Although I don’t consider myself a superstitious person, I do come from a long line of superstitious people. I’m thinking in particular of my great- grandmother, a small but sturdy woman from a poor nation of indeterminate location. She was 109 years old when they finally buried her…I’ve heard she put up quite a fight. Anyway, here are some of the more obscure superstitions she brought with her from the old country…
Things that will bring bad luck:
Shaving a yak on the Sabbath.
Proposing marriage at an orgy.
Committing suicide during any month that has the letter R in it.
Placing your grandpa’s ashes is a pickle jar while you polish his urn.
Chopping firewood in an evening gown…especially if you’re not a woman.
Fondling a cheese wheel during a full moon.
Drinking directly from the udder of a cow before you have been formally introduced.
Things that will bring good luck:
Pinching the love handles of an obese fishmonger.
Being sneezed on by a one-armed bongo player.
Polishing your boots with the drool of a colicky infant.
Kissing the worm before you start fishing…but no tongues.
Trimming the toenails of a cross-eyed hermit.
Blowing your nose in a silk handkerchief…provided it’s not yours.
Then again, better safe than sorry…damn, where did I leave that pickle jar?
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Oh, the things you find on the Internet...
When people talk about old Mother Nature, they’re almost referring to beauty, as in sunsets or her destructive power, as in earthquakes. It would seem however that Mother Nature also fancies herself something of a comedian. To illustrate my point, here are some excerpts from a science article I recently came across…
"Caterpillars shoot their faeces more than a metre from their homes to protect themselves from predators, an American ecologist has discovered."
"Older and larger caterpillars can launch 24 g pellets nearly 40 times their body length, at speeds of 1.3 metres per second; the longest distance recorded by Weiss was 153 cm."
"The study of ecology and evolutionary biology has been largely focused on the feeding strategies of animals; Weiss said it may be time for scientists to also look at waste disposal as a potentially promising new field which she dubbed 'evolutionary faecology'."
I’m just glad that primates didn’t take up this peculiar evolutionary adaptation or toilet training children would be an entirely different experience…involving Hazmat suits and water hoses. As for the promising new field of 'evolutionary faecology', there’s a title you’d be proud to have on a business card.
"Caterpillars shoot their faeces more than a metre from their homes to protect themselves from predators, an American ecologist has discovered."
"Older and larger caterpillars can launch 24 g pellets nearly 40 times their body length, at speeds of 1.3 metres per second; the longest distance recorded by Weiss was 153 cm."
"The study of ecology and evolutionary biology has been largely focused on the feeding strategies of animals; Weiss said it may be time for scientists to also look at waste disposal as a potentially promising new field which she dubbed 'evolutionary faecology'."
I’m just glad that primates didn’t take up this peculiar evolutionary adaptation or toilet training children would be an entirely different experience…involving Hazmat suits and water hoses. As for the promising new field of 'evolutionary faecology', there’s a title you’d be proud to have on a business card.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Stop The Music...
To be honest, I’ve never liked musicals, whether they’re on the screen or on a stage. However, it wasn’t until they started producing shows like Titanic and Momma Mia (a show based on the music of the pop group ABBA) that I realized there was almost no subject too tragic or inane to become a musical.
So here are some ideas that with the right backing could become huge hits. Now all I have to do is get Rosie O'Donnell’s phone number…
Who’s a Naughty Boy:
Based on the exploits of Jack the Ripper, played by Tommy Tune. Music by Elton John featuring such future hits as "Don’t Let This Knife Go Dull On Me" and "I’m Still Slashing". Rounding out the cast is Martin Short as the head of Scotland Yard.
The Mountains of Tennessee:
A dance revue inspired by the music and anatomy of country music legend Dolly Parton. The Olsen twins return to their show biz roots and give a memorable performance as Dolly’s breasts.
Love You Like the Plague:
A musical comedy about the "Black Death" that ravaged Europe during the 1300’s, with Nathan Lane as the last surviving priest trying his best to avoid all those dying around him. Fun for the whole family.
Beneath the Golden Arches:
The story of America’s most famous fast food joint told in song and dance. Andrew Lloyd Webber provides the music and you will believe that John Lithgow is Ronald McDonald.
Pardon My Dust Bowl:
It’s the Great Depression, as you’ve never seen it…set to music by Stephen Sondheim. Starring Mandy Patinkin as a union busting goon and Bernadette Peters as the unemployed factory girl he falls in love with…bring a hankie.
So here are some ideas that with the right backing could become huge hits. Now all I have to do is get Rosie O'Donnell’s phone number…
Who’s a Naughty Boy:
Based on the exploits of Jack the Ripper, played by Tommy Tune. Music by Elton John featuring such future hits as "Don’t Let This Knife Go Dull On Me" and "I’m Still Slashing". Rounding out the cast is Martin Short as the head of Scotland Yard.
The Mountains of Tennessee:
A dance revue inspired by the music and anatomy of country music legend Dolly Parton. The Olsen twins return to their show biz roots and give a memorable performance as Dolly’s breasts.
Love You Like the Plague:
A musical comedy about the "Black Death" that ravaged Europe during the 1300’s, with Nathan Lane as the last surviving priest trying his best to avoid all those dying around him. Fun for the whole family.
Beneath the Golden Arches:
The story of America’s most famous fast food joint told in song and dance. Andrew Lloyd Webber provides the music and you will believe that John Lithgow is Ronald McDonald.
Pardon My Dust Bowl:
It’s the Great Depression, as you’ve never seen it…set to music by Stephen Sondheim. Starring Mandy Patinkin as a union busting goon and Bernadette Peters as the unemployed factory girl he falls in love with…bring a hankie.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Do You Believe in Magic...
Hey, how about that David Blaine…with the water and the chains and whatnot. You know, it can’t be easy coming up with stunts that manage to amaze and bore your audience simultaneously.
Previously, he has accomplished this seemingly impossible paradox by being buried in a glass coffin, encasing himself in a block of ice and spending 44 days suspended high in the air somewhere in England. Although, many of the people there seemed more annoyed than amazed…I guess some cultural curiosities don’t travel well.
Now that he has spent a week in a gigantic fishbowl, rumors have already started circulating about what his next daring stunt/snorefest might be…
For one full month he will live in the tallest tree in New York City’s Central Park, by which time he claims he will have become "Lord of the Squirrels".
He will glue himself to the back of one of those giant tortoises in the Galapagos Islands and vow to stay on it until one of them dies.
To test his tolerance for pain, wearing only the skimpiest bathing suit, he will lay flat on a huge electric griddle. Every half-hour a forklift will flip him over.
Chained to an easy chair with his eyes propped open with toothpicks, he will endure watching every single episode of Will & Grace, without a break. Charlie Sheen will be standing by with two emergency hookers, who will spring into action at the first sign that Blaine might be starting to " turn that way".
Wrapped from head to foot in Saran Wrap, he will be placed in an abandoned refrigerator for two weeks, after which time a panel of television chefs will check him for freshness.
Well, I’m off to see if there’s any water left in the big fishbowl…I’m sure I could sell it on eBay.
Previously, he has accomplished this seemingly impossible paradox by being buried in a glass coffin, encasing himself in a block of ice and spending 44 days suspended high in the air somewhere in England. Although, many of the people there seemed more annoyed than amazed…I guess some cultural curiosities don’t travel well.
Now that he has spent a week in a gigantic fishbowl, rumors have already started circulating about what his next daring stunt/snorefest might be…
For one full month he will live in the tallest tree in New York City’s Central Park, by which time he claims he will have become "Lord of the Squirrels".
He will glue himself to the back of one of those giant tortoises in the Galapagos Islands and vow to stay on it until one of them dies.
To test his tolerance for pain, wearing only the skimpiest bathing suit, he will lay flat on a huge electric griddle. Every half-hour a forklift will flip him over.
Chained to an easy chair with his eyes propped open with toothpicks, he will endure watching every single episode of Will & Grace, without a break. Charlie Sheen will be standing by with two emergency hookers, who will spring into action at the first sign that Blaine might be starting to " turn that way".
Wrapped from head to foot in Saran Wrap, he will be placed in an abandoned refrigerator for two weeks, after which time a panel of television chefs will check him for freshness.
Well, I’m off to see if there’s any water left in the big fishbowl…I’m sure I could sell it on eBay.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Geldings and Stallions and Mares, Oh my...
The Kentucky Derby was held a couple of days ago…please, try to contain your excitement. Generally speaking, I don’t pay much attention to horse racing, even thought it has been called the "sport of kings"…a term that I always thought referred to the kings "activities" with the royal concubines.
However, thanks to the media’s relentless coverage of this event, I was reminded that there is one aspect of this sport that interests me…the names of the horses. For some reason racehorses are often given unusual or even weird names, like this years winner Barbaro or his fellow competitors Deputy Glitter and Seaside Retreat.
Well, since the unusual and weird are right up my alley, here’s what the race might have sounded like if I had been allowed to name all the horses…
"And they’re off! Morning Wood pops out of the gate quickly, followed closely by Forty ‘n Flatulent and Lethal Injection in third. Moving hard to the outside is Your Father’s Mustache with Clogged Arteries hot on his tail".
"The horses jostle for position and as they head into the first turn Pride of Guantánamo and Alcoholic Haze are neck and neck, trailed by Soon To Be Meatloaf."
"Now they’re through the final turn and heading for the home stretch and from out of nowhere its Zits a Poppin’ taking the lead! Zits a Poppin’ wins the Kentucky Derby, with Nervous Altar Boy coming in second and Phantom Fudge-Packer bringing up the rear".
Damn…I bet everything on Morning Wood.
However, thanks to the media’s relentless coverage of this event, I was reminded that there is one aspect of this sport that interests me…the names of the horses. For some reason racehorses are often given unusual or even weird names, like this years winner Barbaro or his fellow competitors Deputy Glitter and Seaside Retreat.
Well, since the unusual and weird are right up my alley, here’s what the race might have sounded like if I had been allowed to name all the horses…
"And they’re off! Morning Wood pops out of the gate quickly, followed closely by Forty ‘n Flatulent and Lethal Injection in third. Moving hard to the outside is Your Father’s Mustache with Clogged Arteries hot on his tail".
"The horses jostle for position and as they head into the first turn Pride of Guantánamo and Alcoholic Haze are neck and neck, trailed by Soon To Be Meatloaf."
"Now they’re through the final turn and heading for the home stretch and from out of nowhere its Zits a Poppin’ taking the lead! Zits a Poppin’ wins the Kentucky Derby, with Nervous Altar Boy coming in second and Phantom Fudge-Packer bringing up the rear".
Damn…I bet everything on Morning Wood.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Goodbye cruel world...
Not long ago I read about a man who in a failed suicide attempt used a nail gun to fire 12 nails into his skull. While his bid for oblivion might have been unsuccessful, I think you have to give him credit for "thinking outside the box" (even if he was just trying to put himself into one permanently).
Clearly, here was a man without a real gun, so he decided to improvise. This got me thinking about other possible "alternative" suicide methods and their positive and negative points and I came up with the following…
Overdose on laxatives.
Positive: whoever finds your body will remember you FOREVER.
Negative: not sure if it will actually kill you or just keep you "occupied" for a really long time.
Walking around during a thunderstorm completely covered in aluminum foil, while waving a golf club over your head.
Positive: if you mange to get struck, it should be all over very quickly.
Negative: you might have to fend off any homeless people who mistake you for a very large baked potato.
Radiation poisoning from the x-ray machines at the airport.
Positive: big style points for creative use of technology.
Negative: takes way too long and might lead to unpleasant, but non-lethal cavity searches.
Blocking the entrance to Kirstie Alley’s favorite restaurant the day after her contract with Jenny Craig expires.
Positive: being trampled by a ravenous celebrity might get your name in the paper.
Negative: contact with Scientologists can result in the sudden belief in crackpot theories and or Tom Cruise jumping on your couch.
Landmine stomping, this involves traveling to Southeast Asia where forgotten landmines pose a threat to local inhabitants and stomping around until you hit one.
Positive: people will think you did it for humanitarian reasons.
Negative: there’s a small chance that you’ll just have one of your legs blown off, thus forcing you to resort to "landmine hopping".
Avian Fluicide, the idea here is to try to catch a deadly virus by licking every bird in your local pet store.
Positive: the birds seem to like it.
Negative: possible unwanted advances from the creepy storeowner.
Slit wrists with the jagged shards of a hundred broken dreams…no wait, forget that one…it’s just an entry from my diary.
Oh, I’d like to thank the folks over at
Bloggy Award.com for the nice review they gave to yours truly.
Clearly, here was a man without a real gun, so he decided to improvise. This got me thinking about other possible "alternative" suicide methods and their positive and negative points and I came up with the following…
Overdose on laxatives.
Positive: whoever finds your body will remember you FOREVER.
Negative: not sure if it will actually kill you or just keep you "occupied" for a really long time.
Walking around during a thunderstorm completely covered in aluminum foil, while waving a golf club over your head.
Positive: if you mange to get struck, it should be all over very quickly.
Negative: you might have to fend off any homeless people who mistake you for a very large baked potato.
Radiation poisoning from the x-ray machines at the airport.
Positive: big style points for creative use of technology.
Negative: takes way too long and might lead to unpleasant, but non-lethal cavity searches.
Blocking the entrance to Kirstie Alley’s favorite restaurant the day after her contract with Jenny Craig expires.
Positive: being trampled by a ravenous celebrity might get your name in the paper.
Negative: contact with Scientologists can result in the sudden belief in crackpot theories and or Tom Cruise jumping on your couch.
Landmine stomping, this involves traveling to Southeast Asia where forgotten landmines pose a threat to local inhabitants and stomping around until you hit one.
Positive: people will think you did it for humanitarian reasons.
Negative: there’s a small chance that you’ll just have one of your legs blown off, thus forcing you to resort to "landmine hopping".
Avian Fluicide, the idea here is to try to catch a deadly virus by licking every bird in your local pet store.
Positive: the birds seem to like it.
Negative: possible unwanted advances from the creepy storeowner.
Slit wrists with the jagged shards of a hundred broken dreams…no wait, forget that one…it’s just an entry from my diary.
Oh, I’d like to thank the folks over at
Bloggy Award.com for the nice review they gave to yours truly.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
As my dear ol' grandpa used to say...
Most of us are familiar with at least a few old sayings, those concise, pithy and sometimes barely comprehensible nuggets of "wisdom" that get passed down through the ages. However, if you’re anything like me (perish the thought) you may have felt that something was missing…like you were only given a part of the original saying. So I did some research and compiled a list of well know sayings in their complete and unabridged form…
That which does not kill me, makes me stronger…except when it leaves me curled in a fetal position, weeping and or bleeding.
The early bird catches the worm…not to mention pneumonia from the chilly morning air and salmonella from eating filthy worms.
A penny saved is a penny earned…which then becomes a penny taxed, which in turn becomes a penny spent on studying the reproductive habits of the highly endangered Albino Barnacle.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink…but if you tie enough weight to it, you can certainly drown the stubborn bastard.
Blood is thicker than water…but it still makes a lousy syrup.
Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth…and don’t let me catch you poking around the other end either.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder…so why the hell are you still here.
All that glitters is not gold…but you never know, so bury it for safe keeping and kill anyone you think might have seen you.
Hindsight is 20/20…but if you say "I told you so" one more time, I will poke your eyes out.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush…provided of course you don’t mind a hand covered in bird crap.
Iron bars do not a prison make…but it’s a hell of a beginning.
Cold hands, warm heart…could be hypothermia.
Too many cooks spoil the broth…because you know one of them is bound to sneeze in it.
A place for everything and everything in its place…does that make you happy now, you obsessive, compulsive control freak!
A fool and his money are soon parted…which reminds me, can you loan me $500.
I feel wiser already.
That which does not kill me, makes me stronger…except when it leaves me curled in a fetal position, weeping and or bleeding.
The early bird catches the worm…not to mention pneumonia from the chilly morning air and salmonella from eating filthy worms.
A penny saved is a penny earned…which then becomes a penny taxed, which in turn becomes a penny spent on studying the reproductive habits of the highly endangered Albino Barnacle.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink…but if you tie enough weight to it, you can certainly drown the stubborn bastard.
Blood is thicker than water…but it still makes a lousy syrup.
Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth…and don’t let me catch you poking around the other end either.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder…so why the hell are you still here.
All that glitters is not gold…but you never know, so bury it for safe keeping and kill anyone you think might have seen you.
Hindsight is 20/20…but if you say "I told you so" one more time, I will poke your eyes out.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush…provided of course you don’t mind a hand covered in bird crap.
Iron bars do not a prison make…but it’s a hell of a beginning.
Cold hands, warm heart…could be hypothermia.
Too many cooks spoil the broth…because you know one of them is bound to sneeze in it.
A place for everything and everything in its place…does that make you happy now, you obsessive, compulsive control freak!
A fool and his money are soon parted…which reminds me, can you loan me $500.
I feel wiser already.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
When gravity attacks...
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.
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.
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.
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