Friday, November 28, 2003

New Entries to my 1+ Year-Old Nephew's Vernacular

Neigh-Neigh: Any member of the equine family; from burro to Clydesdale.

Baythball: Any ball or sport utilizing a ball. Also includes squashes (the vegetable) employed in similar fashions.

Dork Knob: Door Knob. This particular term was the fault of this writer in a lame attempt to taint his burgeoning vocabulary; a tainting that his future teachers are sure to correct (as is their duty, eh?).

Dood: Male Homo Sapiens.


Thursday, November 27, 2003

My New Bud Buddy: A True Tale from Today

Snow was falling when I took the dog out for one of his evening repreives. As he snuffled about the fresh dusting of snow coating his favorite spots on the lawn the neighbor's son (who is house-sitting while the owner is away) came walking down the driveway and greeted me with a nod and stared into the night sky.

Me: Evening. Just trying to get the dog to relieve himself.
Him: Yeah...they never go when you want them to.
Me: True enough.

(pause as I let my gaze fall back to the bulldog who's busy staring at the tree on the boulevard. Silence falls like the snow until it is broken by the gentleman's following question)

Him: You smoke bud?*
Me: (well THAT was unexpected) Nope.
Him: Ah. Man...I could use a big doobie tonight.
Me: Ah.
Him: Yep. I think I'll go to my buddy's house and get one.
Me: Good luck with that.
Him: Mmm-Hmm.
Me: C'mon, Rog...let's go in.

A lovely exchange for the eve of Turkey Day.


*Notice the lack of a comma between smoke and bud...I wasn't being called BUD as in pal, chum, bunk mate or amigo; this fellow wanted some marijuana and was using the current slang for it. Ah HA!

Tuesday, November 25, 2003

Music Confession

I awoke this morning with some odd tune in my head.

At first I was unable to place it. A catchy lil' ditty and all...a moment or two was all it took for my mental catalog to flip to the 'page' with the answer to Who the performers were and Which tune was chuggin' along in the Grey Matter Jukebox.

Oh no.

Had it been the soundtrack to the last dream experienced prior to awakening (the other details of which quickly forgotten as I crossed back into 'reality' from my Time in Nod)?

If so...why? Why THIS tune?

Why ROXETTE's Joy Ride?

What was the dream about to employ such a track? Why this piece of 1991 pop-drivel?

I was never a fan...never owned/purchased/borrowed any of their recordings (even though I found the chick in the band rather a peroxided-blond-ScandoHoovian way...which, in itself, is rather startling to even be printing; well...this is a CONFESSIONAL post, after all, eh?) nor had one smuggled into my music archives (as far as I know).

My only experience with the band and their music was through inadvertant encounters via MTV and the smattering of local radio stations that played pap of this nature back in the late 80s/early 90s (and, with the advent of 'Classic 80s/90s' stations...even through to the present); had Joy Ride found synaptical-sympathisers in me cerebral cortex? A lone outpost of Bad Music squatting amidst the other debris strewn about my mind? If so, what others are with them there?

I shudder to consider the potential pop-tripe it has teamed up with. Could Roxette's Joy Ride be teamed up with the likes of Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up or Falco's Rock me, Amadeus in an attempt to covertly drive me mad whilst aslumber? To provide the musical backdrops to Morpheus' dream dabblings?

If could succeed.

It may already have.

After all...I remembered the name of that Rick Astley song...


(trying desperately to not mentally hum 4 Non-Blondes What's Up?)

Sunday, November 23, 2003

Fear is Never Boring
according to the Bears tune of this title

There is nothing worse than unexpectedly coming face-to-face with that which you fear the most.

My greatest fear manifests itself by way of a weakness of that--no matter how hard I try to fend of-- I cannot overcome through over-taxing my will power nor attempting to put it out of my head.

The minute I realized there were freshly baked Chocolate Chip Cookies in the house I knew I was doomed by my salivating cravings to eat them all (hopefully over the course of several days depending on how well I do placating the initial desires to get them in my gullet STAT).

I know they are there.

They are now on my mind which, in turn, clues in my stomach to the intense possibility that I could put one down in a flash...the only delay would be the time it takes to get to the fridge*, anxiously fumble one out of the tin they currently occupy and shovel it into my open maw.

One...maybe two...more?


This is going to be a long night...possibly a very long long as those damn Cookies are lurking in the kitchen...laughing at my weakness.

The timing could not come at a worse time; Turkey Day is looming on the horizon...a day of gorging that I normally fast for in anticipation of the the huge meal of that day.

Not now.

Now I will be filled to the uvula with goddamn Chocolate Chip Cookies well-prior to Thursday.

I know it.

I just know it.


*Love them best when they are chilled.

Saturday, November 22, 2003


Two other notable occurences on this date:

Doctor Who premiered on the BBC.
CS Lewis passed away.

Does anyone else suspect a conspiracy here?
Should we reanimate Jim Garrison and find out?


Friday, November 21, 2003

Not What It Seams

On the advice of my probation officer/tailor I recently completed a poll to find what the Average Number of Pants people in my metropolitan area possess.

Pants were defined in my study as any outer garment extending from the waist to the ankles and divided into seperate coverings for the legs. I was a bit relaxed in this definition and also included overalls (which, as you may know, extend above the waist to the mid-chest) and pants which were modified for those participants in my study that had-- for whatever reason--found themselves with only one proper leg (lost through a planned/unplanned amputation) and had modified their trousers to accomodate this loss.

Keeping this in my mind I hit the streets to collect my data. After several months of going door-to-door I managed to amass responses from over 5000 residents of my fair berg; a number I considered adequate in providing me a snapshot of this town's Pants-Per-Person Average (PPPA).

After studying my data I found that no calculations were needed to arrive at the PPPA as participants all responded with the same answer to my query. This (obviously) simplified things immensely as I have never been one for the mathematical arts*.

The Pants-Per-Person-Average (PPPA) for the Saint Paul area is (according to my research):

'Why the fuck you askin' 'bout my damn pants?'


*Hell...100% isn't even an average, is it?

Thursday, November 20, 2003

Unfortunate Job Title?

Condom Liquidator

Today's post brought to you by a news item heard on Public Radio this evening.

Sounds like a potential Porn Title about a prophylactic-favoring superhero and his very special abilities/proclivities...

Hell, until I caught this I was under the impression that Beef Boner was the most unfortunate job title one could have.

Whatever pays the bill, eh?

(who apologizes for my lack of posts this week to all of two of my readers)

Sunday, November 16, 2003

The Deli Lama

My thrice weekly meat runs to the local deli have drawn unwanted attention to me from one of the butchers employed there. He's taken a bit of a shine to me since (as he put it) Tony rhymes with bologna and this fact alone is enough to link* us (in his mind) in some sort of Pat Morita/Ralph Macchio-fashion.

Now every visit is a deluge of his bits of wisdom, anecdotes, mantras, clinches and other Butcher-esque Martial Arts maneuvers** as I try to speedily select my next batch of luncheon meat and get the hell out of there.

It's beginning to disturb me and I find myself wondering if it might be high-time to switch delis or return to purchasing pre-packed Oscar Meyer brand meats at the relatively safer local supermarkets (where I have never been 'adopted' by an employee in a delusional far as I can recall).

Leaving the deli after my last trip I was sent away with this pearl of wisdom yelled in my direction as I crossed the shop's threshold:

Sleeping in the nude is like eating a pastrami sammich when all ya wants is a Ham Stacker, y'know? Keep that in mind, why dontcha? And don't forget to keep practisin' yer moves! There's a lot of evil in the world and a meat-wielder like yerself has gotstah stay safe...

What the hell does this mean?

Makes me (foot) long for the days when the closest thing I had to a sensei was the Mobile Hot Dog Vendor that worked downtown.
He didn't seem to relish the role as much as this weird-ass butcher.

And he Never called me at home...


*His words were, "we're linked like pork sausages, youse and me...from here on in youse me ward."

**I am especially fearful of the 'Ham, Bam...Thank you, Ma'am,' the Karate Pork Chop and the 'Turkey Lam-baster.' Ouch.

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

A Brotherless Darrell

One of my neighbor's scares me.

He's one of those atypical loners and lives directly across the street from me. Whenever he sees me out with the dog he makes a point of coming out and telling me that my dog makes him laugh (I have no idea how to take this...does he mean my dog's appearance is funny? Sure, Roger is an English Bulldog and this breed looks different...but funny? Funny to a looney guy?!?).

He's the kind of guy that has the strongest potential for making the paper under one (or more) of the following headlines:

Local Man's Corn Cob Pipe Bomb Spree Comes to a Halt

Area Miscreant Manipulates Unexpecting Produce at Farmer's Market

The Water Barrell Bandit's Crime Wave Traced to North End Denizen

MSP Airport Baggage Handler Wins Luggage Olympics

Shrubbery Flasher had History of other Brush-Related Indecencies

Puppetry is my Life declares Saint Paulite Entertainer

400 Pounds of Taffy Recovered from Fairground Visitor's Sub-Basement

Meat Raffle Victor Donates Winnings to Soup Kitchen

Winter Carnival Royalty Also-Ran Promoted to Vacant Village Idiot Post

Toque Collector to Auction off Prized Stocking Caps at Sotheby's

Bingo Game Disrupted by Attendee's Impromptu Mime Show

Ass Wrangler comes from a Long Line of Donkey Breeders


You'd be a lil' wary of this fellow, too.


Tuesday, November 11, 2003

Concert-ed Activities

I've seen many things at concerts I've attended and most of these actions are forgivable considering their circumstances; such as:

Sheets of sweat rocketing off D. Boon, the late lead man of the Minutemen, and spattering me about the head, face and neck regions (after all...he was an exceedingly large man and they are prone to moisture production when active).

The inevitable bellowed request for Free Bird from audience members even when not attending a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert.

A cotton barrage of undergarments pelting the Welsh great, Tom Jones, in a mass orgiastic fit by overly-excited female fans when he gyrates his way through his hits. What's new pussycat, indeed.

Many many instances of fellow concert attendees emptying their respective stomachs all about the concourses, bathrooms, seats, railings, shirt vendors, ushers, et cetera when their alcohol content hits Critical levels.

Gobs of spittle projected in the general direction of one Mister John Lydon while fronting his second band, Public Image Limited, as a salivary homage to the heady (frothy?) days when he led the Sex Pistols.

Folk in costumery imitating the Headlining act; 'flower pot'-esque lids a la Devo, horrific masks like Gwar, Robert Smith-ian big hair and lipstick, faux beards and berets honoring Richard Thompson, flannel shirts to salute Mike Watt, strap-on plastic stomachs as a nod to Meat Loaf...and so on.

But there is one thing...

One thing I cannot forgive:

Air Harmonica.

What the hell was that fellow thinking whilst at the THE THE Dusk show?

It looked much more like he was miming 'I am eating this sandwich in a very rapid and wiggley manner' than he was playing along to one of his favorite Matt Johnson tunes.

Any other Air instrument I can overlook; be it guitar, drums, saxophone, trumpet...hell, even xylophone.

But NEVER...NEVER Air Harmonica.

That's just plain ridiculous.


Monday, November 10, 2003

ZZ Top and Jewelry Purchase Limitations

Childish as this might sound, the Texan Trio's hit song, Pearl Necklace, has set a ban on any pearl purchases by me in the way of gifts, door prizes, bribes, et cetera as the of the song is all about a lady's request to a gentleman for a seminal deposit on or about her neck region and Not a lovely piece of actual jewelry.*

Euphemistic, indeed.

It doesn't bother me per se but I wouldn't want to actually buy a pearl item (with no hidden agenda), hand it off to the recipient and have them think that I have the kooky notion to leave a dollop of DNA somewhere on their form (whether it was a pearl necklace, pearl earrings, pearl choker, pearl wristlet, and so on)...

Of course, gold is right out as well thanks to Frank Zappa's tune, Bobby Brown (Goes Down), and the line:

" long as I gets a lil' Golden Shower."

Since, again, I wouldn't want the giftee to get the impression that I was hot to micturate hither and non all over them.

Even if they were okay with it.

Bah...stupid music and it's weird influences.

*In case you didn't know this. Here's the lyrics which will let you decide if I'm wrong about the meaning behind this tune.

She's really upset with me again ,
I didn't give her what she likes .
I don't know what to tell her,
Don't know what to say.
Everything got funky last night .
She was really bombed ,
And I was really blown away ,
Until I asked her what she wanted ,
And this is what she had to say:
A pearl necklace .
She wanna pearl necklace .
She wanna pearl necklace .
She gets a charge out of bein' so weird ,
Digs gettin' downright strange .
But I can keep a handle on anything ,
Just this side of deranged .
She was gettin' bombed ,
And I was gettin' blown away ,
And she held it in her hand
And this is what she had to say:
A pearl necklace .
She wanna pearl necklace .
She wanna pearl necklace .
She is so tough , as pure as the driven slush .
And that's not true what she's talkin' about ,
It really don't cost that much .
She was gettin' bombed ,
And I was gettin' blown away ,
And she took it in her hand ,
And this is what she had to say:
A pearl necklace .
She wanna pearl necklace .
She wanna pearl necklace .

Friday, November 07, 2003


There is nothing more warming to my cold black heart than witnessing a horde of people (family? friends? a combination of both?) hugging one another outside the area's Old Country Buffet and knowing that each and everyone of them is overly-sated from the establishment's well-known All-You-Can-Eat smorgasbord-ian spread. Essentially each affectionate grapple is one stuffed-to-the-uvula humanoid squeezing another equally filled-to-the-molars biped in sort of post-chug-a-lunch love fest.

"I love you, Arlene. Glad you didn't pass on that third plate of country-fried steak."


"Likewise, Jorge...I can still smell the emptied gravy boat contents on your lips and lapels."


" was cute when little Caitlin ate her first turkey leg!"


"Grandma! That wasn't a (urp) TURKEY leg...That was a porkchop on a stick!!!"


"I'm tellin' ya, go through creamed corn like swine spillings through the Killing Floor grating."


"Get outta here, know full (har) well that you got the crown to show yer King of Ham Alley."



Warms my heart like the inseams of a fat man's pants after a dash to the Lowfat Yogurt dispenser.

I could use more hugs in my life.

Sounds like it might be time to pencil in a weekly visit to the OCB to right this wrong.

(time to break my monogrammed bib out of storage from my years as a competitive eater)

Thursday, November 06, 2003

Keeping up with the Kids Today

"Democracy is mint!"
A Central High School student's assessment of our form of government, overheard on a Minnesota Public Radio broadcast.

Now-- don't get me wrong-- I do agree with this statement; however, I could have sworn I read somewhere that the slangage used above had been retired from the popular lexicon along with:

far out
cat's meow
23 skiddoo
groaty to the max
with it
the shit
monkey shining
Mud Flap-ah-Doo-Wop
Buns Up
(and so on)

in exchange for 'Izzle-this' and 'Izzle-that' in denoting things that are 'good' or 'cool.'


Show's how much I know 'bout lingo these days. It changes and morphs far-too-quickly for me to keep up.

Hell, I still tell folk that I'll catch them on the 'flip-side' and/or that their 'Ootzee-Botzee is Poppin.'


*Granted, this phrase has its origins from a JETSONS episode which (as we are all aware) is set in the future; so it really hasn't fallen out of favor...yet.

Tuesday, November 04, 2003

Remember the first Arcadia single?

Election Day here in the Twin Towns with City Council and School Board positions open in very tight races (particularly in the former category). Candidate literature over-flowed from my mailbox DAILY as each of them hoped to snare my precious vote. When it came down to it there was very little content in this propaganda to assist me in differentiating one candidate's stance and/or views from the other...leaving me unable to decide which of these office piners I would grace with a blot of ink on the ballot...and-- Thus-- one step closer to the coveted City Council Representative title, chair, victory sash, et cetera.

After many days of scouring their pamphlets, flyers, personal letters and postcards-- each one pleading their respective cases on WHY they would be the best choice for office and emblazoned with photos of themselves and their families-- I finally stumbled upon the candidate that I could vote for and feel good about doing so...but p'raps NOT for any reason my selection would have ever dreamed up and included in any Campaign Literature:

I ended up voting for the Candidate with the worst looking spouse and child/children.*

No...really...I did.

Why's that, you may be wondering?

In my eyes there was a definite Hidden Agenda underlying his/her run for office...beyond political aspirations and a position of city-wide power...that was to get even more time away from his/her ugly-ass family. Love is blind, I know...but not so blind to realize that it might be healthy to get some additional time away from the Troglodytes infesting your homestead (even if some of them are a product of your Brood-Breeding).

If that's the case...why not join a club or take up residency at a local watering hole as the Featured Wino if you don't want to be around the blinding grostesqueries you call Family, you might now be asking yourself...why run for office of any nature?


It is a much better excuse to not be home than the atypical 'Honey, I'll be at the Gym' or the Andy Capp-ian, 'I'm nipping off to me pub for a pint and some jawing.'

As an ELECTED CITY OFFICIAL you can declare:

'Important business to attend to! We're voting on a new sewage system! I'll see you tomorrow!'

Something of that nature's hoping that my ploy worked and my Selection is soon basking in the comforts of Entitlement and a very busy schedule that will keep them away from home.

If not...oh well...I tried...I really tried to save ya...


*Staying vague here so as not to identify them nor create any hard feelings betwixt them and I (we are more than likely neighbors of a sort, living in the same ward and all)...unless of course they which case they might be VERY thankful for the system I employed in this election selection and consider it for their future Re-Election Campaign: JUST LOOK AT MY WRETCHED FAMILY!

Monday, November 03, 2003

Ooooh that Smell
Can’t you smell that Smell
Ooooh that Smell
The Smell of Death surrounds you

with no apologies to Lynyrd they, too, have a strong odor about them (living and late members both*)

What the heck is going on?

My Jeep Wrangler has some sort of interior stench the likes of which I have never before experienced in an olfactory manner.**

Did I misplace an Egg McMuffin on a recent morn in my eagerness to finish a slab of hash browns? Is this the revenge of a slighted fast food item?

Or something else?

Did some wildlife get into and expire somewhere in the vehicle? Under the hood? Beneath the driver's seat? An expired squirrel or the neighbor's non-feral mongoose? Oh, please Lord don't let it be Riki Tiki Tavi's distant relation. My fellow members in the Rudyard Kipling Book Club would never overlook this unintended murder and dishonorably discharge me in the ever-feared Naga Ceremony.

Can't be that...I'm letting my imagination get the better of me.

It could be a prank pulled by one of the many Trick-or-Treaters that were running amok in their costumery last Friday and only now bearing an aromatic release? A stink bomb with a delayed fuse? A stashed 'flavor log' rolled in a tubesock? A midget with an aerosol can marked Musk-Ox?

What the Hell is it?

I need to steel myself for the task of a 'Seek and Destroy' mission within the confines of my Metal Steed.

It shant get the best of me.


*Presumably the LATE members of this Southern-Fried Rock act would rank (har) pretty high up on the Stink-Meter at this point; y'know...rotted flesh, airplane fuel, and scorched denim...

** there any other way, Mister T?

Sunday, November 02, 2003

Pulling a David Blaine

For my next Feat I will dunk both of my fists into this crock pot full of, what the locals call, Dumb-Guy-Dip,* pull them free of this steaming hot cauldron clenching massive dripping globules of its contents,THEN distribute dollops of this Velveeta-y goodness to each of you for you're noshing-pleasure without harming neither my mystical talons nor any of you're outstretched paper plate bearing hands.

Once again I warn you to not attempt this at home; after all, I am a trained Magician having learned on the lap of Gerald 'Pixie Duster' Moobler, the self-proclaimed poor man's Doug Henning, and have the proper molten cheese handling skills necessary to survive immersion in this mini-volcanic food warming appliance.



(mild applause)

Thank you. Thank you.

Next week's trick will involve me living for three and a half months with a soiled pillow case over my head.

Abra, Abra Kadabra. M'gonna reach out and grab ya

*Dumb-Guy-Dip is a concoction of one block of Velveeta Cheese, one can of Hormel Chili and other additives per your choice, heated up in a crock pot for all your Dipping Food Activiites found at typical Party-Style Gatherings.