’t hurt anyone else, we should probably encourage them. If they haven’t reproduced yet, so much the better…think of it as putting a little chlorine in the gene pool.
In case you’re thinking that I’m being too hard on stupid people, remember I’m only talking about those individuals who are imitating stunts they’ve seen on television or the movies. People who get hurt doing things that they thought of themselves, like using gasoline to start the family barbecue, asking Mike Tyson for an autograph or going hunting with Dick Cheney…well, that’s a different matter entirely. Oh, by the way… my burns are healing nicely.
"We are just moments away from ‘Mad’ Max Borstein’s attempt to disarm a nuclear warhead while strapped to the wing of an F-16 fighter jet as it soars over Antarctica, but remember ‘Mad’ Max is a trained professional and under no circumstances should you try this stunt on your own!"
Don’t misunderstand me, when it comes to kids I’m all for warning them against doing risky and stupid things, but as far as full-grown adults are concerned…I’m not so sure. I mean, if people who should know better want to attach rockets to their cars and try to jump over a canyon because they saw someone else do it on TV, maybe we should let them. Hell, as long as they do it where they can’t hurt anyone else, we should probably encourage them. If they haven’t reproduced yet, so much the better…think of it as putting a little chlorine in the gene pool.
In case you’re thinking that I’m being too hard on stupid people, remember I’m only talking about those individuals who are imitating stunts they’ve seen on television or the movies. People who get hurt doing things that they thought of themselves, like using gasoline to start the family barbecue, asking Mike Tyson for an autograph or going hunting with Dick Cheney…well, that’s a different matter entirely. Oh, by the way… my burns are healing nicely.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Star power...
I think most of us have the impression that celebrities can be a little spoiled, but until the Internet came along, I had no idea how true that is. It turns out that many performers have what is called a rider, which is a list of things that they require and it can cover everything from food to the décor of their dressing room. You can find many on The Smoking Gun website, but here are some that I…er, just discovered myself:
THE ROLLING STONES: one industrial grade defibrillator and six gallons of embalming fluid. At least four coffins containing consecrated soil and under no circumstances are garlic, crosses or wooden stakes to be allowed in the dressing rooms.
BRUCE WILLIS: a large Ashton Kutcher dartboard (this is to be kept TOP SECRET…if Demi asks deny everything. All personnel around Mr. Willis are to be informed that NO reference to Hudson Hawk must ever be made in his presence. Finally, due to past unpleasantness, one extra guard must be hired and put on constant Cybill Shepherd patrol.
BILLY JOEL: three or four disposable cars. At least two people to repeatedly reassure him that’s it’s ok that he produced a lot of crap after marrying Christie Brinkley…after all who can concentrate when you’re married to a supermodel? His manager also requests a razor and shaving cream to be left in Mr. Joel’s dressing room in case he decides to “shave off that goddamned Mitch Miller looking goatee.”
HOWARD STERN: Mr. Stern will require a large assortment of strippers, dwarves, mentally challenged individuals and lesbians. As for parasitic, brown nosing sycophants that laugh at everything he says, Mr. Stern will provide his own.
MADONNA: enough copies of the book “Kabbalah for Dummies” for her entire entourage. A separate dressing room and a case of antidepressants for her acting coach. In keeping with her current incarnation as a respectable married woman, all personnel around Madonna will refrain from asking her to autograph any old copies of her SEX book or to demonstrate her deepthroat techniques on a water bottle.
TOM CRUISE: the walls of Mr. Cruise’s dressing room are to be covered with the Church of Scientology’s official L.Ron Hubbard wall paper. No one over the height of five feet and seven inches is to stand close to Tom when photographers are present. Any mirrors in the dressing room must be newly manufactured and come directly from the factory. Mr. Cruise has been known to break out in hives after having unknowingly used mirrors that have been soiled by the reflections of other people.
THE ROLLING STONES: one industrial grade defibrillator and six gallons of embalming fluid. At least four coffins containing consecrated soil and under no circumstances are garlic, crosses or wooden stakes to be allowed in the dressing rooms.
BRUCE WILLIS: a large Ashton Kutcher dartboard (this is to be kept TOP SECRET…if Demi asks deny everything. All personnel around Mr. Willis are to be informed that NO reference to Hudson Hawk must ever be made in his presence. Finally, due to past unpleasantness, one extra guard must be hired and put on constant Cybill Shepherd patrol.
BILLY JOEL: three or four disposable cars. At least two people to repeatedly reassure him that’s it’s ok that he produced a lot of crap after marrying Christie Brinkley…after all who can concentrate when you’re married to a supermodel? His manager also requests a razor and shaving cream to be left in Mr. Joel’s dressing room in case he decides to “shave off that goddamned Mitch Miller looking goatee.”
HOWARD STERN: Mr. Stern will require a large assortment of strippers, dwarves, mentally challenged individuals and lesbians. As for parasitic, brown nosing sycophants that laugh at everything he says, Mr. Stern will provide his own.
MADONNA: enough copies of the book “Kabbalah for Dummies” for her entire entourage. A separate dressing room and a case of antidepressants for her acting coach. In keeping with her current incarnation as a respectable married woman, all personnel around Madonna will refrain from asking her to autograph any old copies of her SEX book or to demonstrate her deepthroat techniques on a water bottle.
TOM CRUISE: the walls of Mr. Cruise’s dressing room are to be covered with the Church of Scientology’s official L.Ron Hubbard wall paper. No one over the height of five feet and seven inches is to stand close to Tom when photographers are present. Any mirrors in the dressing room must be newly manufactured and come directly from the factory. Mr. Cruise has been known to break out in hives after having unknowingly used mirrors that have been soiled by the reflections of other people.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
And now a few words about "Oscar"...
I hate award shows in general, but I have a particular problem with the Academy Awards, more commonly known as the ‘Oscars’. The origin of the nickname is lost in the mists of time. OK…I just didn’t feel like looking it up, but I’m sure it’s a (yawn) fascinating story.
Anyway, my problem with the Oscars is that both Cher and Robin Williams have one. Although, in Cher’s case fate may have let her have it as a way to make up for having been married to Sonny Bono. Don’t get me wrong about Robin Williams, I think he’s a fine standup comedian. It’s just that as an actor…he makes a fine standup comedian.
You see, I’ve always thought that the essence of acting was the ability to convey a wide range of emotions and portray a variety of characters convincingly. The Academy must feel differently, since whenever Williams tries to convey any emotion more profound than mild bemusement, he just looks severely constipated.
Maybe the problem is that my ideas about acting are wrong…maybe Hollywood doesn’t want versatility. Perhaps they want each actor to portray one kind of character well. You know…Joe Pesci as a mobster, Bruce Willis as an action hero, or Jennifer Aniston as the jilted wife, no wait…that was real life.
The point is, if that’s how things really are then maybe Robin Williams does deserve that Oscar. After all, if you need someone to play a character that looks bemused but constipated, then he’s your guy.
Anyway, my problem with the Oscars is that both Cher and Robin Williams have one. Although, in Cher’s case fate may have let her have it as a way to make up for having been married to Sonny Bono. Don’t get me wrong about Robin Williams, I think he’s a fine standup comedian. It’s just that as an actor…he makes a fine standup comedian.
You see, I’ve always thought that the essence of acting was the ability to convey a wide range of emotions and portray a variety of characters convincingly. The Academy must feel differently, since whenever Williams tries to convey any emotion more profound than mild bemusement, he just looks severely constipated.
Maybe the problem is that my ideas about acting are wrong…maybe Hollywood doesn’t want versatility. Perhaps they want each actor to portray one kind of character well. You know…Joe Pesci as a mobster, Bruce Willis as an action hero, or Jennifer Aniston as the jilted wife, no wait…that was real life.
The point is, if that’s how things really are then maybe Robin Williams does deserve that Oscar. After all, if you need someone to play a character that looks bemused but constipated, then he’s your guy.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
What he really meant was...
I was discussing the letter that Donald Trump is reported to have sent to Martha Stewart with my good friend and renowned psychic Madame Putwonovaonya. She told me that part of her gift is the ability to read "between the lines", in other words she knows what someone was really thinking while they were writing. Here is her analysis of Trump’s letter:
Dear Martha:
Dearest passion flower:
It's about time you started taking responsibility for your failed version of "The Apprentice".
You know that you and you alone are the cause of this passion that burns in me with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns.
Your performance was terrible in that the show lacked mood, temperament and just about everything else a show needs for success.
How can you act so indifferently to the love of this most manly of men. In this concrete jungle I am Tarzan, come be my Jane and swing on my vine.
I knew it would fail as soon as I first saw it –- and your low ratings bore me out.
From the moment we met I tried to resist your Amazonian charms. I did this for the sake of my absurdly young wife whose name I can neither pronounce nor spell, but I knew it was hopeless.
Between your daughter, with her one word statements, your letter writing and, most importantly, your totally unconvincing demeanor, it never had a chance –- much as your daytime show is not exactly setting records.
Why have I never received a hand written letter from you? I have seen the letters you have sent to others and just the sight of your elegant and curvy lettering makes me tingle all over. Curse my fetish for women with good penmanship!
Despite this, I did nothing but positively promote you. Your only response to your failed show was that, "I thought that I was supposed to fire Donald Trump!" You knew this was not true – NBC would never fire me when The Apprentice was, for a good period of time, the #1 show on television and my recent finale, where I hired Randal, was the #2 show for the week, easily beating the competing finale of Amazing Race and others. Even Mark Burnett said, "Thank God that didn't happen," when asked about firing Donald Trump.
Essentially, you made this firing up just as you made up your sell order of ImClone. The only difference is – that was more obvious. Putting your show on the air was a mistake for everybody – especially NBC.
In any event, my great loyalty to you has gone totally unappreciated.
Nevertheless, as you go about referring to me as just a friend, I continue to worship you from afar. At night I call on Cupid and offer him everything: my real-estate holdings, my casinos and even the secret to my miracle comb-over, if the little diaper wearing freak would just aim one of his arrows at your heart and fill it with an all consuming love for The Donald.
Sincerely,
Donald J. Trump
P.S. Be careful or I will do a syndicated daytime show, perhaps called The Boardroom, and further destroy the meager ratings you already have!"
Neglect me no longer my queen, or I just might end up hanging myself with one of my very expensive, imported silk ties.
Dear Martha:
Dearest passion flower:
It's about time you started taking responsibility for your failed version of "The Apprentice".
You know that you and you alone are the cause of this passion that burns in me with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns.
Your performance was terrible in that the show lacked mood, temperament and just about everything else a show needs for success.
How can you act so indifferently to the love of this most manly of men. In this concrete jungle I am Tarzan, come be my Jane and swing on my vine.
I knew it would fail as soon as I first saw it –- and your low ratings bore me out.
From the moment we met I tried to resist your Amazonian charms. I did this for the sake of my absurdly young wife whose name I can neither pronounce nor spell, but I knew it was hopeless.
Between your daughter, with her one word statements, your letter writing and, most importantly, your totally unconvincing demeanor, it never had a chance –- much as your daytime show is not exactly setting records.
Why have I never received a hand written letter from you? I have seen the letters you have sent to others and just the sight of your elegant and curvy lettering makes me tingle all over. Curse my fetish for women with good penmanship!
Despite this, I did nothing but positively promote you. Your only response to your failed show was that, "I thought that I was supposed to fire Donald Trump!" You knew this was not true – NBC would never fire me when The Apprentice was, for a good period of time, the #1 show on television and my recent finale, where I hired Randal, was the #2 show for the week, easily beating the competing finale of Amazing Race and others. Even Mark Burnett said, "Thank God that didn't happen," when asked about firing Donald Trump.
Essentially, you made this firing up just as you made up your sell order of ImClone. The only difference is – that was more obvious. Putting your show on the air was a mistake for everybody – especially NBC.
In any event, my great loyalty to you has gone totally unappreciated.
Nevertheless, as you go about referring to me as just a friend, I continue to worship you from afar. At night I call on Cupid and offer him everything: my real-estate holdings, my casinos and even the secret to my miracle comb-over, if the little diaper wearing freak would just aim one of his arrows at your heart and fill it with an all consuming love for The Donald.
Sincerely,
Donald J. Trump
P.S. Be careful or I will do a syndicated daytime show, perhaps called The Boardroom, and further destroy the meager ratings you already have!"
Neglect me no longer my queen, or I just might end up hanging myself with one of my very expensive, imported silk ties.
Monday, February 20, 2006
My life's story...sort of...
Today I am pleased to present excerpts from my recently finished memoir entitled "Pants On Fire".
For years I put off writing this book because of my dull and uneventful life, but then I was inspired by the story of James Frey, you know that guy who pissed off Oprah by lying in his memoir. Well, if it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for me:
CHAPTER 1
I was born to religious fanatics. My parents made Pat Robertson look like Ozzy Osbourne. Wanting to start my religious training early my mother would often act out stories from the bible with me filling in where ever a baby was needed. So, one day she decides to reenact the story of the infant Moses being put into a basket and set afloat on the Nile River. However, as there was no river nearby and my mother was as lazy as she was pious, she settled for a drainage ditch near our house. Much to her surprise the shallow water started carrying me away quicker than her three hundred pound frame could keep up with and soon I was out of sight. I eventually wound up at the sewage treatment plant where I was adopted as a sort of mascot until I was old enough to start school…
CHAPTER 2
What can I say about my school days? They seem a blur of drugs, alcohol, knife fights in the boy’s room, clandestine encounters with a lonely, spinsterish English teacher and a four month long coma resulting from a near fatal bullet wound. The next thing I knew, it was time to start the second grade…
CHAPTER 3
Eventually, school came to an end and I began to look for work. A friend of mine helped me get a job polishing brass knuckles for the mob and I quickly worked my way up to money laundering. Unfortunately, "laundering" money has nothing to do with bleach or detergents of any kind. So, after I got out of the hospital, it was time to find another job…
CHAPTER 4
Being blessed with extraordinarily beautiful feet I became a foot model for a German sandal manufacturer, which somehow led to me starring in a series of French existential porno films. They are just like regular porno films, except that everyone is smoking cigarettes and mumbling about how pointless all this boinking is…
CHAPTER 5
A few years after that I moved back to the United States and married the first of my three wives. Jane was an extremely nearsighted radical environmentalist, who unfortunately decided to go skinny-dipping in Yellowstone National Park's, "Old Faithful"…
My second wife Miriam, the seventy-two year old owner of the Golden Acres Nudist Retirement Village, was as passionate as she was wrinkled…
Finally, Holly my third wife, was runner up in the Miss America Pageant. She is now serving time for attempting to strangle the woman who won with her own sash. Baby, you know I’ll wait for you…
Those are just a few of the highlights in my book. I expect to hear from Hollywood soon, but I will probably avoid the Oprah show…just to be safe.
For years I put off writing this book because of my dull and uneventful life, but then I was inspired by the story of James Frey, you know that guy who pissed off Oprah by lying in his memoir. Well, if it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for me:
CHAPTER 1
I was born to religious fanatics. My parents made Pat Robertson look like Ozzy Osbourne. Wanting to start my religious training early my mother would often act out stories from the bible with me filling in where ever a baby was needed. So, one day she decides to reenact the story of the infant Moses being put into a basket and set afloat on the Nile River. However, as there was no river nearby and my mother was as lazy as she was pious, she settled for a drainage ditch near our house. Much to her surprise the shallow water started carrying me away quicker than her three hundred pound frame could keep up with and soon I was out of sight. I eventually wound up at the sewage treatment plant where I was adopted as a sort of mascot until I was old enough to start school…
CHAPTER 2
What can I say about my school days? They seem a blur of drugs, alcohol, knife fights in the boy’s room, clandestine encounters with a lonely, spinsterish English teacher and a four month long coma resulting from a near fatal bullet wound. The next thing I knew, it was time to start the second grade…
CHAPTER 3
Eventually, school came to an end and I began to look for work. A friend of mine helped me get a job polishing brass knuckles for the mob and I quickly worked my way up to money laundering. Unfortunately, "laundering" money has nothing to do with bleach or detergents of any kind. So, after I got out of the hospital, it was time to find another job…
CHAPTER 4
Being blessed with extraordinarily beautiful feet I became a foot model for a German sandal manufacturer, which somehow led to me starring in a series of French existential porno films. They are just like regular porno films, except that everyone is smoking cigarettes and mumbling about how pointless all this boinking is…
CHAPTER 5
A few years after that I moved back to the United States and married the first of my three wives. Jane was an extremely nearsighted radical environmentalist, who unfortunately decided to go skinny-dipping in Yellowstone National Park's, "Old Faithful"…
My second wife Miriam, the seventy-two year old owner of the Golden Acres Nudist Retirement Village, was as passionate as she was wrinkled…
Finally, Holly my third wife, was runner up in the Miss America Pageant. She is now serving time for attempting to strangle the woman who won with her own sash. Baby, you know I’ll wait for you…
Those are just a few of the highlights in my book. I expect to hear from Hollywood soon, but I will probably avoid the Oprah show…just to be safe.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
We put the 'fun' back in funeral...
Funerals are a somber business and of course many people will tell you that they should be, but there do seem to be exceptions. Take for example the Irish wake or the jazz funerals in New Orleans.
I for one applaud a more positive approach to our inevitable demise and I’m considering opening my own funeral parlor. Here are a few of the services that we might offer:
Three Coffin Monte: kind of like the card game except that the deceased is placed in one of three identical coffins that are then quickly shuffled around. Pick the one with the body in it and the funeral is on the house.
If the dead person (or if you’re a stickler for political correctness, the "living impaired" person) was the outdoorsy type, then give them one last adventure by taking them white water rafting in one of our kayak style caskets. They’re watertight and guaranteed to stand up to (almost) any rock.
We will also offer alternatives to traditional burial or cremation:
The Egyptians had mummification but we’ve got lamination, that’s right instead of an urn with a handful of ashes, imagine your loved one with you always thanks to a coating of shiny and durable plastic.
For those of you with no desire to keep any part of the dearly departed with you, I recommend the "Boom Box". The deceased in place in a crate packed with half a ton of TNT, which is then detonated from a safe distance. I predict this will be a big seller around the fourth of July.
If it all goes well, someday I might be able to open up a cemetery/miniature golf course. Now, there’s fun for the whole family.
I for one applaud a more positive approach to our inevitable demise and I’m considering opening my own funeral parlor. Here are a few of the services that we might offer:
Three Coffin Monte: kind of like the card game except that the deceased is placed in one of three identical coffins that are then quickly shuffled around. Pick the one with the body in it and the funeral is on the house.
If the dead person (or if you’re a stickler for political correctness, the "living impaired" person) was the outdoorsy type, then give them one last adventure by taking them white water rafting in one of our kayak style caskets. They’re watertight and guaranteed to stand up to (almost) any rock.
We will also offer alternatives to traditional burial or cremation:
The Egyptians had mummification but we’ve got lamination, that’s right instead of an urn with a handful of ashes, imagine your loved one with you always thanks to a coating of shiny and durable plastic.
For those of you with no desire to keep any part of the dearly departed with you, I recommend the "Boom Box". The deceased in place in a crate packed with half a ton of TNT, which is then detonated from a safe distance. I predict this will be a big seller around the fourth of July.
If it all goes well, someday I might be able to open up a cemetery/miniature golf course. Now, there’s fun for the whole family.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Hernia Celebrate...
According to a recent news article, 47-year-old pop icon Madonna suffered a hernia while performing a dance routine at the Grammy Awards Show.
You know the Grammy people must be thrilled to have that little fact made public. The entire entertainment industry is youth obsessed but none more so than the music biz. So, you gotta figure that as far as they are concerned, you can stick a fork in "Madge" cause she’s just about done. Here’s you’re AARP card and try not to break a hip as you step out of the spotlight dear.
Then again, maybe she can use this to further her so far less than spectacular acting career, by joining forces with Olivia Newton-John and Stevie Nicks to star in an updated version of THE GOLDEN GIRLS.
Or she could become the spokeswoman for a new line of "sexy seniors" lingerie from Victoria’s Secret.
Anyway, I’m sure she’ll be fine. Time has a way of marching on, but we all know if anyone can make support hose and orthopedic shoes seem sexy, it’s Madonna.
You know the Grammy people must be thrilled to have that little fact made public. The entire entertainment industry is youth obsessed but none more so than the music biz. So, you gotta figure that as far as they are concerned, you can stick a fork in "Madge" cause she’s just about done. Here’s you’re AARP card and try not to break a hip as you step out of the spotlight dear.
Then again, maybe she can use this to further her so far less than spectacular acting career, by joining forces with Olivia Newton-John and Stevie Nicks to star in an updated version of THE GOLDEN GIRLS.
Or she could become the spokeswoman for a new line of "sexy seniors" lingerie from Victoria’s Secret.
Anyway, I’m sure she’ll be fine. Time has a way of marching on, but we all know if anyone can make support hose and orthopedic shoes seem sexy, it’s Madonna.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Olympic fever? I'd rather have the avian flu...
Let me be clear about this…I hate the winter, I don’t enjoy watching winter sports and I have not watched a single minute of the winter Olympics. So, how the hell is it that I know who Bode Miller and " The Flying Tomato" are? Did I pick up this knowledge by osmosis or could it have been the relentless, mind numbing and soul crushing media coverage besieging us from all sides.
Aliens landing on the White House lawn and publicly probing the president and his entire staff wouldn’t justify the media coverage given to this frozen snoozefest
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the grace and skill of figure skating, I just don’t like sports where the "winner" is decided by judges. Scoring the most points, crossing the finish line first…that’s how you know who the winner is.
"But what about skiing?" I hear you ask. "Isn’t the winner the person with the best time? Isn’t that good enough for you "Mr. I don’t like subjective results in my sporting events blogger man?" To which I have a two part reply; part 1: Yes, but the results always seem to involve winning by 8 tenths of a second or some other ridiculously small increment of time. I’m a simple man…I don’t do fractions, start rounding off the numbers and we’ll talk.
Part 2: I’ve got to see someone about these voices in my head.
Aliens landing on the White House lawn and publicly probing the president and his entire staff wouldn’t justify the media coverage given to this frozen snoozefest
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the grace and skill of figure skating, I just don’t like sports where the "winner" is decided by judges. Scoring the most points, crossing the finish line first…that’s how you know who the winner is.
"But what about skiing?" I hear you ask. "Isn’t the winner the person with the best time? Isn’t that good enough for you "Mr. I don’t like subjective results in my sporting events blogger man?" To which I have a two part reply; part 1: Yes, but the results always seem to involve winning by 8 tenths of a second or some other ridiculously small increment of time. I’m a simple man…I don’t do fractions, start rounding off the numbers and we’ll talk.
Part 2: I’ve got to see someone about these voices in my head.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Like, what's your sign...
Shakespeare once wrote that the ‘fault lies not in the stars, but in ourselves.’ Despite this sage advice many people still believe in astrology. For the benefit of these individuals (I can’t help it, I’m a giver) here are today’s horoscopes:
ARIES: Today is not the day to reign in your impulsive nature. Barge in when your boss is in a meeting and demand a raise, he’ll admire your gumption. Tell your spouse you’ve always hated your in-laws and from now on they’ll only be allowed to visit when you say so and tell those bratty kids if they don’t straighten up there’s an orphanage with their name on it.
TAURUS: This is not your day! Uranus is out of alignment and that’s never good. Unplug the phone, turn off the TV, stay in bed and pretend that the outside world doesn’t exist. If your characteristic stubbornness leads you to go about your daily routine anyway, at least make sure your will is in good order.
GEMINI: Financially speaking you are on fire today, money will be practically forcing itself into your wallet. The stock market, casinos, the lottery, three card monty or Russian roulette, bet the house baby because you can’t lose!
CANCER: Venus is in retrograde…or is it Gatorade? Either way it’s good news for you because love is in the air. So grab your spouse, companion, stalker, blowup doll or vibrator and let them know how much they mean to you.
LEO: With the lion like boldness associated with your sign today is a good day to start your travel plans. Start with Europe and then head for the Middle East, but make sure you pack as much red, white and blue clothing as you can and be sure to start chanting ‘USA…USA’ whenever you’re in a large crowd…people there just love that.
VIRGO: It is time for you to start putting your health first for a change. So, go ahead and make an appointment for that seaweed enema that you’ve been putting off and you might want to try the new squid and grapefruit diet that I’m predicting will soon be very trendy.
LIBRA: Unleash your creativity today. It’s time to write that big autobiographical novel you’ve been thinking about. Make sure you remember to use real names and addresses’ when writing about your annoying neighbors, incompetent co-workers and repulsive family members…it adds authenticity.
SCORPIO: Old friends seem to come out of the woodworks seeking your help. Refuse them nothing, no matter what it is…letting them move in for a while, co-signing for a loan or donating a kidney. Remember, the stars are watching.
SAGITTARIUS: Even though you’ve never had much luck with pets…you never had a hamster or goldfish live longer than a week and no matter what the psychiatrist says you’re convinced your dog committed suicide, now is a good time to turn that around. Get yourself some cats…lots of cats. Remember you just can’t have too many cats.
CAPRICORN: Your natural psychic abilities will grow stronger as the day goes on…but you probably knew that already. Gather together any other Capricorns that you know into a group and focus your mental energies together…and see if you can find out where the hell I left my keys.
AQUARIUS: Ironically for the sign of the Water Bearer, today water is your enemy. Do NOT try to fix your plumbing, go swimming, dance in the rain, bathe, date a lifeguard or raise the Titanic.
PISCES: Last but not least, you are steadfast, loyal and good with children…no wait, that’s a Golden Retriever. Well, that’s all the time I have today my fellow stargazers, join me again when I hope to be able to explain the cosmic meaning of those mysterious numbers on your credit cards.
ARIES: Today is not the day to reign in your impulsive nature. Barge in when your boss is in a meeting and demand a raise, he’ll admire your gumption. Tell your spouse you’ve always hated your in-laws and from now on they’ll only be allowed to visit when you say so and tell those bratty kids if they don’t straighten up there’s an orphanage with their name on it.
TAURUS: This is not your day! Uranus is out of alignment and that’s never good. Unplug the phone, turn off the TV, stay in bed and pretend that the outside world doesn’t exist. If your characteristic stubbornness leads you to go about your daily routine anyway, at least make sure your will is in good order.
GEMINI: Financially speaking you are on fire today, money will be practically forcing itself into your wallet. The stock market, casinos, the lottery, three card monty or Russian roulette, bet the house baby because you can’t lose!
CANCER: Venus is in retrograde…or is it Gatorade? Either way it’s good news for you because love is in the air. So grab your spouse, companion, stalker, blowup doll or vibrator and let them know how much they mean to you.
LEO: With the lion like boldness associated with your sign today is a good day to start your travel plans. Start with Europe and then head for the Middle East, but make sure you pack as much red, white and blue clothing as you can and be sure to start chanting ‘USA…USA’ whenever you’re in a large crowd…people there just love that.
VIRGO: It is time for you to start putting your health first for a change. So, go ahead and make an appointment for that seaweed enema that you’ve been putting off and you might want to try the new squid and grapefruit diet that I’m predicting will soon be very trendy.
LIBRA: Unleash your creativity today. It’s time to write that big autobiographical novel you’ve been thinking about. Make sure you remember to use real names and addresses’ when writing about your annoying neighbors, incompetent co-workers and repulsive family members…it adds authenticity.
SCORPIO: Old friends seem to come out of the woodworks seeking your help. Refuse them nothing, no matter what it is…letting them move in for a while, co-signing for a loan or donating a kidney. Remember, the stars are watching.
SAGITTARIUS: Even though you’ve never had much luck with pets…you never had a hamster or goldfish live longer than a week and no matter what the psychiatrist says you’re convinced your dog committed suicide, now is a good time to turn that around. Get yourself some cats…lots of cats. Remember you just can’t have too many cats.
CAPRICORN: Your natural psychic abilities will grow stronger as the day goes on…but you probably knew that already. Gather together any other Capricorns that you know into a group and focus your mental energies together…and see if you can find out where the hell I left my keys.
AQUARIUS: Ironically for the sign of the Water Bearer, today water is your enemy. Do NOT try to fix your plumbing, go swimming, dance in the rain, bathe, date a lifeguard or raise the Titanic.
PISCES: Last but not least, you are steadfast, loyal and good with children…no wait, that’s a Golden Retriever. Well, that’s all the time I have today my fellow stargazers, join me again when I hope to be able to explain the cosmic meaning of those mysterious numbers on your credit cards.
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