My children's childhood memories

Thank you, Sinverguenza, whoever you are...

I used to love watching Animaniacs with my kids when they were little, and it hadn't occurred to me to look for them online until Sinverguenza mentioned it in yesterday's comments. Here's a clip that figured prominently in our home school lesson plan:

What's Opera, Doc?

Back in December I posted a little item about the 50 Greatest Cartoons of all time. One of those cartoons is a Warner Brothers classic by the great Chuck Jones:

What's Opera, Doc?

There's a neat article in the Toronto Star about the 50th birthday of What's Opera, Doc.

And now, without further ado, one of the best pieces of animation ever:

Furries

Thank you, Bawb the Revelator, Dream City bureau chief.

Bawb is a Pittsburgh Steelers fan, and is constantly finding stories based in Pittsburgh. So I can thank him for starting my week off with a story about...furries:

Anthrocons convention turns city into 'real zoo'

Turns out the biggest furry convention in the world, Anthrocon, takes place in Pittsburgh--not Chicago, or New York, or San Francisco. Who'd have thought?

Oh, one more thing: don't mistake furries for plushies.

Then I had a thought: what if there were furry clowns? Well, guess what--there are:

Guns, bugs, alcohol and smokes...

That's how MizBubs summed up our weekend as we sat in the screen house surveying our back yard Saturday night.

Our youngest daughter, the Peculiar Girl Wonder, and a friend had caught a cicada, and it turned out it was just about to bust out of its shell. PGW snapped a couple of pictures as it emerged.


Our eldest and her boyfriend had a couple of old bb guns and were shooting some targets I brought home from work; the targets look to be late 80's vintage, and the integrated bad guys on them bear a resemblance to Chuck Norris and Gary Coleman.

So there we all were: me and Mizbubs sitting enjoying a drink and a smoke (I got a tasty cigar knowing I'd have time to sit and do nothing for an hour or so) while our one daughter played with a bug she found and the other shot stuff. I'm living the American dream. Seriously, I can't tell you how glad I am that I have a 15 year old who can still be entertained by catching a bug in a jar and watching it for an hour or two. MizBubs turned to me and said "look at this--we got guns, bugs, alcohol and smokes" and I knew on the spot I had a title for a blog post.

The inside of my house is a mess. It needs a deep cleaning, and I have a couple loads of laundry that need to be done, and it's generally in a state of disarray. And I don't really care right now. We've had the best time the past few days just hanging out together. The only real work we've done has been outside. I think we both decided, unconsciously, to spend what little time we have not working doing things that will bring us joy: working up a sweat in the garden, cooking together, and just sitting without doing a single damn productive thing. It's been restorative.

Just goofy bullshit like throwing a tennis ball, over and over, and over, for our mutt Duffy, until he falls down exhausted in the grass.
MizBubs invented a new drink for us on Friday. It doesn't really have a name yet so we're open to suggestions for a name. It's one shot of vodka, one shot of Bauchant raspberry liqueur, and it's topped up with tonic water, with a couple of berries muddled in. Damn it was good.

MizBubs planted a row of sunflowers along the back of the house, and they're coming up nicely. They're developing some nice buds, so hopefully they'll bloom within a few weeks. She found a couple of funny folk art chickens at someplace like Hobby Lobby and put them in there; I love it because it reminds me of Key West.

Ah well. I have a couple of things to put up in the next few days, but right now I got to get some sleep. Y'all take care.

Happy Tanabata!

If we were in Japan right now, we'd be celebrating Tanabata, the festival of the stars. We'd be writing wishes on colorful paper and decorating trees with origami, and hanging beautiful streamers all over the place.

I wish I'd known about this earlier. Because now I'm just going to go to the Jewel and buy some food to grill later tonight, and I'm going to drink some beer. And it won't even be Japanese beer.

Oh well. Maybe next year.

Happy Tanabata!

Weekend Alligator Update

A few days ago I got an email titled "Train Like a Gator." I was intrigued. It was from Men's Health magazine, and I thought maybe this would give me the edge I needed to make the transition from world's leading narcozoologist to world's leading alligator fighter.

No such luck. Turns out it was some article on the cardio training done by the Florida Gators college basketball team on their way to the title. Ho hum. I'm not interested in training to run around a hardwood floor bouncing a ball, no sir. If that article had been about how alligators train their young to wage war on humankind, now that would've been something. I could've used information like that. I mean, cardio training is all well and good--I ran 10 miles this morning as the culmination of week 5 of training for the Chicago Marathon--but cardio doesn't kill gators. It's too bad they don't have alligators in Israel, because I bet the Israelis would invent some kind of wicked anti-alligator Krav Maga, and that would be totally f*cking cool.

There are a few new items to report in the ongoing struggle I call World War G.

Normally I don't report on instances of alligators menacing golfers in Florida. That happens all the time. But this story, about a golfer who got pulled in and nearly lost an arm, is notable for one reason: the alligator had only one eye. Think about that. This story illustrates the driven, goal-oriented nature of the alligator--even with a disability, the gator continues his mission, which is, in this case, to kill all the golfers. He didn't even need a reason.


In a more alarming story close to home, some pro-gator apologists put on a show for the kids, letting them get up close and personal with an alligator, an iguana and some other lizards. Why do I call them apologists? Get a load of this statement by Bob Bavirsha of the Chicago Herpetological Society:

"It's important to be nice and friendly to them and they will be nice and friendly to you."

HE'S SAYING THIS ABOUT ALLIGATORS, PEOPLE! Bavirsha went on to show a variety of lizards that he said would make "good pets." Ha. Why not just give the kids a pipe and a bag of rock cocaine while you're at it?

There were two items in the news recently demonstrating the alligator's ongoing effort to interfere with our free flow of commerce:

An alligator in San Antonio, Texas was shot near an apartment complex. My sources say the gator was en route to I-410, a nearby highway.

An alligator in Fort Meade, Florida, attempted to set up a roadblock and trapped a woman in her truck until authorities arrived.

There are unconfirmed reports that an alligator may have made it all the way to the hills of Wayne, West Virginia. There is some confusion, however, because apparently many West Virginians can't tell the difference between an alligator and a beaver.

Alert cops in El Cajon, California, arrested 24 year old Christopher Shawn Hendry, Jr. He had an alligator in his living room, along with a few guns, a silencer and several poisonous snakes. There's no indication whether drugs were involved, but I'll go out on a limb here and say that I'd bet Mr. Hendry is no stranger to the pipe.

Finally, encouraging news:


A plucky stay-at-home mom in Reston, Virginia trapped a young scout gator in her backyard. Well done, ma'am!

Recognizing (hopefully not too late) that they will be swimming in rivers of blood if they don't stop this current wave of alligator attacks, Florida authorities have begun to offer classes in how citizens can prepare and arm themselves to hunt alligators.

_____________________

Remember friends, that may not be a friendly beaver in your local pond--it could be an alligator!

CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

Summertime, and the huffing is easy

Internet media mogul Grant Miller recently posted a helpful tip for boozehounds trying to beat the heat. Mr. Miller suggested that huffing might be a better option:

Avoid drinking alcohol when temperatures get hot since the heat makes you sweat and quickly lose your buzz. Grant Miller Media recommends huffing an old t-shirt drenched in gasoline or paint thinner instead.

Provocative? Irresponsible? Well, the boldest ideas often seem that way. But, here's the thing. Mr. Miller isn't far out of the mainstream on this. He is merely putting into words generations of trailer park folk wisdom. Which, in this writer's humble opinion, is long overdue.

Consider Patrick Tribett, arrested in July 2005 for huffing spray paint. Buckeyes know how to beat the heat. Tribett, the interweb's most famous huffer, is pictured above.

It gets damnably hot in Waco, Texas. That's why R&B personality Tony Thompson liked huffing freon instead of swilling Lone Star beer. Unfortunately, it killed him.

Don't drink and drive. Huff and drive. It gets so steamy in Palm Bay, Florida, that 18 year old Tara Corey had no other choice.

My extensive research failed to uncover any links between huffing and exotic reptile ownership, and as of this time there does not appear to be any huffing/alligator nexus. Which is a relief.

Friday!

What a rare treat--MizBubs doesn't work today, so we're both home at the same time, and it's Friday, the first day of my weekend!

Let's start with this morning's Random Ten. I realized I get way too much credit for my taste in music when, more often than not, half the songs on the shuffle really belong to MizBubs or the girls. But today, this list is all me:

Big River—Johnny Cash

Scoot—The Jets

Bach Minuet in G—Willie Nelson

You Can Never Hold Back Spring—Tom Waits

Poor Little Critter on the Road—The Knitters

Welcome to the Working Week—Elvis Costello

Hoist That Rag—Tom Waits

Ace of Spades—Link Wray

Nightclubbing—Iggy Pop

Green Green Grass of Home—Tom Jones

Speaking of the weekend, I'm pretty excited about it. But not nearly as excited as this guy. For those of you who haven't seen him before, E-Pak-Sa is a Korean entertainer, but he's big in Japan.




I got this from my youngest daughter, The Peculiar Girl Wonder. I've added her new blog to the links. She's decided she needs an outlet other than MySpace where she can bitch. Mostly about her friends on MySpace. So, if you'd like a dose of articulate teen ranting, go check her out.

Happy Birthday, SPAM!

On July 5, 1937, the wonder of modern food product technology that is SPAM first appeared in American markets. Originally known as Hormel Spiced Ham, creative genius Kenneth Daigneau came up with the name "SPAM" and won $100 for his efforts.

DID YOU KNOW THAT:

• Spammy the Pig, the company mascot, appeared on the Burns and Allen Show?
• Margaret Thatcher described SPAM as a "wartime delicacy"?
• Haile Selassi I, founder of Rastafarianism, visited the SPAM plant in 1954?

I gotta say I loved SPAM as a kid. One of my favorite treats was a fried SPAM sandwich on white bread. I loved SPAM and eggs, too. No Boy Scout camping trip was complete without at least one can of SPAM. Years later, when my kids were young, I bought some SPAM after telling them how much I'd enjoyed it as a boy. And you know what?

It sucked.

A couple months ago we tried SPAM again, this time in the company of Johnny Yen, Lulu and Tenacious S. We were several zombies into an evening at Tiki Terrace, and I got the bright idea of ordering some SPAM sushi. Yes I did. Evidently SPAM is mighty popular in the Hawaiian islands. While it didn't suck, I haven't had a hankerin' for SPAM sushi either. I hope my drinking companions have forgiven me.

Freak of the Week

"Am I allowed to satisfy myself? It has been a long time since I have. What am I supposed to do, just keep it in?"

Yes, this freak actually asked his arresting officers if he could pleasure himself. You can read the whole story here.

Happy 4th of July

I hope everyone ended today's celebration with all the fingers, toes and eyes they started out with this morning.

Differences between men and women: 4th of July Edition

According to MizBubs, it would never even occur to a woman to do something like this. Which I think is too bad.

8 Things About Me, Baby! All about ME!

OK, time to catch up. I've been drifting along, alternating between crazy work and blissful family fun, and then right when I was about to sit down and do some quality time-wasting, I ran into some puter problems. But now I'm back.

Katie Schwartz provided badly needed focus by hitting me with this tag. Here are the rules:

1. All right, here are the rules.
2. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
3. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
4. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
5. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

See, now, here's the thing: Katie and Coaster Punchman both had such wonderful responses, full of trampoline sex and nipple horror, that I know my own responses can't fail to be humdrum in comparison.

_________________

8 Things

1- I have an inexplicable fascination with New Orleans, and still think about living there when I retire.

2- I'm an art school dropout (twice, really, I dropped out of Columbia College and UIC.)

3- I was born with a vestigial tail. Actually, just a small fleshy nub, not a full tail.

4- I love Mexican border towns.

5- It took me 22 years to finish my degree. And now I'm going back for an MBA starting in September.

6- The sight and smell of stuffed green peppers makes me gag. It's a leftover response from my childhood, being forced to eat the one thing my parents cooked that I absolutely couldn't stand.

7- I love driving and road trips, but I hate cars. I've never had a car that I loved, in the sense that so many guys love their cars. It's just a way to get from here to there, hopefully on the cheap, and I'd just as soon be riding a bicycle or walking.

8- I'm training to run my third Chicago Marathon.

_________________

There you have it.

I tag everyone on the planet.

Here comes Independence Day

Right down Independence Day Lane...

Well, I'm not as much of an html retard as I thought. I'm html handi-capable, as it turns out, and I was able to restore my beloved links without much trouble once I was awake enough to concentrate. Now I have a Katie Schwartz meme to attend to, and a backlog of stories involving peacock throttling freaks and random other stuff that's caught my eye.

_________________

The next couple of days are shaping up to be fun but busy. I've been working day shift, from 8:30 to 5pm, since May, which has been a nice change of pace. Today is different. I have to go in at noon to meet the other honor guard officers so that we can practice marching up and down the square in preparation for the 4th of July parade tomorrow. Fortunately our uniforms, while damn good-looking, are not nearly as spectacular as Liberace's.

I'm working nights tonight as part of a crime suppression unit, which means we'll basically be going out to local problem areas looking for gang members and obnoxious drunks. Then, first thing tomorrow morning, it's back at work for the parade.

_________________

My mom called me yesterday after finding this quote in the Sunday paper:

Ninety-nine successive years have we set aside one whole day for killing small boys, putting out eyes, rending limbs and scaring horses as a glorification and symbol of the American idea of freedom.

--Chicago Tribune editorial, July 4, 1875

Yes, it seems that people think of me when the conversation turns to fireworks and accidental injury.

Now, sadly, the combination of work schedules and a mid-week 4th mean that we're not having a big party this year for the holiday. And that means Cousin Clete won't be building his chain link rocket launcher:

Screw it.

Ok, I finally got some time to catch up on reading my favorite blogs, and doing some commenting, and along the way I decided to make a couple of changes to the way things look around here. I saw a little button that said something like "update template" and I clicked it. End result? I just lost all the links that used to appear along the side of this page.

I'll probably post again sometime next week. I'll probably comment on some of your blogs after that. It's back to work tomorrow.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with a nice image.

This is a cherry mint julep. We made it up this evening after we got done in the garden. It's a standard mint julep, with the addition of a few sweet cherries muddled in with the mint and syrup. It's tasty.

If I'd known the frustration I'd be having with this damnable blog template, I'd have had 5 or 6 of them.

Hope everyone had a good weekend!

Please Take My Crap

I had a bright idea the other day (at least I thought it was bright at the time, we'll see how it works out) of starting a blog to post pictures and descriptions of stuff I want to get rid of. Sort of a virtual version of something between a garage sale and just setting your stuff out on the curb.

You can read about it here:

Please Take My Crap

The first item to go will be a full-sized wooden church pew. We found it while walking home from the farmers market last summer, and then discovered it was too big for our dining room.

I got this idea from something Barbara posted on Bad Tempered Zombie. She described a neighborhood garbage exchange, where all the neighbors drag stuff they don't want out to the curb, and the entire 'hood walks around picking through each other's cast-offs. Perhaps I'll expand this service to our entire blogger community. I know we've got more than a couple of pack rats reading this.

Return of the Friday Random Ten

That's the nice thing about the Random Ten--it requires nothing but the push of the "shuffle" button and a little copying and pasting.

Trying Not To Think About Time—The Futureheads

Wave of Mutilation—The Pixies

Red Tan—The Raveonettes

Good Day—Dresden Dolls

Caveman—The Cramps

Wagon Wheel—Lou Reed

Religion—Public Image Ltd

You Trip Me Up—Jesus & Mary Chain

There She Goes Again—The Velvet Underground

Wasting My Time—The White Stripes

Lost Weekend

What a weekend.

I mean that almost completely in a good way. Friday night we went out to celebrate our anniversary and had a swell time. Great meal, lots of fun, shacked up in a hotel room overnight. A blast.

We were driving home Saturday morning when my cell phone rang. It was our youngest, telling me that my fellow sergeant was calling our home phone trying to find me. She said he sounded concerned, and that it was VERY important that I call him right away. It was at that moment that I realized I didn't have my Nextel with me. I called him right away, and as we drove along I heard words like "armed robbery" and "two of the offenders had handguns" and "car chase" and "crashed into a parked car" and "in custody after a foot pursuit" and "the midnight sergeant couldn't reach you" and felt like a world class retard. As it turned out there wasn't much for detectives to do except interview the bad guys and work with felony review to charge them. I ended up going in for a couple of hours that afternoon to check up on things, and other than how embarrassed I felt everything was under control.

The most important thing was that we were still able to make it to Club Lago to meet Chris and Megan. What a sweet couple! I gotta tell you, they looked none the worse for having moved halfway across the country. During a lull in the conversation my attention wandered to the TV over the bar, and what came on? Lost Weekend, starring Ray Milland. We ended up having a great little conversation about hardboiled novels and pulp artwork with one of the owners, a friend of Chris'. What a good time. MizBubs and I bugged out just before dinner and headed home.

What followed on Sunday was another 14 hour day, some sleep, and another 14 hour day today--so far it's 20+ hours of overtime in the past 5 days, which just heightens the sense of unreality after being blissfully out of contact with the rest of the world Friday night.

Hopefully I'll surface again later this week in time to take the eldest to visit UIC and Columbia College.

Enjoy your week.

21 Years

Our marriage is now officially old enough to drink.

As of June 21 we've been married 21 years. I made it home after working an overtime detail at the carnival just in time to share a toast with MizBubs before the day was over.

We celebrate in earnest Friday night, and will probably still be celebrating when we meet some of you at Club Lago Saturday evening.

I'm a lucky bastard.

Florida, where nature hates us most of all

Thank God for the can-do spirit of the American fighting man. When faced with attack by a rabid wildcat, we'd all do well to follow the example of 62 year old Dale Rippy, Floridian and Vietnam veteran.

When Mr. Rippy was attacked while relaxing on his back porch, he fought back, and he won:

Dale Rippy endured the bobcat's slashes and bites until it clawed into a position where he could grab it by the throat. Then he strangled it.

Back to work, you.

Yep. Vacation is over. Time to get back to my real job:



Fighting crime!

The struggle continues

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, the proverbial turd in a punchbowl, but heck. It's what I do.

In spite of recent victories in New York, Kansas, Florida and California, the alligator has once again proven to be a wily and resilient adversary.

A young gator was captured in northern California, showing the gator's unyielding efforts to scout new territory.

What is it with New Yorkers and their insatiable desire to keep alligators as pets?

Alligators have apparently chosen to open a new front in the rust belt. A young scout gator was captured in a garage near Toledo, Ohio.

In a disturbing development, I've recently learned of another example of a bad cop being compromised by alligators.

Sgt. Warren Nyerges of the Bay Village PD, was placed on administrative leave after being charged with domestic violence and having a prohibited animal--an alligator. The stress and paranoia that results from being a reptile Quisling must have weighed heavily on Sgt. Nyerges. Police confiscated more than 40 firearms from his house.

Oh, yeah, one more thing--drugs were involved. Not the usual cocaine, or weed, or methamphetamine. Steroids. I don't have enough data to determine if Sgt. Nyerges' steroid use impaired his judgment, or if the stress of collaborating with the reptile enemy, and the constant fear of alligator attack, drove him to start hitting himself in the ass with D-bol. But I aim to find out.

For now the watchword remains, as always: CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

Tasty vices

On today's date in 1987, Ben & Jerry's created my favorite ice cream, Cherry Garcia. It is now their most popular flavor.



Oh, one more thing... I think this breaks up the lull between Father's Day and our upcoming wedding anniversary very nicely, thank you.

According to Tom Fitzmorris of the New Orleans Menu Daily, today is National Dry Martini Day.

Bottoms up!

Adopt an Actor

Hey, Bubs' eldest daughter here.

Well, as soon as I heard about Splotchy's Adopt an Actor program, I just had to take part! I was looking to see if any of my favorites had already been adopted, and amazingly, my top pick has NOT been taken!! Thus, I would like to officially adopt the King of Eurotrash, UDO KIER!! I think he needs a loving home to make sure he doesn't accept any more crap like "Bloodrayne" and sticks to good stuff.

My dumbest question

The delightfully raunchy, funny and smart Katie Schwartz has tagged yours truly. Here are the requirements:

"For this meme, I'm going to ask you to answer three (hopefully not dumb) questions: What is the dumbest question you ever been asked? Why was it it dumb? And, even though it won't help, because answering a dumb question never does, what's the answer? (Or, as I like to think of them: The Big Dumb Question, The Big Dumb Reason, and The Big Dumb Answer.)"

Now, before I get started, I have to say something. After reading Katie's story I believe that it is really unnecessary, pointless, really, for any other blogger, anywhere, to post another response to this tag. Go read her story, here, and tell me if I'm not right. In spite of that belief I'll soldier on and give you this story.

Like anyone else who works with people--food service, retail, any of the "helping" professions--I've had plenty of dumb questions. But the thing is, there's one dumb question that I've heard at least a half dozen times over the years, from different people, but always in the same context.

Here's the setting: an office or interview room in a police station. Picture the usual institutional gray/green furniture, cinderblock walls and air of human desperation. There's a guy sitting in a chair, and you can tell by looking at him that he's spent, physically and emotionally. Sometimes he looks tearful and afraid, sometimes relieved, and other times almost happy because a great weight has just been lifted from him. Sometimes it's not a guy, it's a girl, but almost always it's a guy. He's in the process of signing his written confession, the one I just got from him, or he's already signed it and he's sitting back as I explain what happens next. At some point he looks up and makes eye contact with me, something he hasn't done for a while, and says "can I ask you a question?" And I just know the question is coming.

And then it comes:

"Do you think this is going to hurt my chances of becoming a police officer?"

Now, why was the question dumb, every single time it was asked? Because in each case the person had just confessed to a f*cking felony, that's why, and even grimy shithole police departments in places like southern Louisiana and Cook County, Illinois, generally refrain from hiring felons. (Seriously, they do--most of the bad cops you read about become felons after they've been on the job a while.)

So how do I answer this question? Like this:

"No, I wouldn't worry about it. They'll probably appreciate your honesty in admitting you made a mistake. Would you like to make any phone calls now?"

I tag MizBubs, Dale, Lulu and Johnny Yen. MizBubs because she works at a public help desk at the library and she's married to me, and I know she could fill pages with the stupid questions I've asked her; Lulu and Johnny because they're both educators, and Dale...well, because I get the feeling people just ask him a lot of dumb questions in general.

Whew...

Good morning.

We spent the weekend camping at the farm and I'm still recovering. 90+ heat can kind of wear you out, but at least it was cool and breezy at night. One way of beating the heat was glorious in its white-trashy simplicity: slap on some sunscreen and drag your lawn chairs and your beer into the creek. Then just sit there, not moving much, while the water cools you. Well, cools your feet and your ass anyway. The rest of you is still baking in the sun.

A camping trip usually results in the purchase of some new piece of equipment. I now have an official camping cocktail shaker, made of high-impact plastic, with helpful recipes and measurements printed on its sides. Friday's drink was the Mint Julep, made with fresh mint from our garden. Saturday's drink was the Mojito. The only problem was in each case I had to use cubed, not crushed, ice.

An important part of car-camping (as opposed to wilderness canoeing or backpacking) is the concept of the camp kitchen. To me, eating well in the outdoors is a big deal, and I like to have a good space to prepare food. This is a picture of the official Sprawling Ramshackle Compound Mobile Kitchen. Note the Gadsden flag flying proudly. This identifies you as a potentially armed crackpot in case any Iowa meth freaks wander near your campsite.

Inside the screen house, out of direct sunlight, is a collapsible table, a cooler and a honking big propane burner. Over the weekend this area was used more for drink mixing, but I still made a tasty dinner Friday night: lime & chipotle marinated chicken breasts served on tortillas with fried black beans and corn which had been cooked with green chiles and caramelized onions.

A word of advice for anyone training to run a marathon. If you stay up drinking until 1:30 in the morning, smoke a couple cigars, sleep 5 hours on the ground, then run at midday when it's 90 degrees, running 4 miles on a hilly gravel farm road with no shade really counts the same as running 8 or 10 miles. I'm thinking of including this in my forthcoming book, "Marathon Training for Lounge Lizards".

On Saturday night we experienced an awesome thunderstorm. Not much compares to the feeling of being in a dry tent while the lightning flashes outside and the rain falls in sheets.

Overall it was a fine weekend of doing nothing.

Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel

Southside bureau chief Dena alerted me to this.

Police in Culpeper, Virginia arrested 33 year old Joyce Ann Herbert after she crashed a U-Haul truck into a house. While she was naked. It's unknown why Ms. Herbert was naked, but she had recently been released from Culpeper regional hospital that morning.

Alert readers will remember the story of Mr. Stephen Brewer, who was arrested by Damascus, Viriginia police after leaving his truck and running naked through the streets.

Timid scientists would be hesitant to pronounce a trend or pattern based on two incidents occurring 7 months and 282 miles apart, but as I've stated before, narcozoology is a fearless and expansive new science, so I'll state boldly and with conviction that this is, in fact, a pattern.

From now on Virginia will no longer be known as the "Old Dominion State"; instead we will refer to it as the "Driving Naked State."

_____________

Oh. Hold on a minute.

Washington State Patrol troopers pulled over a Seattle couple. They were naked. Alcohol was involved. The man was charged with drunken driving and one I've never heard of before, "embracing while driving." The woman was charged with possession of alcohol by a minor.

I see now that more research is needed.

Adopt an Actor

Splotchy recently recommended that we all adopt an actor, preferably a character actor, and promote his work from time to time. Lulu and Johnny Yen promptly stepped up, and now I'm announcing my pick.

At first I was going to adopt Strother Martin. He's appeared in hundreds of movies and TV shows, and you probably know him as the Captain in Cool Hand Luke. He's been dead for 27 years. While "adopting" a dead actor was ok according to Splotchy, I decided to go for another character actor whose work never ceases to entertain me.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Dick Miller.

Dick Miller has appeared in 165 movies and TV shows according to his IMDB entry. I became a fan of his watching him in Roger Corman movies when I was a kid. His most notable roles are the flower-eating guy in the original Little Shop of Horrors, deranged beatnick artist/killer Walter Paisley in Bucket of Blood, and his appearances in the Gremlins movies. He usually has a small role and steals whatever scene he's in. He was the gun shop clerk in The Terminator "Only what you see pal" and the occult bookstore guy (named Walter Paisley!) in The Howling.

He played Monster Joe in Pulp Fiction, but his scene was cut.

What's the deal with the Royal Air Force?

This recent post by Lulu reminded me of a story I saw last week. Lulu has fine taste in pinup art, and she graced her post with some wonderful vintage nose art. Nose art is a fine military tradition going back to WWI, and frequently it's pinup-themed. Cartoon characters are popular too; during WWII the Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP) asked if they could use a Disney character named Fifinella as their mascot. Americans are widely credited with popularizing nose art during WWII, and the Brits probably adopted the practice from them.

The Royal Air Force has now banned pinup-themed nose art, going so far as to order one unit in Afghanistan to scrub the images from their aircraft. Why? Because it might offend Muslims (in the countries they're bombing?), or women serving in the RAF.

The RAF has not received a single complaint from any of the 5,000+ women serving. I can't believe that all those truck bombers are pissed off about a Page 3 Girl.

It was 37 years ago..

On June 12, 1970, Pittsburgh Pirates pitcher Dock Ellis pitched a no-hitter.

While under the influence of LSD.

The Tom Jones Years have started early

Several years ago, after seeing Sir Tom Jones for the first time at the fabulous MGM Grand showroom in Las Vegas, I announced that when I hit a certain age I was going to:

1) Dye my hair jet black,

2) Get all my teeth fixed so they looked like crazy white chiclets,

3) Fake tan to the color of mahogany,

4) Wear a girdle if necessary, and most important of all:

5) Insist that this was the way I always looked.

I figured I'd do this when I hit 60, and I would refer to this new phase of my life as the "Tom Jones Years".

Well, the Tom Jones Years have started a little early I think.

This is a busy time of year around our household: my birthday, Father's Day and our wedding anniversary all fall within 7 days, and it's always a time for reflection and celebration. This year I'm really happy about my birthday--I turn 45 soon--and I realize that I'm at the halfway point of my life. Not in the typical mopey middle-aged man sense that the rest of my life is a long slow decline. No. I'm at the halfway point in the sense that I have an entire second life to live now. I get to do what a lot of people never get to--leave one career, voluntarily and with a good pension, and start a second. And this time it doesn't have to be something I just fall into almost as a fluke, like law enforcement was. I get to choose.

MizBubs and I are both making plans for college in the fall; at the same time that our eldest is getting ready to visit 4-year colleges this month in preparation for transferring next year. It's fascinating to realize that we are essentially asking ourselves the same question that our daughters are asking: what do we want to do with our lives?

So, as I look around at this halfway point, I'm pretty damn lucky and pretty damn happy. This time last year I was kind of depressed--I was recovering from having been gutted like a fish, I had just lost a 3 year long union organizing campaign, and beyond the de-whitetrashification of our house and yard, I had no focus or energy.

Now, you might be asking yourself, what does this have to do with The Tom Jones Years? Well, I'll tell you. I was feeling pretty good after a visit to the dentist Monday--he complimented me on the health of my gums and the general whiteness of my teeth. I was looking forward to running this week, and especially to our first camping trip of the season planned for this weekend.

But I was tired of looking in the mirror and seeing this:


I decided that it was time for a change. So, after much consulting with MizBubs and our eldest (the youngest was not on board for this) we stopped at Walgreen's and invested in a box of Clairol nice n' easy gray solution #4 (dark brown.) Our eldest, the beauty wizard, applied the dye and walked me through the process.

As of this morning, I look in the mirror and see this:


Yes, I have become a ridiculous middle-aged man with a dye job. I have not done the tanning, and while my teeth are healthy they are not gleaming white chiclets. There is no girdle in my future. I am going to make more of an effort to sing and dance and be generally more suave, pausing at certain key points to ask myself WWTJD? MizBubs was mildly startled upon waking this morning (I think she was afraid, briefly, that she'd gotten drunk and fallen into bed with an Elvis impersonator) but she seems happy with it. This is what my hair looked like 18 years ago.

And you know what? I'm happy with it.

"There was no point in looking back, fuck no, not today thank you kindly. My heart was filled with joy. I felt like a monster reincarnation of Horatio Alger; a man on the move, and just sick enough to be totally confident."

--H.S. Thompson

Vacation

Right now my vacation is rolling along nicely. I'm halfway into cleaning out the garage and just came in for some water and to sit a minute. Time to get the shop vac and clean up the bag of leftover grass seed from last year that the mice got into.

Appropriately enough the calypso mix I made is now playing "The Jackass Song":

Jackass will jump and bray
Let him bray, let him bray
Jackass will jump and bray
Let him bray, lordy let him bray

I think tonight will be a good night for takeout food and mint juleps. Now I'm jumping back out to the garage to bray a while.

Tuesday's Top Seven

What the hell. It's Tuesday.

Here's what we're listening to this morning:

Rigor Mortis—The Gravestone Four

Arabia—Siouxsie & the Banshees

Lucky Day—Judy Garland

Hellbound Train—Three Bad Jacks

Outsiders—Franz Ferdinand

Linda Lou—Curley Langley & his Western Allstars

On the Sunny Side of the Street—Keely Smith

Spunky gets pinched

Now here's something you don't see every day:

A clown gets arrested, and the clown is a girl clown, and there's no creepy sex stuff involved. Nope, no computer porn, no sexual assault, just a good girl whose 18 years of clowning has gone down the crapper because she tried smuggling dope into a jail.

According to this story, Spunky the Clown (Manuela Markham) was arrested May 6. Spunky is pictured here in happier times.

Spunky is paying dearly for her lapse in judgement. She's taken her website down, leaving only this anguished and heartfelt apology. Could there be any sadder words than these:

"I cannot forgive myself. I will probably never clown again".

Doing her time...

MizBubs and I were talking about Paris "Rottencrotch" Hilton's return to jail on our way to a birthday party earlier this afternoon. I was telling her that my theory (that Paris' "undisclosed skin condition" was in fact a runaway case of flaming herpes that had rendered her mad) had been confirmed by a number of reliable internet sources.

So anyhow, we were driving along listening to Johnny Cash when the song "Doing My Time" (a cover of an old Flatt & Scruggs number) came on. The first verse goes like this:

On this old rock pile with a ball and chain
They call be by a number not a name, Lord, Lord
Gotta do my time, gotta do my time
With an aching heart and a worried mind

Only MizBubs, who's not normally prone to sing along, promptly piped up with this, deadpan, and in perfect harmony with Johnny's deep rumble:

Gotta do my time, gotta do my time
With an aching twat and a worried mind...

I almost wrecked the car. That MizBubs is a card.

____________________________________

MizBubs has been full of mildly inappropriate fun this weekend. We have always had, shall we say, a satisfying and...enthusiastic relationship. She proved this, once again, by leaving a small yet distinct mark, a bruise perhaps, some might even call it a hickey, on the side of my throat. We got home from the birthday party, and evidently the concealer had worn off. My 18 year old daughter looked at me, grinned, raised her eyebrows and said "oh...that's classy." How goofy is it that I've been reproached, albeit in a good-natured way, by my child? Thank God I wasn't drunk at the time.

____________________________________

For whatever reason MizBubs has decided that she wants to return to the Catholic church. We've attended mass at a couple of different parishes, and found one nearby that we both like. I must say, even after being away for 17 years, it all comes back to you pretty easy.

So, I got the idea that I wanted to go to mass on Saturday afternoon--I always remembered the Saturday mass as being like the casual Friday of worship, and I thought if MizBubs wanted to go to church this weekend, we might as well go on Saturday, and then we could sleep in Sunday morning and go to the farmers market. I talked her into it, and away we went. As we pulled up you could see a number of casually-dressed parishioners walking toward the church. I noted one couple and thought to myself "I hope they're not going in dressed like that." She looked ok, but he looked like he'd spent Saturday afternoon drinking in the forest preserve. He was wearing a B.U.M. Equipment tee shirt and shorts, and looked sweaty and mildly sunburned.

When we go to church, I tend to sit toward the back. I figure the good Christians should get the seats up front. In the past MizBubs has mentioned wanting to sit closer to the altar, so yesterday I thought I'd be a good sport and suggest we sit further up. And we did. A couple minutes after we sat down, a guy sat next to me, with one seat between us. He was wearing short pants, and had a bowl haircut and bright eyes. Big bright enthusiastic eyes. Which he turned on me when he said "HOW ABOUT THOSE CUBS? SORIANO'S REALLY HOT NOW, HE'S REALLY ON FIRE!"

I demurred that I didn't really follow the Cubs, and he went silent. For a while. I shifted in my seat, turned to MizBubs and mouthed "thanks", which she did not appreciate. Then he said, just a little loudly for the usual pre-liturgy murmur inside a church, HEY YOU'RE NOT A SOX FAN ARE YOU? I explained that I don't really follow baseball, then I trotted out the small collection of vacuous sports chat I keep ready for just such occasions. It seemed to satisfy him; he chattered on about Lou Pinella, and then the service started.

When it came time for the homily the priest introduced a missionary from India , who spoke about the good works being done by his charity. When he finished his presentation the parishioners applauded politely, and as the speaker walked away from the podium Mr. Brighteyes Shortpants leaned over toward me and said, loudly and yet in a manner that was meant to be confidential, "YOU KNOW INDIA IS THE LARGEST DEMOCRACY IN THE WORLD."

I looked around and no one seemed to be staring in our direction, which was a relief. Then I noticed the sweaty meatball I'd seen walking in earlier--he was on the other side of the altar, right in the front row, a stocky Ditka-like fellow in baggy shorts and BUM tee shirt. He hadn't taken off his sunglasses and still had that sunburned, sweaty look. He had rolled up one sleeve of his shirt and was vigorously scratching his upper arm. I looked away, and when I looked back he had a large tube of lotion and was pooting a glob of it into one hand. I mean, really pooting--you could tell that anyone within 10 feet of him would hear the sound of the lotion spurting out. Then he proceeded to rub lotion onto his arms while the priest turned the wine and wafers into the body and blood of Christ. I missed the transubstantiation completely, I was so distracted by this guy. He finally finished swabbing himself down and I was able to concentrate on my salvation again.

The rest of the mass continued without incident. Mr. Brighteyes Shortpants left as soon as the priest said "the mass has ended, go in peace" without even waiting for the processional hymn to conclude, so I didn't have to talk any more baseball.

I may need a lot of things, but I'll get nothing and like it

Since I am thoroughly lazy and happy to rip off other folks' good ideas, this is a perfect Sunday morning post. Marni, Lulu and Tenacious S have all done it. As with any trend not involving animal attacks or clowns, I'm way behind the curve.

I typed in "Bubs needs" and googled away, and came to a disturbing discovery. Evidently, somewhere in the English-speaking world, "bubs" must be a common way of referring to a baby:

Sometimes bub's needs will have to come first but remember to think of the other kids and family members.

bubs needs a nappy change

bubs needs to be in bed for a min of 2 hours

I plan on throwing away the books and listening to what bubs needs.

bubs needs the extra iron now

Frankly, I'd be putting the bub's needs first

Finally I got a little further into the search and found a more academic Bubs:

Bub needs to solve the measurement problem (a. problem that Kochen and Specker never discuss)

Bub needs an argument that hidden variable theories that are empirically equivalent to the standard theory are unacceptable to establish his subthesis 1.

I assure you all that I am not a cannibal (unless I crashed on a snowy mountain with a plane full of soccer players, or got lost in the Rockies with some prospectors):

but don't you think bub needs to be eating a person's kidney or something?

Bubs needs a thread. There is alot of love for him. ...Well, ok. I can get behind that last one.

I decided to see how the results would change if I didn't use my nom de blog. BINGO! Now this is a list of stuff I really need:

Joe needs to remember that he is vulnerable to anything that gives an emotional uplift

Joe needs your help to find his broccoli!

Joe Needs Your Help!

Joe needs two cracking matches to avoid going down to reserve and he is capable of doing it if everything is right.

Joe needs to be at this year’s All-Star game in Las Vegas (obviously this person heard about my Las Vegas disappointment earlier this year.)

Joe needs to go.

Joe needs to win it all.

Joe needs to shut his browser when leaving for meetings

joe needs his beauty sleep.

JOE Needs Good Commentaries

Joe needs to get to the other side of the chasm where there are only 2 valves

JOE needs to keep his BIG NOSE out of his life.

JOE needs to give you a can of Italian Whoop Ass (Even if I'm not Italian? Why not?!)

Joe needs $7777 to support 4 months of intensive fund-raising

Joe needs to see a win, and catch a break.

A Perfect Day...

The little canoe that...couldn't

I just sold the little canoe that could. There. It's done.

We bought the skeleton of a 1937 Old Town HW canoe back in July last year. I planned to spend this summer, and most of 2008, restoring it to its former glory. The goal was to have this beauty ready for water by Labor Day 2008.

Well, things change. I called the Chicagoland Canoe Base to see if they had a bulletin board and ended up selling it to the guy who answered the phone. He came out and picked it up today. At least I know it's going to a good home.

The old me of 5-10 years ago would have left this canoe husk sitting in the garage for years, feeling bad about not restoring it at the same time I let it deteriorate year after year. The new, grown up, version of me recognized that I couldn't possibly start working on this for at least another 2 years and promptly found a home for it. Recognizing the problem and quickly removing it makes me feel almost as good as if I'd actually restored the thing.

Oh, I also made a small profit, and the new owner seemed really happy to have it, so I'm sure I sold it at a very fair price.

Life moves on.

Friday random reading

I've just seen this little divertissement from two favorites, Mob and Johnny Yen. Here's how it works:

1) Grab the nearest book once you read this.

2) Open to page 161.

3) Find the 5th full sentence, and post the text, along with these instructions.

Since I'm sitting at my desk on my first taxpayer-funded coffee break of the day, the closest book I had was from a collection of vintage reference books I keep in the cabinet above my desk: Medicolegal Investigation of Death by Spitz and Fisher (2nd printing, 1977.)

"The finely abraded margins of the chest wounds are due to the wedge-like thickness of the blade of this particular type of weapon."

I will survive

I think there a few reasons for this high score:

1) I've always been a paranoid gun nut. Probably from all those zombie movies I watched as a kid.

2) My daughter gave me The Zombie Survival Guide as a gift a few years ago.

3) I've always been a paranoid gun nut.


91%Mingle² - Free Online Dating



From Evil Spock by way of Johnny Yen.

Anyone for camping?

We're going nuts around here because it's June already and we haven't been camping yet.

I was talking with MizBubs and I came up with a bright idea. Wouldn't it be a blast to get a bunch of bloggers together for a camping trip? Nothing too extreme, just a nice weekend spent in the outdoors with a bunch of fun loving characters. There are a number of state parks that have group campsites, and I think that some time in July or August we could find something within a 2-3 hour drive of Chicago. Don't be put off if you've never been camping--you can rent tents and stuff from places like REI, and we pride ourselves on making our friends comfortable in the outdoors.

Would anyone be interested in such an event? Let me know--if there's enough interest I'll find a site and start the planning. And if anyone has any ideas or questions, let me know!