Rudolph Sends Wrong Message

Rudolph Sends Wrong Message

The song of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer dates from 1939, when the Chicago-based Montgomery Ward company asked one of their copywriters to come up with a Christmas story they could give away to shoppers as a promotional gimmick. Robert L. May rejected a few names for the story (Rollo, Reginald) before landing upon Rudolph as the star of his short booklet. It wasn't until later when May's brother-in-law and songwriter, Johnny Marks, developed the lyrics and melody for the song we all know and love, that the phenomenon really took off. Gene Autry recorded the song in 1949, sold two million copies in that same year, and propelled it to an American Christmas standard.

The original story written by May was substantially different than the song later concocted by Marks. Rudolph originally lived with his parents in a non-descript reindeer village and was discovered by Santa when doing his rounds on a particularly foggy Christmas Eve. Santa noticed the red glow coming from Rudolph's room and asked him to lead his team to ensure a safe and happy Christmas for all. The song written by Marks could have been a story written by Hollywood; a downtrodden underdog is discovered for his secret talent which, until that moment, has been his reason for being outcast from society. In the original version, Rudolph's nose wasn't a hindrance to his social life.

If you truly analyze the song's lyrics, is it a message we want conveyed to our kids?

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The Hating of Duke

The Hating of Duke

Every year about this time, legions of ACC fans begin to tingle with excitement. The hardwoods have opened up and college basketball is well underway. Power teams are playing their share of cupcakes and contenders in an effort to hone their squads into shape for conference play.

Mid-majors are salivating at their chance to sneak in an upset or two over quality teams. Gardner-Webb's romp over Kentucky, UNCG's testy victory over Georgia Tech, and Davidson's near-miss over Carolina. Just to name a few.

The ACC's fans see these contests as merely warm-up games, basketball fodder till the real season gets here. ACC season. For teams like Carolina and Duke, a trip to the NCAA for a chance at the national title is all but guaranteed. It's part of the recruiting process. It's almost a given while Roy and Mike are at the helms.

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Thanks For Giving

Thanks For Giving

It's that time of the year again. The leaves have turned from brilliant oranges and yellows to shades of brown. The time had changed and temperatures have cooled and most importantly, Turkey Day is here!

Officially, in America, November 22 is Thanksgiving Day this year (always the 4th Thursday in November). A national holiday where the government shuts down and most everyone gathers with family to over-eat and nap and watch football. It's the day we recognize for giving thanks.

So personally, I'd like to give a shout-out to all the Native Americans (read: Indians) and thank them for sacrificing their way of life, their land and their lives so our great country could be born to police the world.

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The End of Baseball Rain

The End of Baseball Rain

November is finally kicking into full swing and the cold is upon us. After a month of teasing us with relatively mild temperatures, Autumn has turned the corner.

Summer in the South is marked with intensity. Whether it's intense heat, intense humidity or intense thunderstorms; summers here are characterized by extremes. That also goes for a simple rainstorm.

In the Summer, rain rarely falls lightly or all day. Storm clouds form in a matter of minutes and drop gallons of water in the blink of an eye. Growing up, I always called it Baseball Rain.

Why? Because it was the type of rain that fell during baseball season. Baseball Rain has many distinct characteristics.

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Homage To The Southern Biscuit

Homage To The Southern Biscuit

In the South, we take a lot of things in stride. If it rains on game day, we shrug and celebrate that at least we don't have to work in the yard. If our car breaks down, we call someone to pick us up. But whatever you do, don't mess with our biscuits.

The biscuit is a Southern staple. For breakfast, you can fill it with eggs, sausage, bacon, country ham, cheese, breaded chicken, pork loin, steak. You can drown it with sausage gravy, milk gravy, red-eye gravy. Or you can simply slather it with butter and eat it straight.

As the South has been infiltrated by different cultures, the biscuit has taken on other unlikely partners. Chicken-fried steak. Kielbasa. Bratwurst. I've even seen them served with salami and pastrami, accompanied with spicy mustard.

But no matter how many different items the biscuit gets paired with, the Southern biscuit itself remains constant. When baked to perfection, it sports a golden crown that glistens with freshly drawn butter. Its texture remains flaky throughout while still retaining the consistency between a heavy bread and croissant. And when it enters your mouth, it melts over your tongue like cotton candy with a unique flavor that can't be duplicated.

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The Obligatory Halloween Blog

The Obligatory Halloween Blog

Halloween is probably the funnest holiday ever invented. Not only is it during the best time of the year, Autumn, but it is mandatory to be someone else. The holiday is a license to pretend and what could be more fun?

Since the earliest days of my memories, pretending was part of my life. Before my sister came along when I was four, I had pretend play-friends. I remember playing with them in the sandbox, pushing the hardened cat turds around with my yellow Tonka bulldozer, pretending the entire sandbox was a construction site.

(I always wanted the write the word turd.)

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A Cheesedog Like No Other

A Cheesedog Like No Other

About twenty years ago, I went to an old soda shop style restaurant in downtown Burlington named Zack's. Their main fare was hot dogs and Cokes in ten ounce glass bottles. And everything was always served with a smile and a thanks.

Zack's hot dogs has been a staple of North Carolina's piedmont since 1928, when they first served their signature hot dogs to a very happy customer. Fifty-five years later, I discovered them, and even today, they are still serving traditional American food to patrons of all ages. Any time a restaurant is open for 75 years, owned by the same family the entire time, they are doing something right.

I'll never forget the first time I ordered from them. I didn't want just a plain hot dog, I wanted something special. Something unique. So I chose the cheesedog.

Visions of a hot dog covered in melted cheese danced in my head, lighting up my imagination. What kind of cheese would it be? Cheddar? American? Something exotic like pepperjack? Maybe that melty cheese that seeps into the hot dog bun like it thought it was chili. Or maybe it was a hot dog stuffed with cheese!

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Fat Boy Asthma

Fat Boy Asthma

Growing up, I had what I affectionately called "Fat Boy Asthma." Whenever I would play sports, I had trouble breathing. It never experienced an attack for no reason like most asthma sufferers, it only happened when I exerted myself. In fact, that's what the doctor's called it, over-exertion asthma.

I still called it Fat Boy Asthma.

I was chubby during those years before puberty. Of course, now, after puberty we all call it something different. Big-boned. Because our bones have grown, right? Actually, my bones aren't bigger than other people's, just the cushioning on them is.

The descriptor "chubby" was killed sometime during the Political Correctness Movement of the 80s and 90s. The blander, more vanilla terms of "overweight" and "weight-challenged" took its place. "Obese" even came into play but that was reserved for your overly chubby people. We just called them "fat" back then.

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CD Baby Rocks

CD Baby Rocks

I bought some music online the other day from an outfit named "CD Baby." They specialize in selling independent music of all genres and all of it is DRM-free. It is so much better than buying music at one of those mega-sites because these artists are true artists. They aren't that Top 40 crap that the music industry tries to force down our throats. This is real music.

Indie groups are basically groups that haven't been signed to one of the four major record labels (Sony BMG, Universal, EMI, and Warner Music). These labels account for 70% of music sales worldwide and 85% of music sales in the US. And most of the money from their sales go to their employees and marketing machine. The actual music group only receives between 7% and 13% of the income their product generated.

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The Purpose of Fingernails

The Purpose of Fingernails

The lungs provide our bodies with life-giving oxygen. The heart pumps our blood, the kidneys filter our system, the eyes provide visual representations of the world around us. We've even discovered that the appendix has a purpose, to store excess bacteria. But what are the fingernails for?

Your first thought is that they do serve a purpose, to protect the ends of our fingers. But you're wrong. Remember the last time you smacked your finger or thumb with a hammer? Do you honestly think it could have hurt any worse than it did? So ask yourself, did you fingernail really provide any true protection?

I have some other theories. I believe God did provide us with fingernails for a reason. In fact, I think there are many reasons.

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Church For Sale

Church For Sale

On my away home yesterday, a small sign caught my eye. "Church For Sale." It was in front of a little brick church with browning grass and sparse landscaping. It made me wonder, how does someone go about selling a church?

Is this something a real estate agent is qualified to do? What if the church is Baptist but the agent is Methodist? Or a Mormon? Or even Jewish? Are there rules about this stuff?

What if a Catholic priest wants to buy it? Can the church convert? What if an atheist wants to buy the church just to shut it down? Would the pastor sell it if the price was right? Can a Baptist church be converted to a synagogue and still be kosher?

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(Special Audio Prize Inside)

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The Great Cereal Blog

The Great Cereal Blog

As a child during the 70s, when sugar was cheap and inflation a virtual myth, we were privy to a selection of breakfast cereals that, like 60s rock music, can only be crudely imitated these days. From Lucky Charms to Golden Grahams to the Zeus of all cereals, Peanut Butter Crunch, us Disco kids had it made. And we didn't know how good we had it.

All the cereals mentioned above still exist to this day, along with other favorites like Frosted Flakes, Fruit Loops, Count Chocula, Apple Jacks, Cookie Crisp and Fruity Pebbles. But you have to admit, they just don't taste the same. The recipes have changed and the sugar has been screwed with. Like colas switching from good old sucrose to high fructose corn syrup, changes were made to cut costs and save money.

Even the mascots changed. Tony the Tiger went from a tiger to a bland unisex cartoon. Toucan Sam toned down his image and his colors. Count Chocula went gay. I don't even want to mention Lucky's Leprechaun and his overly rosy cheeks. Remember the elephant from Peanut Butter Crunch? His name was Smedley and he's no longer on the box. Probably some politically correct crap PETA pissed about. And lo and behold, the venerable Cap'n Horatio Crunch also fell victim to the mass media homogenization.

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My First Album

My First Album

I was born in 1971 and I was given my first album in the late seventies. And it was an actual album, not an 8-track or a tape cassette (CDs didn't even exist in science fiction back then). If you knew me now, you'd never guess what my first album was.

I'm a major music fan and my influences lean toward the British Invasion of the sixties and the American Answer during the same decade. On one side, you have The Beatles, The Zombies, The Kinks, The Who, The Rolling Stones, etc. On the flip side, there was The Beach Boys, Paul Revere & The Raiders, The Rascals, The Turtles, Tommy James & The Shondells, The Four Seasons, Three Dog Night, Creedence Clearwater Revival, etc. And let's not forget the Motown sound with Diana Ross & The Supremes, Smokey Robinson & The Miracles, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, Little Stevie Wonder, The Temptations, The Dixie Cups, etc.

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PUBLISHED - The Other Twin

PUBLISHED - The Other Twin

Hackwriters.com published another of my stories, a creative non-fiction piece based on a true story.

You may go HERE to read it.

PUBLISHED - Fat Chance

I am now a published author. Well, semi-published. Somebody else thought enough to put my words on their site, so I guess that makes me published.

Visit hackwriters.com to see my flash fiction story - Fat Chance.

At the time of this writing it is on the front page.

Hackwriters is part of the new MA in Creative Writing at Portsmouth University.

They've received numerous accolades:

Guardian Media Award Winner 1999 (As Bloc)
Guardian Nominated again in 2000
Skylines Travel Writers of the Year 2001
New Statesman Community Website Nominee 2004
Nominated for New Statesman Education Website 2006

Please enjoy the site and send any comments my way.

-Ross

The Deal Breaker (Part 2)

The Deal Breaker (Part 2)

NOTE: Please read Part 1 first.

The little deal that was too good to be true, really was. Last week, the woman who offered that deal, was arrested at her apartment and hauled away by police.

Not only had Tiffany conned the old man out of the deeds to his two homes, but she'd parted $34,000 from him in a bond agent scam. How did it work?

She met his granddaughter in jail, told her she was a bail bondsman that could get her out, and secured her family's info. Then Tiffany approached the grandfather, had him sign over the two deeds and pay $34,000 in a ruse to get the granddaughter out on bond. The bond was $15,000 and a bond agent can only legally charge up to 15%, a total of $2250.

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Accident Prone

Accident Prone

Yesterday, I talked about how accident prone I've been in my life and I just thought I'd share a little of what I've been through. I think that once you read this, you'll see that I'm not just saying I was accident prone. I really was.

When I was born, I was circumcised. They lopped off an inch of foreskin from my penis. It was traumatic. I cried and screamed a lot. I don't remember it but I'm told I did this. I'm still traumatized even today about it. All I can think about is, "My penis could be an inch longer."

When I was around three, I liked to run. I ran so much that an accident was bound to happen. Once, while I was running like a crazed Forrest Gump, I tripped in the living room and landing forehead first on the edge of a round coffee table. I had to get stitches. I still have the scar in the middle of my forehead. It doesn't hurt any more.

When I was seven, I bumped into a huge fire extinguisher at school and it fell onto my right foot. It chopped off parts of a few of my toes and deformed them forever. Two toes don't have toenails and another has one that's a centimeter thick. Lovely visual huh? Try cutting the bitch.

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Safety Freak

Safety Freak

I admit it, I'm abnormal when it comes to safety. I don't know if it's because of nature or nurture, but for some reason, whenever there's a hint of danger, I opt for the safe way to do things.

Depending on how you look at it, this will either appear stifling or sweet, but when I was dating wife number 1, I wouldn't go anywhere until she buckled her seatbelt (of course, this only worked when I drove). She never wore her seatbelt, no matter what. Not even in inclement weather. Not even after she had an accident where she busted her lip on the steering wheel and cracked the windshield with her head. She never gave me any reason why she hated seatbelts so much. I blame her strict Catholic upbringing. It was only natural she buck against the system as soon as she had her first taste of freedom at college.

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Big Church Is Big Business

Big Church Is Big Business

I heard someone talking yesterday about how this pastor and his church owned half a city block and had a membership of more than five thousand people. By "Big City" standards, that's small but by my little country church standards, it's huge. Too huge. It seems to me that big churches have become big business in America.

In Europe, way back in the time before the Knights Templar, the Catholic Church was the only game in town if you weren't Jewish. It was the epitome of big business, affording special privileges and tax-exempt status from the Kings and Queens of the land.

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The Concept of Separate Bathrooms

The Concept of Separate Bathrooms

I have some simple advice. And since I've been married twice and freely admit to my mistakes, you can take it for what it's worth. I can safely say that even though both marriages ended in divorce, I learned a lot during those relationships. One tidbit I've gleaned is to always, no matter what, use separate bathrooms.

Marriage is a solemn vow between two people to spend the rest of their lives together, till death do they part (or one party changers her mind, whichever comes first). During a marriage, you share everything with each other.

Holidays. Ambitions. Desires. Goals. Housework. Pepperoni pizzas from the place down the street when neither of you feels like cooking.

And a bathroom.

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My First Fight

My First Fight

Second grade. His name was Marvin. He was in first grade but he was my age. He either failed or was held back or started late. And no, I don't remember who won.

Actually, Marvin wasn't my first fight. I've got studio-made pictures from pre-school of me sporting a blond bowl cut and a bloody nose. Obviously there was a fight involved but I don't remember it. So it doesn't count.

The fight with Marvin I halfway remember. It happened on the playground during recess and neither of us suffered any scrapes or bruises. After she broke it up, Mrs. Mims sent us to the principal's office. Nowadays, that's no big deal but back then it was super scary. This was when spanking with a paddle was not only condoned, it was highly endorsed.

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Alone In A Movie Theater

Alone In A Movie Theater

You know what's great about a weekday matinee movie? Not only is it cheaper but every once in a while, you can get the whole place to yourself.

It's not much different from being at home. Except for the gum stuck to the chair. And the overpriced food. And the inability to pause for bathroom breaks. And thirty minutes of previews you can't fast forward through.

There are some plusses though. For a well-produced sci-fi movie with lots of special effects, you can't beat the huge screen and surround sound and the cinematic experience it all provides. You have to turn off your mobile so no one can bother you and you don't fee the least bit guilty about doing it. And sometimes the previews are pretty good but I find lately that more times than not, they've gotten out of hand with actual commercials thrown into the mix. I didn't pay to see commercials.

As for the over-priced food, I always stop by the dollar store and grab some snacks to sneak in. If their food wasn't marked up 300%, I wouldn't go to the trouble. Paying a buck for a big box of milk duds is so much more fun than paying $2 for a small box.

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America The Slob

America The Slob

It disgusts me. The litter I see on the side of the road. Potato chip bags, aluminum cans, candy wrappers. You name it, Americans throw it out their car windows instead of simply dropping it into a trash can.

Not only is it infuriating to me, it's sad. Down right pathetic. To think the country that enjoys the highest standard of living the world has ever seen can't take the time to pick up after itself.

It's enough to make a grown man whine on the internet.

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Salmon Treats Anyone?

Salmon Treats Anyone?

It was many years ago on a Christmas Eve that my Aunt Pat did something none of us have ever let her forget. On a dare, she ate a cat treat, one of those little soft chewy ones that come in the resealable foil Ziploc packs. I think it was salmon flavor.

First, a little background. In the family, I was known as the cheapskate. If there were any penny pincher jokes, they were always aimed at me. And Aunt Pat was the butt of all the blonde jokes, despite being a natural brunette and never having had anything close to blonde hair. She had that dingy thing going pretty good though.

A few of us were sitting around the table, playing games, because that's what my family does on Christmas Eve. We gather about thirty family members in a single house, eat like Southerners at a Sunday dinner, open presents, and play games till time to head home and get ready for Santa.

I'm not sure how it came up, but I think I was giving one of our cats a cat treat when Pat said something like, "I wonder how those taste?"

A light bulb went on. "Why don't you try one?" I asked.

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Stealing Our Tennis

Stealing Our Tennis

I was hanging out with a bunch of guys watching the US Open on television the other week. We were watching the women's game (no comment) between Venus Williams and Jelena Jankovic when one of the guys said, "Man, I'm getting tired of all these foreigners coming over here and stealing our sports."

I looked over at him but said nothing. He continued, "When they gonna learn tennis is our sport and we're the best at everything."

That prompted me to say something derogatory. "John," I said, "please stop being such a redneck."

He looked at me in a redneck way, throwing out redneck vibes in waves, then said, "What're you talkin' about?"

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The Deal Breaker

The Deal Breaker

I had a once in a lifetime deal pass my way the other day and I felt the need to tell you about it. If you had a chance to make forty to fifty thousand dollars flipping a house, wouldn't you be excited too?

A tenant my bosses are about to evict dropped by the office to explain why she hadn't paid rent. She had two houses that had been given to her that she'd been working a deal on. The deal fell apart, blamed on all the recent mortgage companies going under. She was in dire straits and was about to lose her car also, a fifty thousand dollar Range Rover.

Huh?

And to top it off, she had surgery two weeks ago. A boob job. Serious guys, I can't write stuff this good. All I do is spit it out as it happens.

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I Am Native American

I Am Native American

I was born in America. I was raised in America. I possess a distinctly American belief system. Therefore I'm a Native American by all sense of the term, right? Then why am I supposed to check Caucasion White on all those damn government forms?

What they mean by Native American is obviously the race of people who were here before Columbus screwed their lives up or some guy named Amerigo Vespucci won the naming pool. We call them the American Indian, even though Columbus missed India by about 10,000 miles.

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Saying Thanks In The South

Saying Thanks In The South

In the American South, we are raised with manners as a matter of breeding. We are taught to hold open doors for complete strangers, help those in need and say thanks to everyone for everything. And I do mean everyone for everything.

A few years ago, I was driving about 74 in a 55 during a rainstorm in Marlboro County, South Carolina, on my way back from Myrtle Beach. A cop stopped me and asked me the most original question, "Do you know how fast you were going?"

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Cleavage Makes Men Stupid

Cleavage Makes Men Stupid

It's as simple as that. This article could end right now and you'd all know what I meant without me having to go into it. But where's the fun in that?

Whatever intelligence edge or business advantage men believe they have in this world, it disappears when faced with a nice set of boob cleavage. A man could be at the top of his game in the prime of his concentration and totally break down, drooling all over himself, if confronted with a set of Double D's and a low v-neck.

Cleavage is the colossal equalizer, the secret password, the greatest feminist weapon ever invented. Cleavage overpowers the strength of the penis ten times out of ten. Even bad cleavage is as mighty as a chunk of Kryptonite.

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Boy Toy Status Revoked

Boy Toy Status Revoked

I turned thirty-six about a month ago and as you can tell from my blog, I consider myself officially getting old. Well, middle age at least. Thinning hair and aching joints have become priorities which I think are decent indication that any "Boy Toy" status I might could have achieved, has vanished.

I've dated older women before, some of which were old enough to have birthed me. My favorite decade of music is the 60s, before I was even born. I love old house architecture and old cars and I've always been pretty mature for my age. So I guess that sort of explains the mutual attraction between me and older women.

And lately I've had oler women flirt with me in ways that could only mean they were interested. Only now, older means a ten year difference rather than twenty. What is it about women in their forties that dig me?

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The Price Of Insanity

The Price Of Insanity

I was telling a friend last night about a movie I'd just seen on IFC, Intacto. It's an amazing foreign film that's totally refreshing and brilliant, especially after being bombarded with a steady barage of predictable Hollywood films. I didn't want to ruin it for him so I just told him of the opening scene and how it began like the movie, The Cooler. The similarity ends after five minutes, and although both movies are good, Intacto was spectacular and cinematic.

When I told him the movie's central theme was luck and the games lucky people play, he interrupted me. He told me the story of his cousin who had a cushy job in the corporate world making six figures. He had it made and after a weekend of playing internet poker, he quit his job. In a few short days, he'd cleared sixty thousand and decided he could do that for a living.

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Attack Of The Halloween Store

Attack Of The Halloween Store

It's the beginning of September and I have already seen three Halloween stores open on the route I take to work. Three stores that sell nothing but Halloween costumes and Halloween accessories. Doesn't this seem a bit much?

I remember back when Woolworth's and K-mart used to set up Halloween sections for shoppers. If you wanted a Batman or Wonder Woman costume, that's where you went. And while you were there, you picked up candy for the ghosts and goblins that would be visiting. Blammo, you were done.

For the longest time, my Mom even made mine and my sister's costumes. I was Dracula the same year my sis was a ballerina. My Mom spent hours sewing our outfits from scratch and I wore that cape for years until it finally gave out. It lasted forever and provided hours and hours of pretend fun for both of us.

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Looking Forward To Mondays

Looking Forward To Mondays

Among the many number of things I did wrong with my two wives, I did a great many correct. It takes a lot to make a marriage work and outside forces are always working against you. From your jobs threatening to steal your time to bills stealing your money to the mundane daily chores stealing your mojo. One thing I learned is that you must always be vigilant because true love can only carry you so far.

There's one idea I had with wife number 2 that I'm particularly proud of. I'm not a hundred percent sure it was my idea because when you're really a couple, you collaborate on everything so closely you're never sure where an idea originated. Everyone hates Mondays, right? It's the first day of the work week and signals an end to your weekend. What if I gave you the secret to looking forward to your Mondays?

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Zero Car Loyalty

Zero Car Loyalty

Nascar is the biggest sport in America, believe it or not, and its roots originated here in the South. Illegal moonshiners in the mountains would spend their time and money on fast cars so they could outrun the law during transport. And over time, the pursuit became a national pastime.

Loyalties to different car brands were a badge of honor in those days. Ford people were Ford people and Chevy people were Chevy people. This brand loyalty has been carried forward to today as most Southerners identify with one car maker or another.

I'm an exception to the rule. I have zero car loyalty and I can prove it.

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Beer, Sports and Porn

Beer, Sports and Porn

That pretty much sums up the thought patterns of a typical American man. Oh sure, there are males who think differently, but this is what American MEN think about 90% of the time.

I've preached this a thousand times but it's so true. It's designed in our genetic code. Most of our thoughts can be broken down into one or more of the above building blocks.

Beer covers everything to do with food and beverages. If it's a hamburger, we're thinking of that Heineken we'll have with it. If we've opted for a Diet Coke instead, we're still pretending it's a brew. Even if you don't see a drink, we're wishing we had one. Parties = beer. Dinner = beer. Dinner Parties = beer.

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Rocky Balboa

Rocky Balboa

I finally watched the final intallment in the Rocky movie series, Rocky Balboa. At first I hesitated because how good can the sixth of a tired-out movie series be? But then I read that Sylvester Stallone wrote this one and that he wanted the characters to go out on his own terms. That sold me.

Why? Because, I know something few people realize. Sylvester Stallone wrote the original Rocky motion picture screenplay himself. And not only was it his first major manuscript, he wouldn't sell it to any producer without a clause that he played the lead role. He wrote the movie for himself and in many ways, his life paralleled the movie's theme.

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The Mid-Range Gas

The Mid-Range Gas

I have a legitimate question: What type of person buys the mid-octane gas? In America, we're sold three octane levels of gas at the pump; 87, 89 and 92 (or 91 or 93). I grew up always buying the 87 because my Dad would say, "It works just as good as the other stuff." But when I owned my Mercedes, I bought the expensive stuff because it was recommended for such a high-performance engine. But who buys the mid-level gas and why?

Most everyone purchases the cheap gas because on most engines, you really can't tell the difference. On my little 2.3 liter Mustang LX that I owned back in college, I did gas experiments. I checked mileage using 87 octane and 92 octane. There was practically no difference whether in the summer or winter. So naturally, I opted for the cheap gas because it was generally 20 cents cheaper per gallon.

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Old Clothing Roulette

Old Clothing Roulette

I've got an idea for a game show, and only in America, the land of the TV zombies, could this work. I call it "Old Clothing Roulette."

Contestants would bring clothes to the studio from all years of their adult life, along with their high school yearbook photos. Based on those photos and know the other contestant's current age, they would place blind bets on whether or not clothes from certain years would still fit. The close to today's time, the less the odds on winning. The older the clothes, the more you could win.

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England Speaks English

England Speaks English

I know this seems to be a recurring motif, but in my younger years, I wasn't too swift. Oh sure, I had my IQ points and I did well in school, but I was severely lacking in common sense. There are all sorts of things that I could blame like a late-blooming pubescence or an inferiority complex (and I don't necessarily discount an idiocy gene somewhere in the mix). I was fine most of the time and upon first meeting me, I could put on a good show. It was only after you'd known me for a period of time that one of my "blond" moments would happen.

And then the secret would be out.

Seventh grade English I had Mrs. Tibbals. She was a crotchety older lady, in her mid-fifties, with a disposition that added another twenty years. She was wheelchair bound most of the time with thinning grayish pepper hair. She was not a person who seemed entirely happy with the hand life had dealt her but there was one thing you could definitely say about her - she loved teaching.

(SPECIAL!! This time you can actually hear me tell the story word for word!!)
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The Bachelor Party B-Cups

The Bachelor Party B-Cups

I was young once, and with youth comes stupidity. Complete and utter stupidity, especially in your thoughts. I could usually hide this pretty well as long as I kept my big mouth shut. But every once in a while, I produced a classic and how I was heard over that size eleven in my mouth, I'll never understand.

It was the night before my first wedding and all my buds were there. In the greatest American tradition ever created, we all went to a strip club. My bachelor party was a night to remember, but for all the wrong reasons.

We started out at the house drinking and playing pool. A normal beginning to a night of nakedness and debauchery, right?

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The Greatest Condiment Ever Invented: Ketchup

The Greatest Condiment Ever Invented: Ketchup

Some might disagree but they'd be wrong. There are other condiments that run a close second but as far as I am concerned, ketchup is the most important food accompaniment ever invented.

The British might make a case for mayonnaise, as would some Southerners. Nothing's better on a cheese or tomato sandwich. And it's almost blasphemy to leave Duke's mayo off an egg sandwich. Trust me, in the South, we take our mayo very seriously. Miracle Whip is a salad dressing, not a mayonnaise. Duke's and Hellman's and JFG, those are mayonnaises. And Duke's is a cut above the rest.

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If The Shoe Fits ...

If The Shoe Fits ...

Back in high school, I worked in the shoe department at Sears in the mall. I started the summer before in Personnel but when school came around, I moved out to the sales floor. Into the shoe department. I was Al Bundy before the show ever existed.

This was all back in the time when Sears had those Super Saturday sales, they'd run giant flyers in the newspaper with scratch-off sections and you had to bring the flyer to the store before you scratched it off. Underneath could be an extra ten to fifty percent off our already low sales prices. (Sorry, that jargon stuck with me)

We just happened to have a Super Saturday sale my first week on the floor. This was not a good thing. You see, you almost needed a specialized degree to run the register at a Sears back then. There were no barcode scanners and here I was fresh out of register training, thrown into the busiest single sale day a Sears associate could experience.

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Martha Stewart Is Hot

Martha Stewart Is Hot

I don't care what anyone says or how many people give me wedgies for this but I think Martha Stewart is hot. Before the email barage begins, have you seen the August 2007 issue of Wired? She's splayed over the front cover, smiling like a million bucks.

Just like wine and cheese, Martha has gotten better with age. In her younger days, I wouldn't have even glanced her way, but now? Now? One word - vavavoom! Just look at that picture, she's got that older-chick persona down pat.

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Real Men Use Loofahs

Real Men Use Loofahs

It's the new millennium and has been for quite a few years. The definition of what constitutes a man is being rewritten on a daily basis. Not only is he responsible for bringing home the bacon, but also running the kids to soccer practice and making dinner and splitting the housework.

Some men go overboard on the "new man" thing. They get all sensitive and caring and journey past the point of manhood. They give the rest of us a bad name. There should be some lines drawn so everyone's on the same page.

Real men eat quiche, right? Wrong. Real men make the quiche and serve it to their woman and then sit down to eat it with her. Then they sweep her off her feet, take her to the bedroom and give her dessert.

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WWJD: What If Jesus Had Married?

WWJD: What If Jesus Had Married?

Let's pretend for a moment that history was different, or that Dan Brown and the conspiracy theorists were right. Let's play with the idea that Jesus married Mary Magdelene. All you zealots out there go ahead and grab your stones and prepare to get biblical on me.

Can you imagine Jesus and Mary dating? Mary Magdelene talking to her girlfriends, saying, "Guess who just asked me out? The son of God. No, really. He did. I swear to God ... oops." Nobody'd believe her, they'd think she was loony.

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The Bully Who Found God

The Bully Who Found God

Everyone remembers a couple bullies from their school years. But there's usually one in particular that always stands out. He was the meanest, snottiest excuse for a human being on the face of the earth. He never had mercy and he never cared for anyone but himself.

There was one I specifically remember. Let's call him Danny Parsons. He was a little red-headed asswipe who used to pick on people he knew would never fight back. He was undersized but aggressive and preyed on people's weaknesses. He was a typical bully.

Danny did just well enough in school to keep his parents off his back and in his corner whenever he got in the smallest amount of trouble. He never did anything too big because he was too much of a wus to fear any true retribution. He was a class clown who made people laugh by putting others down, calling them stupid or ugly or fat. Danny was scum.

I'm sure you can figure out by now that I was one of his unfortunate victims. It was twenty years ago but I still remember it as vivid as last week. While Danny was usually in all the "general" classes and I was in the "smart" classes, there were still a few that overlapped.

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Happy Birthing Day To Me

Happy Birthing Day To Me

Just like the song says, I'm another day older and deeper in debt. I've always been a fan of birthdays due to that whole "receiving presents" thing. And check this ... for the privilege of being born, people treat you nice and want to take you out to eat and throw you surprise parties and such. What a neat racket we have going.

But in all actuality, it's just another day in the 365.242199 days it takes to revolve around the sun. What it means past the age of twenty-five is completely different than before age twenty-five. It means another tick on the ole bald-o-meter, a slower metabolism which results in easier weight gain, more wheezing during sex than you've ever experienced, etc. It means I'm headed downhill.

You know what I'd like to see?

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Borat Not Funniest Movie Ever

Borat Not Funniest Movie Ever



I finally saw the Borat movie a few weeks ago and although I laughed pretty hard at parts of it, I must confess that it wasn't a great movie. I'm pretty much a movie snob, flicks like Fargo and The Fisher King and Memento are what turn me on. But ocassionally, I love a good action flick or a miraculous sports movie or a stupid funny movie, some mindless drivel that plays with your emotions or makes you laugh for the sake of laughing.

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Warm Milk and Oatmeal Creme Pies

Warm Milk and Oatmeal Creme Pies

I was talking with a friend the other day and he suddenly turned to me and said, "Do you smell that?" My instinctive reaction was to say, "It wasn't me," but that's not what he was talking about. He said, "It smells like warm milk."

I remember thinking, "Oh-kay." I may have even scrunched my face together. What an odd thing to smell.

Then he said, "I love that smell," and I think I subconsciously moved a few inches away from him. Tell me I'm not the only one that thinks that's an odd odor to love? So naturally, me being my inquisitive self, I asked him why. And after he explained, it all made perfect sense.

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The First Dirty Joke I Ever Heard

The First Dirty Joke I Ever Heard

I don't remember just how old I was, probably around seven or eight. We had taken a family vacation to the beach and were staying with my aunt and uncle. My uncle's older son and daughter from a previous marriage were there, too. They'd just taught me how to play poker, Las Vegas style, and the girl cousin (let's call her Cynthia) asked if I wanted to hear a joke. I said, sure, yeah.

Then she said it was a dirty joke and I believe my exact reaction was complete awe. Not only was I going to hear a dirty joke from an "almost grown-up" (which is different than hearing one on the playground from your best friend who's also seven), but my older cousin, a GIRL and a hottie in her own right, was going to tell it to me. Could life be any more perfect for a seven year old boy?

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A Zen Koan ... Plucking Chrysanthemums . . .

Keeping it simple today ... a zen koan ...



I created this graphic from a photo taken by Kevin Adams. You can see his amazing photography HERE.

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Now playing: The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds (40th Anniversary Edition) -Let's Go Away For A While

The Bigger Bible

The Bigger Bible

Does a bigger Bible make you a better Christian? I've got a friend that seems to always have this huge Bible with him wherever he goes. I've often wondered if he thinks that makes him more pious or more dedicated. Let's say two priests are standing side by side and you're a devout Christian in need of advice on some personal matter, who would you goto? The priest with the Bible so big he carries it in a backpack, or the priest with a travel Bible in his pocket?

Be honest now, who would you choose? Which priest seems to know what he's talking about better? Which priest seems to care more about finding the right answers? Which priest seems more dedicated to his religion?

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