Metro Caveman

As I’ve been trying to better my body for the first time in 50 years, I’ve had some strange thoughts lately. Last night I started thinking about buying a new shirt, something nice to go out in. Then I caught myself. “Who the fuck do you think you are, a Kennedy?” I shrugged off the thought. Then this morning I was heading to the shower, and I saw some stolen-from some fancy hotel soaps etc in The Barber’s toilette. Lathered myself up with the frou-frou soap (ie NOT used Dial soap) and actually put conditioner in my hair. Already feeling like a half a fag I went for the whole penis-chilada and picked up a bottle of “ginseng lotion.” Hmm. Never put on lotion before. Fuck it, started spreading it on myself. Then realized you know what....are you even supposed to put this stuff on in the shower? The one thing I remember about my last girlfriend, other than she was months away from inventing the microwave oven, was that she was constantly putting on lotion while standing around yapping. So I guess I fucked up with the ginseng. You know, if I’m gonna be a metrosexual, I’m gonna need some lessons for fuckssake.

Car Doors

I’ll tell you what drives me bananas. These movies/tv shows where the terrified woman is running from the crazed lunatic, jumps into her car, slams the door and...looks through the window, screaming and terrified. “Lock the goddam door!” I find myself saying. But then the idiot lunatic throws himself upon the car door, pounding the window and screaming “I’m going to kill you bitch!” To which I’m now rolling my eyes “just open the fucking door, dumbass.” Usually followed by a quiet “...did I have my pants on when I sat down?”

Ann Coulter is Not Crazy, She's Just Pissed at Not Being as Hot as Laura Ingraham

It’s almost impossible to get angry at Ann Coulter anymore – in my eyes, if you’re a liberal and let yourself get all puffed up about the garbage she spews then you’re as much of an idiot as the right wingers buying her books and shouting “Amen!” Seriously, how is it even possible people take her seriously at all? But you are right to be pissed at the goddam shows that have her on – Chris Matthews being the most disappointing. You wanna be taken seriously as a “hard news” show, how bout not repeatedly having guests whose sole reason for being on are to “shock!” us? Are ratings that important; why not just have shows with women blowing donkeys while painting on a canvas with their snatches? It’s the same shit.

But Coulter is brilliant cause this go-round she’s acting EXASPERATED! FURIOUS! Angry that these shows are having her on all day long to defend herself. She’s pissed!!!....sprinting to her limo to run from show to show to desperately hawk herself (oh so reluctantly.) Which these shows allow her to do. Hell, on Chris Matthews show she got him to badger her to agree to debate John Edwards on the issues! Excuse me? I mean, can ANYONE get a televised debate with a Presidential candidate? “Sir, if you’re serious about running this country you’re going to have to explain yourself on national tv to this woman whose credentials include weighing 4 pounds and being crazy. You better get your shit together!!”

Ann Coulter is not crazy, she’s not the devil; that’s giving her too much credit. If I could make a billion dollars screaming that Baby Jesus dated Hitler and shit out the Three Little Pigs, I would. It’s not just that people are sheep, people are stupid sheep. Look at the GOP. All they’ve screamed for the last ten years is FAMILY VALUES!! FAMILY VALUES!! THE FETUS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING EVER!! Now here come Guiliani, the exact opposite of this credo, and what do you know, Pat Robertson is playing grab-ass with him the other day “Rudy’s a great guy! My guy for prez!!” So at that moment millions of people spin 180 degrees from what they’ve been trained to think and now Rudy’s their man. And it doesn’t even occur to them to think WHY they’re changing their vote. Except, of course, the people who can’t wait to vote for some jackass actor cause he looks “serious and presidential!” on a tv show. I suppose these are the same idiots that would feel safe if Kareem Abdul-Jabbar strapped on some epaulets and sat down in the cockpit.

And I will say this, and you heard it here first: my Xmas senses are tingling, and I see Coulter only has one more crazy, media-grabbing direction to go. Nothing outrageous to say, I guarantee that within 12 months of today she will do the unthinkable: ditch the Repubs and OHMYGOD!! swing allegiance to the left. Genius. Will propel her career another 10 years.











"Keep blathering, Ann....but guess whose tongety-tongs Xmas is gettin up in?"

Assault on Breezing

CNN cuts away from Bill Cosby in the middle of an interview about inner-city pestilence, scrambling in a panic to not miss a moment of Paris getting out of "jail." Round the clock the last 24 hours, Ann Coulter spraying her flamethrower of hate simply because she's great ratings on "news networks." Spice Girls going on another "world tour." Nothing about the war, nothing about 20 beheaded bodies popping up in Iraq, CERTAINLY nothing about the White House refusing to turn over subpoened papers today.

So I'm begging you, anyone out there: will somebody PLEASE kidnap a pretty young blonde girl again so we can at least get back to SOME semblance of "news"? Please?

The Spice Girls...

...in Xmastime Wants to Bang Order:

1) Sporty Spice - gonna hafta be athletic to keep up with the boudoire acrobatics I've been working on. You know...solo...since...1984. sigh.

2) Posh Spice - just cause. Peel that fake orange skin off, make a rubber out of it and pop those fake titties with a pin as I arrive to completion.

3) Scary Spice - let's see who scares who when I show her my "clown shoe." And by "clown shoe" I mean "huge penis." And by "let's see who scares who when I show her my "clown shoe." And by "clown shoe" I mean "huge penis." " I mean "I hope a hot chick reads this and decides to fuck me because she now thinks I have a huge penis." And by "And by "let's see who scares who when I show her my "clown shoe." And by "clown shoe" I mean "huge penis." " I mean "I hope a hot chick reads this and decides to fuck me because she now thinks I have a huge penis." " I mean I cried at the end of My Girl. So I'm a pussy, fucking sue me.

4) Baby Spice - how'd she sign off on choosing this character? "....athletic sexy one...no...snobby, hot sex kitten one, no thanks...hmm, here's one...dress and coo like a baby, pigtails a-blazing and white cotton drawers for pedophiles everywhere to sniff...heeeeeeeey, now THAT'S just about right......." yeesh.

5) Ginger Spice - nyet.

Good luck on the tour , ladies. SOMEthing tells me it's not gonna be the music we're gonna be hearing about.

Girlfriend

As this is the year I'm deciding to change everything about myself except for my outrage over the very existence of Asians, my mind has been drifting lately to thoughts of having a girlfriend for the first time in years. And by "in years" I mean "do women still listen to Hootie and eat Snackwells cookies by the carton?" Thinking if I steer the ship right maybe it's time to turn in my idiot chips and start sharing something with someone. Not that I've been beating chicks off with a stick, mind you. Though I have been beating off. A lot. And by "a lot" I mean "do women still listen to Hootie and eat Snackwells cookies by the carton, cause I'll beat off to that image too." It's not as if I've been fending off ladies' committment advances to protect my wild nights of fucking women by the truckload; but looking at how I live, there does seem to be a stubborness, an unwillingness to grow up and accept that I can be a normal adult for once. Of course it helps that most of my friends are married off and popping out kids etc; the glory days of burning down the town every night are long gone by now. There is an attractiveness to the idea of doing something worthwhile during the day and then sharing it with someone afterwards, both in victory and defeat. I used to see girlfriends as someone to fuck and blather my stories over and over to. Now I see them as someone to cook me a meal after spraying their backs with some Vitamin Xmastime. I'm kidding! I'm a kidder!!...obviously a simple sandwich would do. But I guess at this stage of my life it wouldn't be so terrible to have someone to have a greater plan with, someone to try to connect with and move forward as a unit. Me and my girl against the world. Of course, writing shit this mushy makes me think I should be thinking of dudes instead. Hmm.

I'll tell you whats weird. Knowing that you haven't even met your soul mate yet, that at this point you have zero history together, no point of reference. I could meet her 10 minutes from now, but that's still almost 35 years spent so far that she was not a part of, not even a notion. That's kinda weird/depressing. She could be in Iowa right now, oblivious to me as I am to her, having lived almost half our lives not conceiving of each other, growing up on some sort of parallel plane, our lives continuing but never crossing. Like two guys pissing into the same toilet, but instead of crossing streams, their relief flowing side by side, buttocks lightly touching as each grips his own clam hammer almost subconsciously tugging as their smiles at each other turns to slow looks downwards, silent consent overpowering all consequence. I do not know how to make this point any clearer to you people.

So anyways. If Mrs. Xmastime is out there hurry the fuck up and get here so I can go see "License to Wed" before it leaves the theaters for chrissake.

Before TC was Nutz

Is "All the Right Moves" by far the best high school football flick there is? Gray and dreary, they don't win the big game, no rah-rah bullshit. Always found it pitch perfect. Christ, is there even a close second? "Varsity Blues" is beyond absurd. "Wildcats" doesn't count (comedy + Coach Goldie = not a real football flick.) And as much as I love "Remember the Titans" featuring my boyfriend Denzel, it's way too hokey/Disney. "All the Right Moves." Schliiiiiiiice.

I'm Worth a Used 1992 Buick Skylark. Great.

The results of my cadaver quiz.


$4500.00The Cadaver Calculator - Find out how much your body is worth

Mingle² - Online Dating

If LIfe is a Bowl of Cherries, Why I Got Holes in My Pits?

Someone pointed it out the other day but I didn't really pay attention (why would I - was I talking?), and then just now I realized I have the exact same hole in the left armpit of every t-shirt I have. What the fuck is this? Now let's pause while godihateyourband makes a "quip" re: my armpit funk.....aaaaaaaaaaaaaand...we're back... I've never noticed myself digging in my pits or scratching. And if that could produce such holes, I would not own a pair of pants that covered my crotch. Wtf. A phenomenon indeed.

The Rambler!

A warm Xmastime greeting to a friend of mine at Ramblings from the Back Row. Dude's already got Blogger Rule #1 down: write about Gatorade as much as possible ;) enjoy!

Oh, for Fuck's Sake

Whats up with those buttons at intersections, that basically say “push button to stop traffic”? Seems like we’re trying to play God here, no? I don’t know anyone who knows anyone whose ever seen or heard of anyone pushing this thing. I need to show 4 forms of i.d. and a color copy of my DNA helix to get a membership at the video store, yet the city somehow trusts me with handling traffic? Really? Maybe I can hit JFK and land some planes too?

Which reminds me. Grocery stores: what happened to your bag boys? The $0.49/hr you were paying got too steep? What the fuck, now I find myself having to fucking bag my own shit? And it’s always that awkwardness; I’ll fumble with my money extra long so that the cashier will finally decide to do it. Cause you feel like an asshole just standing there until she finally does; people behind you sighing and rolling their eyes. I’ll time it til she starts it, feign starting to reach for a bag “oh, you got it, okay.” Is having someone bag my groceries too much too ask, too steep a service? I don’t wanna fucking bag, I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m putting the milk and croutons in the same bag with my Over-Sized Specially Made I Hope She’s a Horse Hefty Bag Condoms; can someone else fucking help me please?

Paper or plastic. Pack the shit up in your foreskin, I don’t give a shit, just fucking do it for fucksakes.

5 People I Hate Right Now

1) Chicks who wear t-shirts with "clever" sayings over their tits and then get pissed when they catch me trying to read them. “Ogling pervert”, they glare. Yes, wearing a shirt that says “Meet the Twins” or “Got Milk” makes you the funniest person in the world, just don’t get pissed when it’s me and not Brad Pitt reading it. You want me to not notice your chest, how bout not having something that screams “please read me!!” I don’t have a video iPod carved into my dick for attention; if I did I might expect looks and not get bent out of shape when it happened. Yes, there’s a “bent out of shape” joke in there somewhere. I’m a 34 year old man, I have exactly two skills in this world: getting out of doing shit by feigning complete ineptitude, and getting a nice look at your titties without you knowing it. If I wanna see your titties, I’ve already looked 5 times without you even realizng. So calm down. Unlike you, I’m actually trying to read something. You’re just barely above the brainiacs who have Chinese symbol tattoos just above their asscracks. At least they’re sluts; you’re just an idiot.

2) Dudes out with their girlfriends who take issue with you even glancing at their girls. Hey guess what, I wasn’t the one who let her out of the house looking like a New York walking poodle slut. Did you not see her when you were leaving the house? Did you not think to yourself you know, if I saw some chick walking down the street with her thong up to her ribs and cut-off shirt barely covering her fake titties, I might look for maybe 1/32th of a second? Either keep her in her cage, or get used to dudes looking at her, or date ugly woman. Either way, sometimes I think I have the greatest set of nuts a man has ever had. Seriously, they’re fucking amazing.

3) People who say that something or somebody is “very average.” Stop it. By it’s very definition nothing “average” can be “very” anything. We get it, your boyfriend’s penis is 5.08 inches. Now get dressed and get the fuck outta my room. To paraphrase Lori Singer’s redneck boyfriend in Footloose, I’m about done with you. Anyways. Quit with the fucking “very average” nonsense. Also: interesting I felt the need to actually name the movie the Lori Singer moment was in; as if it could’ve possibly been from another movie anyone has ever seen/heard of. That’s like saying “So I was listening to the Baha Men’s huge hit...you know, “Who Let the Dogs Out", and...” Or, I guess, me saying “...so I was handling my most perfect of features...you know, my over-the-top, almost absurdly perfect testicles, and...”

4) The fat fucks I’m watching on The Learning Channel. People that weigh about 900lbs, don’t leave their beds and eat almost 20,000 calories a day. I don’t care that they eat so much, but how can they buy all this fucking food? Dude I’m looking at right now – hasn’t left the bed in over a decade. His family is like a rotating hotel staff, constantly cooking for him. They assuage themselves as enablers by saying well, if we don’t give him food he’ll just order delivery. What? Where is this money coming from? Is he selling pictures of his gargantuan man titties online? Doubtful, he probably ate the computer. And I would’ve recognized him. What the fuck. Now we see him shrug and say “I love food, I’m addicted to eating!” Hey, if I could afford it I’d be addicted to Brazilian hookers coming over to sit on my face while wrapping a Pizza Hut meat lover’s around my dick, but I can’t. Flummoxed. And if you’re thinking I’m shilling to Pizza Hut for an endorsement deal, you’re not wrong. Between my almost perfect set of testicles and willingness to do anything with a pizza, I think they could do worse. Oh wait. They have.









Cause nothing makes me hungry for pizza like a pig in a low-cut dress hanging from strings. Mmmmm. But enuff about the last woman I had back in my apartment.

5) Bands that are AMAZED at themselves re: “how this record came together.” Araarrrrrggggghhh. Every time some fuckwad band is releasing an album now, they sit back and in interviews nd MARVEL at how this record “came together.” They’re mystified, wowed at how this magic happened. “Yeah, I mean, how this record was made, I mean it just somehow happened, came together, like magic, you know?” ummm...you mean you wrote some songs, some people came and played them and you recorded it? Wow! What a MYSTERY!!! Shut the fuck up. And then there’s always the jagoff who’s gotta take time out to let us know that while recording gee, I dunno, he just doesn’t really trust “technology.” He’s a luddite, all about the music! Shut the fuck up. You play electric instruments and record mostly onto a computer after which you pray that 15 year olds download your songs onto their iPods. So quit this stupid act; quit acting like if it were up to you you’d whisper your songs into blades of grass until the ghost of Robert Johnson heard your amazing, ethereal cuts and somehow made them available at Starbucks. Fuck. YEEEEEEW!

FAT UPDATE: dude they’re showing now, big as a house. Fat folds that you wouldn’t believe, folds coming down like flaps in a car wash. All of a sudden I realize something: he’s wearing underwear. Perfect. I weigh as much as a small car, my man titties are on the floor and I got more folds than a Texaco road map that’s been open and closed by a old Chinese woman with press-on nails; I should put on some drawers to cover up a dick that a dog couldn’t find if you stapled a pork chop to it. Awesome. Also, he’s talking about his love for food, and he says “it’s better than sex.” I see...so this is a conscious choice; you COULD be banging out some hot trim, but instead you'd rather lay in your bed and eat a whole live chicken dipping in liquified pork skins and M&Ms. Good for you!

No Wonder Kids Hate Baseball

Not only is he my most hated ballplayer, but Curt Schilling's blog B L O W S. Fucking christ, EVERY entry an intro paragraph is the same "golly, I was terrible, thanks to my teammates we won..." blah blah. We get it, you're pretending to be modest, move on!!!! Always followed by a 50000 word pitch by pitch analysis. "So then I threw a curveball...then a slider...then a cutter...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz." Hey dipshit, anyone who cares to read this shit SAW THE GAME! We don't need the not-so-instant replay! Almost as bad as during the games you'll sit through a 12-pitch at-bat, only to have the announcers immediately show you every single pitch over again. I JUST SAW IT!!! If you need to stall, scan the fucking crowd for some titties for chrissake. Enough with this horseshit. And I don't wanna see another ballplayer's "musings" unless it's a daily account of the post-game spread. And I don't just mean the legs.

Funeral Slice

Len Bias

Every year on this day I think about Len Bias, my sadness twofold as I think about one of the(the?) greatest players I ever saw in the middle of the ACC Golden Era as well as what the Celtics missed out on when he died two days after they drafted him. Prolly the greatest "what if?" in basketball history. I've waxed crybaby here before about those ACC days, you know this. And his death is somehow my own JFK moment - I can still feel myself lolling on my bed that summer day, facing the wall on my left and reading "Ball Four" when the announcement came on the radio. No, he was no JFK, but JFK was no Frosty either.

Anyways, I guess I never really knew how much his death affected drug enforcement; it turns out with the 1986 midterm elections coming on the heels of his death every politico wanted to go on record as being a hard-ass on drug enforcement, and our War on Drugs really cranked up and the number of inmates imprisoned because of drugs went from 36,000 to 159,000 in a matter of years. Of course mostly young black men. I can't believe this is really a good thing, unless you think constantly sending men to prison over and over has won the war on drugs. The Archduke Ferdinand of the Drug War, they call him now. Jesus.

The Parrots

Least the Pirates are good for sumpin. Dying.

Sicko

Michael Moore’s new flick Sicko , a doc about the absurdity of America being the only industrialized nation not to have national health care, has been making the punditry rounds lately, and one thing I’m tired of fucking hearing are these people shaking their heads “I just don’t trust the government to handle anything.” They shake their heads sadly looking out at us in tv-watching land, and we find ourselves nodding solemnly and before you know it we’re supposed to be suckered into some sort of “us against them” when it comes to the government handling something of importance.

It’s not even that I don’t agree with them sometimes; it’s just that I don’t believe them. In no way are they thinking “how can we make healthcare so universal and affordable it no longer is even an issue, is it even possible?” They’re thinking “how can I turn healthcare into a way to make me and my 5 friends bazillionaires?” So they push this lie, this “gee, if only I could trust the government with this….” Nonsense.

Ironically, these are often the same people that somehow trust the government when it comes to sending troops around to get shot at. No one’s been right for one minute in the last six years, everything has been proven to be a lie, but these people pop a hammy springing up “hold on, wait a minute, let’s give these guys a chance, let’s see what happens!!” Interesting. Blindly accept lie after lie and body parts in Hefty bags coming back, that’s okay, we need to trust the government then. But making it so that I can get a flu shot without blowing a coupla dudes out back, oh no no no, there’s no way we can trust the government then.

What about the fire departments? I know it’s not the federal government, but it’s local government, still publicly funded et al. If one of these people’s house is on fire, do they not call the local fire house? “Oh no don’t call them, I don’t trust the government! Call…Wayne. I guess.” It’s absurd.

The government can be capable of doing great things. We put men on the moon, we reconstructed Europe, we mandated that any woman under 30 has to have a brazillian. Okay, amazing things. I was reading the Bill of Rights and Constitution this weekend (the 2001 World Almanac was in the shitter) and was blown away. These men were brilliant; they had precise vision and astounding foresight. I’m surprised they didn’t come up with an answer to “How to handle Paris going to jail.” Theirs was an ascension to power driven by intellect and compassion; now we’re guided by money and birthright. But it IS possible to find people who can do great things again; to assert that in principle the government cannot handle something is absurd. We’re off-track now because of the boobs we’ve placed in office, but don’t fall for this “gee, I dunno…” bullshit. Demand competence, demand “We can have universal healthcare and ________ can do it; don’t like it get out of the way and get back to your frat parties.” It’s a big fat lie they’re feeding you, quit fucking eating it up with a spoon. And in case you haven't noticed, it's the same people who shake their heads about trusting the government who are the ones who put these fuckwads in power in the first place. Gee. What a mystery.

Once Again...

...what a fucking douchebag. Nailed on the head by Sully. And as much fun as watching Rudy's buffoonish campaign is, seriously, if you vote for him you are a fucking idiot. Period.

Fried Chicken Friday

LOWERY'S RESTAURANT
Tappahannock, VA
ZERO Xmas Trees

So I was down home this weekend, and since I hadn’t had it in about 20 years decided to swing by Lowery’s and see if the chicken was how I remembered it (see previous post on it.) RRTHUR (yes ladies, THAT Rrthur) and I went to the carry-out section in the back of the restaurant and ordered the 2-piece white meat with 2 sides meal, along with an iced tea.

$10.10

Are you fucking kidding me? $10 for 2 pieces?!?!?! In TAPPAHANNOCK??!! And the place was packed, how the fuck can these shitkickers be okay with these prices? You’d think an advantage of living in a tiny Southern town would be cheap restaurant food, but Christ. For $10 I could get a 2-piece meal in Times Square, and I wouldn’t have to live in a hick town and watch my wife gain 400 pounds 3 minutes after saying “I do.” Unreal. Side note: I think global warming might be affected by my hometown. Seriously, if you stacked all the backfat I saw end to end it wouldn’t actually reach the sun, because it would melt as it got close and fry the whole earth like one big fat ball of bacon. I actually saw one woman who was about 4’11 and 250lbs that had a t-shirt that said “I’m Sexy in the Back.” Um, no, you’re not. Well, unless by “back” you mean in the back of a truck chewing on a bale of hay. Maybe she’s confused, so let me help: if you’re closer in body type to Louie Anderson than Pam Anderson, you are not sexy. Period.

Anyways. Back to the chicken. Not how I remember it. It actually looked good – crispy, golden brown. Crust clung perfectly to the meat. A good start. Then I bit into it. Turns out I could’ve saved about $9 by just filling up a bowl with a pound of salt and leftover fish oil. Not great, in other words. Only in a town like this could a semi-famous restaurant who made it bones on “famous” fried chicken, while the rest of the world is siphoning itself off trans fats and vegans wanna separate their stuff from the vegetarians who don’t want their tofu touching my brontosaurus puffs, say “fuck it, throw the chicken in with the fish grease….and charge ‘em $10.” How are they still in business? Who falls for this shit? And I know that for damn sure if the redneck who ordered after us knew we were in from Brooklyn he would’ve chuckled/sneered at us, that in NY we’d pay twice as much and it wouldn’t be “the real thing.” Hmm. Well. Maybe the fried chicken I could buy up here in Brooklyn might not be “the real thing”, but at least it'd be “tasty” and “not cost more than your wife’s Crisco Double-Dipped Butterfinger Crossan-wich” and, you know, “not fish.”

I won’t waste time on the pathetic sides other than to say that here we are in the middle of a county that is 99.8% farmers (the 0.2% being of course myself an Ringo, the local celebrity vagabond who lives in a tree house), the local hometown restaurant says "no thanks, fuckface!" to the local farmers' offerings and instead choosing to go with a single, tiny scoop of instant mashed potatoes. You know, “the real thing.” $10.10

Anyways. Disappointing. And it’s not like it’s the old days and there’s no other game in town; you’re better off going to one of the other 9000 joints around. Or sticking your head in the river and waiting for a rockfish to shit in your mouth, whichever.

Here Come the Cougars

Coupla weeks ago a friend of mine dropped the term "Cougar"; ie older chick on the prowl for younger dudes. Since then I haven't gone three minutes without hearing the term; from NYC all the way to Tappahannock VA and back again. I have never heard a new term set ablaze this quickly, even in this age of the internet and sickle cell. Yesterday I heard it on The View and on PTI and I joked to the Barber that if Regis drops it, I'm saying something. Just flipped during a "Dawson's Creek" commercial (second episode ever - Dawson's whore mom busted by Joey!!!!) and within seconds King Regis BAM!!! says Cougar. What the fuck.

My cougar resume here.

















"That's right, youngster...no teeth. Zero."

Lack of Effort?

700 pedophiles, 10 months, and only 31 children?....anyone else here thinking "lazy"? Making the effort to step outside the bounds of society and get involved in maybe the single-most forbidden taboo there is; can't I expert you to NOT be an underachiever once you've made this decision? Is hard-core pedophilia really something you'd wanna half-ass? Am I outta bounds here?

Important Ruminations

Is side 2 of Tim the single greatest album side ever?

Bastards of Young
Lay it Down Clown
Left of the Dial
Little Mascara
Here Comes a Regular

I mean, that's tuff to top. Always been a special joint for me. Maybe side 1 of Meet the Beatles is better, but that can't really count cause that's almost a greatest hits package, since it's a bastard version of the British With the Beatles. I can't think of a better side...what am I missing?

Also I think my fave Bruce side might be side 2 of Born in the USA.

No Surrender
Bobby Jean
I'm Goin Down
Glory Days
Dancing in the Dark
My Hometown

I mean, the worst cut there is "Glory Days", and people loved that one (lil goofy for me, but alright.)

Also considering moving Born in the USA into the #2 slot on my Favorite Bruce Album List over the incredible Nebaska (can't dance to it, bit one-note) and super-slice The River (too sprawling/drives me crazy re: outtakes are better than the album itself.) Will keep you posted.

A Day Late (Sue Me)

As one would ascertain from previous postings on this site, my father was a no-nonsense guy. From the old school of “children are meant to be seen working, not heard”, his favorite pastime was “let’s see if I can come up with something ridiculously menial for the boys to do in the baking heat for a few hours.” The only thing that would save you from being sent outside to work was if you were reading a book. If on one of his search and destroy missions looking for my brother and me you had your face deep in a book and looked like you were so engrossed in reading he could walk up and kick you in the nuts you wouldn’t notice, he’d leave you alone and you were safe for another day. (I’m particularly proud of my single masterstroke as a young buck: convincing my dad that somehow, defying the laws of science, I actually read BETTER if accompanied by a radio that was blaring, in his words, “jungle music.” I guess when you played the bugle in the Marines, everything that’s not Reville is “jungle music.” I still don’t know how I convinced him of this – “I don’t know Dad, somehow I just retain more if the radio’s on; weird, I know!”...meanwhile I’m on page 7 of ‘Then Again, Maybe I Won’t” for 6 weeks; don’t matter anyways cause I’m holding the thing upside down while rocking out to Extra 104.1 outta La Plata/Waldorf.) But if you were doing anything else, like watching tv, or writing the episode of The Brady Bunch where Mike finally snaps at Alice "well guess what, you're NOT a member of this family, so shut the fuck up and carry your fat ass outta my face, bitch!", you were sent outside to work. Now, the funny thing about whenever my dad would give us shit to do is that NO MATTER WHAT, you were gonna do the job twice. The first time he’d check our work, no good. Need to do it again. Then after he’d come out again, THEN the job is done. "Good job boys!" My brother and I painted the exterior of our house 3 times, and every room on the inside about 5 times when we were young. Every single time, my dad would give us a speech that you know, if we did an incredible job the first coat, it wouldn’t even need a second coat. After being duped by this several times, my brother and I learned that we could fly in the US Olympic Bedroom Painting Team and when the first inspection came, it would still fail. “Nope, sorry...gonna need another coat. Get to work.” And of course for the second coat we could spray paint “I Fuck Cats” all over the walls, and then he’d come in and say we were done, good job, see what you can accomplish when you work hard etc etc etc....

My favorite “keep the boys busy and out of learning about German shit-porn, even the really artistically done stuff” job was always shifting gravel in the driveway to “even it out.” This is a job I’ve since asked around about, and no one I know has ever heard of doing this. It usually went like this:

11:20am – my brother and I sent outside with 2 rakes, told to shift the gravel around, even out the driveway.
11:34am – we’re still standing in the driveway, wondering what the fuck he’s talking about. Flick some gravel around with our rakes, stand around.
11:35am - take the top off the well, see how deep down it is til there’s water by spitting into it and listening for spit to hit water.
11:41am – remember that’s where our drinking water comes from.
11:56am – finish spitting into well. "Sounds like 15 feet deep? Why is Neil Diamond here?"
12:01pm – toss around theory that our father controls the heat of the sun by sending us outside to work. Decide it’s unlikely, that if he had such power over the universe, we’d probably have a riding lawn mower. (Which, incidentally, my dad finally bought the day I left for college. Now that my 12-year career of cutting grass with a 200-lb push mower with square wheels was over, I can see him thinking "hey, this is a good time to get that riding mower Xmastime has been crying about since 1983." aaaarrrrrrrrggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!)
12:03pm - 90 second fight of the century: I turn blind with rage, my upper teeth dig into my bottom lip and I leap at my brother, promising death as my fists rain Hell down upon him like Satan’s dogs released from their pen of hell-fire. This time, I’m not letting up. No gov'na!!
12:04pm – my Fists from Hell didn’t get the memo re: “no letting up.”
12:05pm – the tide is turning. This might not end well for me.
Still 12:05pm – my shirt is in ribbons and hanging from a tree.
Still 12:05pm – I am covered in dirt with gravel sticking all over my body and can barely breathe or see through the wall of tears built of up in my eyes I’m desperately trying to hold back, little bird-chest heaving with crazed emotion. Toughskins bloodied all over. Then I see I scuffed my brother’s precious fucking Converse Weapons. Ha! Not a crushing defeat, but I’ll take it - a W is a W.
12:07pm – Flicking gravel around. Ask him what 5th grade is like. Lot tougher than 4th?
12:09pm – brother has realized I scuffed his shoes. Let’s skip ahead to “does not end well for Xmastime.”
12:20pm – Dad comes out for inspection. Ruefully shakes head. What do you know; no good, need to keep working. Hmm.

And on and on. The second hour outside would be mostly a combination of 1) my brother explaining to me what an idiot I am 2) my little sister stepping out for a minute to complain about how chilly it was inside with the a/c pumping and how it’s affected the keg of Rice Krispie Treats and 3) broad jump competition. Finally after an hour our dad would come out and give us his “see, if you work hard and do it the right way and come up with the definitive search engine for the internet, you will succeed” speech. Every time. Looking back of course it was all for our benefit; learning to work hard, getting fresh air/exercise et al. Or else he was running a Russian fuck-pig operation outta underground tunnels from inside the house; either way, I don't know. I'm not a doctor.

I know my father loved me, he raised me etc but he made it clear that he was the father, we were not “buddies.” His job was not to play grab-ass with us and buy us beer. But I see my friends with their pops now that we’re all adults and wonder what it’s like to have more than JUST that father/son dynamic and evolve over the years into more of a respect/friendship idea, that “I’m still your father but my job raising you is done” thing. Sit on the porch, have a beer and laugh about stupid shit I did, or women, whatever. He could talk about when he was my age, what he did, thought etc. Jealous is too strong a word, but I’m always aware of it when I see my friends hang out with their fathers at this stage of our lives, interacting as adults/friends. I wonder what it’s like, I wonder what my relationship with my dad right now would be. Wonder what it’d be like to see an older version of myself; to see in him where I was from and also what I was to become. Life can be hard when you can honestly say "well, I'll never know" and there's nothing you can do about it. But you move on, try to figure it out yourself. A piece of the puzzle that shows who you are may be gone, but you can always try to wonder I reckon. Wonder who he was, who you are, who you'll become. Wonder what you’d be like as a father.

Who am I kidding...my boys' gonna be outside every Saturday shifting gravel in the baking sun. Shit’s in my genes!! ;)

Happy Father’s Day.

PS - Someone wrote and asked if I could re-post the "first love/report card" post. Here it is; enjoy.

The Red Green Show

I got hooked on "The Red Green Show" while living in Oxford. From Canadian PBS, Red is a "handyman" who usually resorts to fixing everything with duct tape, "the hanyman's secret weapon." Or somoetimes he calls it "the universal adaptor." Here's a great clip I found, enjoy.

Animals

Playing with the boy earlier, with his collection of toys that all insist on making animal noises, I started thinking "is a frog the only animal whose signature noise (ribbit) is one letter away from being another animal (rabbit)?" Then of course I thought of a dog saying woof is one letter off of wolf, so that's that.

Then I started thinking wouldn't it be funny to have a website where people can send in pictures of themselves pretending to have sex with their pets? Not REALLY having sex, of course. Something like holding the dog's head in your crotch, looking like she's blowing you. Or holding a kitten and pretending you're fucking it from behind. Seriously, cracking me up right now. Dying.

The Single Greatest Thing I've Ever Seen

courtesy Dependable Renegade

30 Days

So my thirty days is up tomorrow. I gotta be honest, I'm slightly shocked at the new habits I've picked up. Eating normal food in human amounts, exercising etc. I feel 100% confidant I'll hit my goal by the end of the year. It's slow, but steady, which I guess is what they always say to do. I don't care about eating fast food again, I could go without it another month. Soda I could give a shit about. But you can bet your ass tomorrow I'm buying some egg foo young the size of my head :)

A WARNING:

I have begun to see muscles on my body that have been MIA since about 1990. First of all, muscles: welcome back. And yes, that OJ shit was whack. Second of all, LADIES: in about 2 months you're gonna wanna break up with your gentleman suitors, if only temporarily, and get a piece of some Xmastime. I'm picturing a lot of catfights; it could get ugly. Well. Not for me. And you ladies who will see me in August at the beach when I loll around with no shirt on....say hello to the King of the Beach. It's gonna be a good time to be Xmastime from here on out!

Eddie and the Cruisers. What. the. fuck.

The only thing that saves "Eddie and the Cruisers" from being one of the dumbest, most implausible flicks of all time is the fact that the sequel is even worse. So bad in fact is deserves a running blog while watching, which I promise in the near future.

This thing is basically "Road House" set to Springsteen, isn't it? I mean, wow. And why is Eddie proclaimed to be such a genius if "Word Man" actually wrote all the songs? Eddie's a genius for going "..yeah! that sounds good, Word Man!" Christ. A highlight is when they're recording "A Season in Hell" and he goes on a tirade, shouting "I wanna do something great! I wanna do something ain't no one ever done before!!!" Umm...you mean have Word Man crank out some 3-chord garage rockers that pretty much sounded exactly like every white rock number up to that time? Hmm. Wow, Eddie! You did it again!!!

And when he gets in an argument with Sallie re: "Betty Lou's Got a New Pair of Shoes" being too fast. "I need some space, so people know what I'm singing about!!" umm...Eddie. You're singing about some broad getting some new shoes. Relax. rock it out; it's not "My Back Pages", I don't think anyone's gonna miss anything.

And then there's Wendall. Eddie's "best friend." Gee, I wish I had a best friend who is 1) black (in 1962, mind you) 2) 25 years older than me 3) plays sax 4) never speaks a single word, only nods his head approvingly while I spew my "genius." The big Wendall scene being, of course, the night after he dies and Eddie goes up to the mic at the start af the set to speak. Apparently the director asked Michael Pare "look really really sad!"

"I just buried my best friend...now they tell me I gotta come up here and entertain you people...I can't." and he walks off. Nice. I'm sure the band weren't pissed, I'm sure they weren't thinking "hey thanks a lot fuckface; you might've mentioned this before we set up hours ago, soundchecked, got into our "Cruiser togs" and let 100 people into the bar. Really, thanks."

And then the ending. The big documentary on Eddie comes on tv. Now, you'd think if someone is living and breathing, they might know when a tv special to be shown to about 300,000,000 people is coming on. Might set aside plans that evening and sit down and watch. Eddie? Nah. In the final shot, we see that he's 1) alive!! omigod!!! 2) watching it on the street, through a storefront window with about ten other people clustered around in front of "Ye Olde TV Shoppe." Were these people left over from watching the moon landing? Eddie, Eddie. Too REAL to watch it in his own house!!!

A truly, as the kids say, spectacularly bad movie.

In His Mother's Arms Was All the Beauty I Could Take

The single greatest "I just had a kid!!!!" song has to be be "Living Proof." There is no close second; I am convinced of this.

In a world so hard and and dirty so foul and confused,
Searchin for a little bit of God's mercy
I found living proof

Phil Spector

Though it doesn't matter cause they're both dwarfed by "Then He Kissed Me", I'm in a dilemma at this moment, trying to figure out if I like "Be My Baby" or "Baby I Love You" more. Aw fuck it, I don't wanna talk about it.

My Dream Life

Coupla years ago for my buddy's 40th birfday his wife rented out a Veteran's Hall and threw a surprise party for him. It was a great great night, but it is mostly the next morning that I will always remember. A few of us went back to clean up/pick up leftovers et al, and when I walked in and was in love. It was a coupla old dudes at a bar drinking beer watching football while Motown quietly played in the background and the a/c, apparently fueled by the space shuttle, kept the place at about -1 degree. Or, as I might say, h-e-a-v-e-n. It was everything I ever dreamed of in a bar: cold, football, great music but quiet, and no chicks. I was flabbergasted. I was jealous, and ever since every time I've walked by one of those joints I try to peep in, get a look at the dream life.

Today I was strolling the boy and passed one and there were two dudes in lawn chairs on the sidewalk. Musta each been oh, I dunno...135 years old. I looked in and was thrilled: wood paneling, dark, coupla old men drinking. As I was strolling passed the dudes sitting I couldn't resist and asked "Man, what do I hafta do to get into this club?" To which Pops growled "kill some fucking Japs."

Sigh. (tearing up!)

Veep Veep!

Hey, what's the deal with ex-presidents running for vp? It's legal right; wasn't Ford gunning to be Ronnie's bff? Wouldn't it be great if at the convention Hillary ditches whomever she had picked and announces "Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce the next vice president of the United States...the Dylan to my own Brenda, the Tony to my Angela, Mr. William Jefferson Even Black Girls Gottsta Shout Clinton!!!!!" Bill shoots out a trapdoor doing a backflip, sax blaring "Don't Stop", hits the mic and, after the 20-minute applause dies down, says "what can I say, fat Jewish chicks do it better; now can we get back to bidness?" (deafening roar)

Beyond Ridiculous

This I've read about through the years; it always seems the height of absurdity and for some reason the powers that be seem determined to ruin this kid's life, no matter what. I'm not clever enough to deduce what the reasoning behind such baffling recalcitrance could be, but I do agree with Andrew Sullivan: would be different if he was white.

Also, the thing that kills me is they have since changed the law partly based on his case, but don't apply it to him. Unreal. "Sorry buddy, we changed the very law we sent you away for because thanks to you we realized how ridiculous it was, but tough shit you yourself gotta stay in prison. Ain't that a kick in the orange jumpsuit?" I think a voice of reason needs to step in down there. Of course, where's Al and Jesse? There's no cameras in Georgia? There has to be; my first "manage a moi" moment was to Daisy Duke, and she was in Georgia.

Portrait of the Autist as a Retarded Man

It just dawned on me I haven't switched out the books on my list on the left for about 4 months. So anybody that's been looking is prolly thinking "hmmm...Xmastime is a BIT of a, shall we say, 'special' reader...he likes to go at his own pace...good for him, god bless him for trying!" sigh.

Down on Hipsters Today!

Thank god Paris went back to jail; I was terrified we were gonna miss out on the inevitable "Free Paris" t-shirts. Whew.

Don't Stop Bereaving (not an Asian joke)

I think the best part of the Sopranos finale will be watching the hipsters on Bedford Ave scurry around trying to out-love each other over Journey. Claiming oh, they always LOVED Journey, aren't they cool now? Or of course claiming my pet peeve, the guilty pleasure. I predict by Thursday I'll spy the first Journey lunchbox on North 7th. Christ.

The funny thing is, and this is something I've been talking about to my friends for years now, is that if "Don't Stop Believing" (or any of those Foreigner/Styx/Air Supply/whomever cuts) came out today, it would be the greatest song in the world. Back then we poo-pooed it for being cheesy and silly, but that was cause there was not only better music out there for the finding, but there was better music that was, like Journey, on heavy rotation on the radio. Nowadays, ugh; have you heard a new song on the radio (I mean "real" FM radio) this year that's better? Probably not. That's another joke that's been played on us - thanks to the amazing suckage of "popular music", "Don't Stop Believing" now sounds like "A Day in the Life." Honestly, have you ever been driving down the highway and it came on and you changed the channel? Nyet. Don't lie to me.

My big "Don't Stop Believing" moment came a few years back when The Barber and I walked into the Nest side by side, almost arm in arm right when the piano intro began. Six 70 year old Korean War vets looking up at us, only shaking their heads to our gayness. Sigh.

Born a Rambler

I was listening to "Heard it in a Love Song" last night and I started thinking boy, does that even happen anymore? Dude shifts from woman to woman, staying around for a while before moving on, shuffling on down the line without even saying goodbye, squinting into the sun through a Diner window drinking black coffee. Could a dude really slip away like that anymore? Wouldn't it be more like slipping away in the night, maybe leaving a note, thinking you're gone and won't see her again, on to the next town and...damn! your cell phone rings. Don't answer...BEEP!..fuck! a text!! alright, alright...aww, shit, Blackberry blowing up she's emailing me and....shit, is that me on Google Earth? fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!!! Look up from your booth, there she is at the entrance with a frying pan, Mrs. Snuffy Smith style. Can't be right.

Finally. THE Ultimate Mrs. Xmastime.

Blech Ending

I’ve never loved the Sopranos as much as everybody else. Oh I liked it a lot, faithfully watched etc, but I was never convinced it was the greatest thing since ground chuck. It wasn’t even the best drama of the last ten years, I liked “The West Wing” more, even if it didn’t have strippers. Speaking of which, don’t get me started that in 86 episodes we saw NO titties from Meadow (tho apparently her entire role this season was to float through her parent’s room and say “AJ’s sad!” and leave, never to be seen again.) And as much as we were supposed to fear/revere these guys, mostly it was a bunch of kinda-idiots running around and into each other hoping Tony would throw them a card game to run. So I started resenting the last few months of being POUNDED with “Big finale!! It’s gonna change your life!!” Few weeks ago it dawned on me and I KNEW it was gonna end with basically nothing happening. I knew dude would out-clever himself and he did. Yes, I know I’m a knuckle-dragging troglodyte for wanting something to happen. Anything. Doesn’t have to be bloody even. I know, unlike my buddies who have already screamed at me, I just don’t “get it.” I have a nagging suspicion that anyone who is gonna claim this ending is "brilliant!" "genius!" is secretly disappointed/flummoxed but wants to be the one who "gets it" over the guy who wanted something to actually happen, since, you know, IT’S A TV SHOW. It was just a little too self-conscious for me. Too ironic, too perversely Chase being influenced by what the audience would not expect rather than anything else, leaving it to the show's apologists to scramble for meaning and defense. Like Elisabeth Hasselbeck whenever Bush does something stupid like choking on a pretzel, or desperately trying to hurl us to Armageddon so the Rapture will occur on his watch and he can sit at the Big Table Upstairs with God and the guy that came up with “Snakes on a Plane!”

And I know, I’m supposed to get up and applaud the non-ending as a symbol of life plodding on, as some sort of existentialism. Camon. It’s only a tv show. If its whole point was "life goes on, sometimes nothing happens" blah blah blah why not turn off the set and just stare into space? Or get a tub of Country Crock, rub it all over your naked body and then crawl under bed with the lights out? 90% of the people who watched it liked the show cause of the shit that happened; not for those long 5-episode stretches where nothing happened so they can conjure up hidden meanings in everything/applaud the irony of nothing happening. It’s like the song by Todd Snider about the band that got huge for refusing to play songs they hadn’t written. The fact is we stare at tv to be entertained; any thoughts of it being more in lieu of entertaining are silly. It’s only a tv show. If I need the television to give my brain a workout on the nothingness of the spheres, maybe I’m an idiot. Or, even worse, a Baptist.

And now thanks to the blank screen ending, we’re supposed to come up with what happened ourselves. Great. Why not just leave the screen black for an hour and say "screw it, you do your own episode in your mind"? They’ve already got me bagging my own groceries at the store, now I gotta fucking make up my own tv shows too? Next thing you know I’ll be forced to masturbate!

So a crappy ending to a pretty great yet still overrated show. I won’t really miss it. I won’t miss the offensively long waits between seasons, and I won’t miss listening to full-of-shit women mewl “gee, I don’t know what it is about Gandolfini, he’s just soooo SEXY!” ummmm...MAYBE it’s cause he’s, I dunno, rich and famous? Hmm. I promise you if an exact replica of him sidled up next to you at the bar and tried to chat you up, you’d say “take your caricatured child’s accent, and your sweat-stained man-titties and get the fuck outta here.”

Country Crock and man-titties. I’m back!!!!

Vacation Had to Get Away

There will be no Xmastime posts over the next week. I am taking a vacation (it's good to be the boss.) All I've been doing is bitching and moaning anyways, so a week away will be good. See ya in a week.

Wowsa

This is the guy who got TB. Are you kidding me with the wife? I thought it was a joke; Paris HIlton in a duck-bill mask and nurse's uniform. Wow. MIGHT spend some time image-googling this chick int he weeks to come. pun.