Friday, January 30, 2004

Testifying 'bout ill-sized Pants Purchase

I'm sure that my loyal cadre of readers (all three of you?) have had restless evenings of non-slumber worrying about the wrong-inseamed Levi's I purchased the other day (Tuesday); that I was either gallavanting about, hither and non, in either the blown-out pants I had attempted to replace with my 'business area' unfurled/unleashed/unfettered and waving to the masses OR the Far-Too-Long Replacements with four inches of cuffs clanging about my tops of my footwear.

Lose Zs no longer...for the situation has been addressed, to my great relief.

A trip back to the store where I made my hasty boner* of a jeans purchase, a CAREFUL perusal of the stacks of denim trousers for the correct size and style, an awkward exchange with a clerk (which went like this):

Me: Good Day. I need to exchange these jeans (holds the wrong pair up) for a new pair (displays the Right Pair in the other hand); I had a momentary lapse of Inseam Judgement and a mild aspiration to Greater Heights than these stubby pegs are capable of.

Clerk: ?!? Do you have your receipt?

...and I was on my way home, with images of myself clad in crisp new and suitably fit Levi's dancing in my head.

Thus, rest easy now, my friends, for all is right in the world of Tony's lower extremity coverings.


*EASY there, folk...that used to simply mean 'mistake'...although it might make an interesting title to a Porn Film adaptation of this incident. Let me talk to my more Cinematically-Inclined compatriots and I'll get back to you. Casting Calls will be forthcoming.

Thursday, January 29, 2004

Cold Weather Leads to Strange Tale

The older gentleman that works here at my place of employment as our 'Jack-of-All-Trades' totters by my desk today, stopping to share a tale of one sub-zero day he experienced(completely unsolicited):

Old G: I was using the outhouse at this cabin up north once and thermometer said it was Forty Two Below Zero. Good thing the seat was carpetted or I woulda froze my stuff off.

Me: Ah. That's fortunate.

OG: Yep.
(totters away)


Wednesday, January 28, 2004

How not to shop for new Jeans
Or The Wrong Trousers

I've been down to one pair of jeans now for the better part of a year; subsequently, said pair o' pants have gotten a pretty severe wearin' & tearin' & (now) barin' as the denim thinned out and split in strategically ill-advised (and potentially indecent) locations.

So, after much muttering and complaining to myself and the pants (for 'giving out' on me...losers), a trip to a local department store was in order for the acquisation of replacement Levi's.

I hate clothes shopping. My intent was to get in and get out as fast as possible, avoiding all on-the-floor-salespeople (with their 'Can I help you locate something?' questions) whilst snatching a pair of 550s from the rack and paying for them. Fortunately, my waist/inseam has not changed in years so I would not need to use the Changing Room and try the pants on before purchasing...which would also help expedite my visit to the store.

It went like this:

Entered Store
Located Men's Pants Section
Found the Levi-Strauss stock
Eyed the sizes of the 550s
Grabbed a pair in my size from the bottom of the pile (less likely to have been tried on by others)
Checked out

Sounds like a pretty successful endeavor, eh?

In a manner of speaking.

Sadly (as I learned many hours later) it seems that I have some Altitudinal Delusions as the Inseam measurement was FOUR INCHES TOO LONG for me. My hate and haste did me in.

So, unless I feel like cuffing my pants OR having them Hemmed Up, I need to NOW go back to the damn store and swap the leggy jeans for a properly sized stumpy pair.

If the High Lords of the Pants are paying attention...I learned my lesson; I will never Hurriedly buy trousers again...


Tuesday, January 27, 2004

Talking 'bout Talk Talk

Music Confession time, kids.

To preface:

I've never enjoyed anything by Gwen Stefani and her mates (heh...or mates and former Mates, eh?) that comprise the popular quartet No Doubt. I even cringe when her relationship (now marriage) to Gavin Rossdale gets a mention in the music press (Does anyone miss his old band, Bush? Does anyone ever bust out an old copy of one of their -kaff- timeless recordings and listen to 'em? I'm sure they do at the Rossdale-Stefani abode but NOT anywhere else on the planet*).

With this in mind I was startled to learn that the cover of Talk Talk's 1984 song, It's My Life, that I had been hearing quite a bit over the last month or two was, in fact, being performed by Mrs. Rossdale and No Doubt.

Never say Never, eh?

This is a really good and faithful (to the original single) version of Talk Talk's tune (are they still around?). So much so that it inspired me to break out the old vinyl (that's right, kids; VINYL!!!) and give it a listen (or two...and YES I still have a fully operational turntable) the other day. IT'S MY LIFE (the name of the song AND the album) really took me back (dern 80s nostalgia) and reminded me of things I had long since stashed away in my Cerebral File Cabinet; like:

The fact that, at one time, a dear friend of mine wanted to have his hair styled in the same fashion as Mike Hollis, TT's main man, and often moistened his locks with tap water to achieve that wet look. In hind sight, some Soul Glow (remember COMING TO AMERICA?) would have been an able assist in this coiffure aspiration.

AND made for some good Makin' Out music (as well as another one of their releases, THE COLOUR OF SPRING).**

So, begrugdingly, I need to tip my hat (a Tip from Tip) to Gwen and her crew for reminding me of a band I really enjoyed back in the day AND for some titillating memories involving a select group of ladyfriends and a certain husky and hormonally-challenged tuddler.

Molto appreciato.


*Okay...maybe, just maybe some Bush tunes our getting played on the International Space Station...but only because some Astro/Cosmo-naut intentionally ditched it there and it's NOW the only musical recording available to listen to...well, that and a copy of the cast recording of Jesus Christ Superstar (stupid friggin' Andrew Lloyd Webber)...but, it isn't actually being listened to ON this planet; so I stand by my original statement.

**Another one that comes to mind is Digital Underground's SEX PACKETS. But, p'raps, that is for another Blog entry...or not.

Monday, January 26, 2004

Winter Carnival Parade Pre-Planning

Saint Paul's Winter Carnival festivities kicked off on Saturday with the traditional day-time parade. A large group of friends and I attended and all seemed to have a damn fine time. My 'fun quotient' has heightened when I espied a fellow attendee plop down on a nearby bench and pull out what can only be considered his Parade-Food-Fare; in this case it was not the typical selection of popcorn, hot dogs, fat pretzels, cotton candy and the like, but a family-sized tin of sardines (that he must have brought from home as I saw no tinned fish vendors along the parade route...and, afterwards, I looked for them).

This was a first for me...watching a gentleman pop sardines into his maw whilst watching the parade go by and it made me wonder about his prepartions to attend the day's festivities:

Guy: Hmm. Parade's coming up this afternoon. Gotta make sure I got's some snacks along; they screw ya at them booths-- pricewise-- and I ain't nobody's fool. What'll it be? (lip smacking noises) What'd hit the spot out in the cold watching the parade?'s gotta be sardines. Nothing says PARADE GRUB like some salted fish! (retrieves tin from shelf and puts in his tote bag) Now if I could only find me festive toque I'd be set...*

Something like that, I'd imagine.


*For the sake of the above fictionalized monologue, let's say it's an Internal one...although there is a strong possibility that he said it aloud to an audience of himself...and maybe a cat. The cat's name would be something like Mister Squirm or Cater Kitty...

Friday, January 23, 2004

Things Learned Yesterday

-It is possible for one woman to eat five pieces of fudge in one sitting AND be proud of said gorging; as evidenced by her declaring said feat loudly enough for me to hear from 50 yards away. It should also be noted that even from that distance I had no doubts that she knew her way around a fudge tray and could be considered a Black Belt in the Masticate-l Arts.

-Very few bar patrons frown upon a fellow chewin' baccy* and spitting the excess brackish saliva into an at-hand plastic cup. Even I was more amused at this activity than disgusted AND found myself mildly tempted to ask the gentleman for a pinch (of baccy...ya pervs) of his Kodiak, Redman, Skoal, Pierre's Wad or whatever brand he was enjoying.


*The phrase 'Chewin' baccy' above made me pause to consider George Lucas' choice and intent in naming the Wookie co-pilot of Han Solo 'Chewbacca;' was this his way to subliminally encourage the viewers of his STAR WARS films to partake in a dip of tobacco?

Thursday, January 22, 2004

The Year of the Monkey

begins today.

As I have been mistaken for a primate since my earliest escapades as a reverse-Lord Greystoke (an ape-chile' raised by non-Peered alleged homo sapiens) I take great delight in this Chinese Zodiac designation.

Thus, to start this year out right, I am going to immediately enact the following promises:

-Impromptu 'nit-picking' to keep my fellow co-workers, acquaintances, authority figures and loved ones 'pelts' clean and presentable. If you look good, you feel good (so also expect a subsequent post-pick grope).

-Not to misconstrue the donning of scarlet drawers for red rump; recognizing , in truth, that it is purely a stylistic undergarment choice some folk make. No more random rutting for me at local department store changing rooms (as I promised my probation officer...whom I've also apologized to for that incident with his 'nanner'). Gotta learn to keep some of my base simian instincts in check if I want to make it in this world of 'hairless apes'* whilst simaltaneously celebrating the Monkey in Me. A difficult balancing act, indeed...but have you ever seen a Orang walking a suspended rope?


*To borrow a phrase from Steve Gerber's classic Howard the Duck comic series from the 70s (which was great and should not be lumped in with the film the series inspired...thanks, George). First Monkeys and now anthropomorphic Ducks? Must be late.

Tuesday, January 20, 2004

Siskel and Pope-r?

In case you missed it:

The Vatican is now denying reports that Pope John Paul II personally endorsed Mel Gibson's THE PASSION OF CHRIST after a private viewing recently (the film depicts the final hours of Jesus you can understand how important it would be for Mel to get the former Mister Karol Wojtyla's approval).

Think they misinterpreted a Papal Head Nod as a positive acknowledement to the film after His Holiness watched it?

I do.

Considering the Pope's advanced age and Parkinson's Disease, a Nod is not going to cut it as an affirmation since he spends most of his time shaking and nodding anyway; Hell (kaff), he might of even Nodded Off during the screening.

Next time Gibson and Company should get something in writing or--at the very least --a Thumb's Up of some sort to indicate his Blessing (a variation of the always popular Pope Wave).

On the other hand, It's also entirely possible that the Pope endorsed a film of Mel's; MAD MAX BEYOND THUNDERDOME and not THE PASSION.

Which is a strong possibility as I seem to recall reading somewhere (his auto-biography?) that the 'Main Man of the Vatican' is quite fond of quoting Tina Turner's character from said film (Aunty Entity) with the phrase:

But he's just a Raggedy Man

when conversing with some of his least favored Cardinals and Pope-Wranglers.

Either way...I'm Hades-bound.

(but, according to Dante, I'll meet the Pope on the lowest ring of there you go)

Sunday, January 18, 2004

The Latest Refuse Discovered in my Yard

I'm not exactly sure why my yard has become the Landfill du Jour of my neighborhood (see the previous Blog Entry 'Roaming Bonecasters sans Divinations' for more details) but there has been a recent spate of debris left (intentionally?) about my plot of land; namely:

-A discarded (and still steaming) Bucket of Popeye's Chicken (which might tie in with the aforementioned article and the folk that so recklessly discarded that infamous drumstick bone).

-An Oscar Meyer Variety Pack with one slice of Cotto Salami remaining inside (partially nibbled...but potentially gnawed by one of Nature's lil' Nibblers--like a squirrel or nomadic feral poodle-- and not a Dickensian Pudding-Favoring Street Urchin, obviously).

-One personalized Hubcap...gilded (of all things) and sporting the phrase (in Spray Paint stylings): Born to Frolic.

-Water-damaged Frederick's of Hollywood catalog/catalogue cover dated September 1992 (?!? Who the hell's had this stashed in their home for the last 12 years and why disown it NOW? Isn't that enough time to have it considered a common-law spouse?).

-One blue and green striped tube sock; apparently modified into a puppet of some sort as evidenced by the one wiggley plastic peeper adhesed to the toe region (now THAT is one sorry puppet, my friends...and my yard is NOT an appropriate puppet graveyard, thank you)..

(faux-Sanford sans Son...although a stand-in Lamont would be pretty cool, ya Big Dummy)

Friday, January 16, 2004

Tiptone Presents Goes Anagram-istic

Anagram: A word or phrase made from another by rearranging its letters.

It crossed my mind that I might better understand myself AND the title of this Blog if I anagrammatized it.

Here's some of the many results with explanations/notes following each:

Potter Ineptness
Two-fold truth to this one; I am neither skilled in the pottery arts nor have ever read the adventures of JK Rowling's bespectacled boy-wizard.

Rotten Penis Pest
This phrase either hints at that I'm prone to hassling Mister John Lydon with my ding-dong OR that I've had the pleasure of visiting a clinic to have some STD expunged from my nethers. Neither are anywhere near the truth so I disregard it as way-off-base.

Nepotist Serpent
I'm of the belief that snakes of any kind are not in the practice of hiring relations for openings in their businesses or political parties. I could be wrong about this as I have never been a student of herpetology nor worked for slithering, limbless hissers.

Inept Porn Testes
I could never take the place of the Hedgehog, Ron Jeremy, in adult film fandom; thus, I concede that this anagram strikes close to

Tip's Preteen: Tons
I was, indeed, a heavy and huskified lad in my teenage years; another point for the Anagrams.

Presentient Pots
Cooking Ware does not possess, as far as I am aware, consciousness; so, this is correct but seemingly implies that said pots will one day become sentient. I have no idea what all of this means in regards to myself or this Blog but I sure hope that if this does occur that I can still utilize Steve Skillet in the cooking of my bacon.

Well...amusing but hardly informative.

C'est la vie (or Tesla Vice which apparently reveals my degraded fixation on the metal band named after the famed electrical inventor...or the inventor himself?!?)


Wednesday, January 14, 2004


Someone lost their 'grocery list' out behind my place of employment and I fear they may go hungry if they are not notified of its going astray.

Of course, I use the term 'grocery list' loosely as the scrap of paper wasn't much of a LIST at all; containing, as it did, only one item (possibly two):

Cream of Mushroom Rice

Is this a reminder to get one can of this particular soup OR to get both soup AND rice?

P'raps it is not a list at could be some form of Incantation favored (heh...or Flavored) by a Culinary Wizard/Witch/Warlord? Remember that Muppet Magician from Sesame Street with his sorcerous phrase 'A la Peanut Butter Sandwiches!!!'? Like that guy...only less puppet-y...and the cape is optional...unless you find that sort of fashion accessory Tres Magnifique or whatever...and I won't even bring up the Top Hat...

All pondering can fetch your damn pathetic 'List' off my desk if you feel so inclined.

(Cream of Mushroom Rice...POOF!!!)

Monday, January 12, 2004

Unnerving Typo

The other day a friend of mine asked me to proof a draft of his tale about visiting a local casino. Although by no means do I consider myself an editor nor much of a wordsmith, I took up the task for shits and giggles AND for the slight boost it gave my ego (it doesn't take much, folks).

One particular passage caught my eye immediately:

'After the hour and a half drive, Earl and I were ready for some serious NAMBLING!'

Say WHAT?!?

Surely he meant to write GAMBLING but for the the briefest moment I was taken aback at the prospect that he and a pal, Earl, were attending a North American Man/Boy Love Association meeting and partaking in whatever activities (ahem...NAMBLING?) said group engages in instead of, say, shooting craps...uhm...I mean, playing the

One quick question to the writer and all was cleared up.

(and, thankfully, he did not create a new verb, eh?)

David Bootie

I had the pleasure of catching Bowie's REALITY tour stop in Minneapolis this evening. It proved to be a well-balanced mix of old and new tunes with a few covers thrown for variety (Velvet Underground's WHITE LIGHT/WHITE HEAT, Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers' PABLO PICASSO, and The Pixies' CACTUS); a mixture that reflected the diversity of age groups represented by the audience in attendence.

Holy Crap, there were more kids there than I ever would have expected (which, I must add, is a good sign that he still has appeal to the younger generation...which bodes well that not ALL kids are listening to only what they are spoon-fed by Top Forty radio). One of my favorite moments of the evening came not from Bowie per se but the reaction of a gaggle of pre-teen gals to a line from his classic, Ziggy Stardust:

Bowie belts out the line, 'with God Given Ass,' and this quartet before me shriek with gleeful and early-on-set-hormonal abandon...a collective shrilling I cannot describe in any better terms. It wasn't the line (from the same song), 'well-hung with snow-white tan' that they reacted was the Ass Line.


What does THAT mean?

A general preference for the derriere? A specific preference for HIS backside? show.

(although for a 57 year old he is in good form...ahem...vocally, too)

Friday, January 09, 2004

Excuses, Excuses

I wish I could say that the reason behind my seeming drought of bits added to this blog over the last couple of weeks was that I have been occupied:

-Assisting a friend in opening his very first shoeshine stand (Sit-N-Spit).

-Undergoing intense primal scream therapy to get over my lifelong fear of the recordings of the Plastic Ono Band.

or some such nonsense.

Really...I've been plum busy with work.


Tuesday, January 06, 2004

An Avalanche is like WHAT?!?

This evening's Nightly News with Tom Brokaw had a piece on the rash of avalanches that have happened of late (during this wintery season). One particular gentleman they interviewed (bedecked in toque and appropos, no doubt) described an avalanche he survived as:

Like snow making an earthquake.


C'mon, buddy...THAT'S the best you can do? You're on a National News Program, fer Flip's sake. Crank Start that Toqued-Noodle and gimme a better comparison than THAT!


It's like the mountain puked it's innards all over itself.

The avalanche was comparable to Old Smokey's Meatball going AWOL, ya dig?

A sub-zero volcanic eruption, dude. magma, man.

Ya ever get overzealous with the gravy boat when soaking yer taters? JUST like that...only on a more epic non-edible and deadly scale

Totally Sisyphus-ian...only one way with a whole hell lot more than a stupid single boulder.

It reminded me of this time I was up against a 13th Level Wizard, failed my Saving Throw and got overrun by his incantation of Blorg's Wall of Splat,

Y'know? Confuse the Interviewer. Give their Editor something to chew on before running with the story:

Editor: Should we go with the 'meatball' quote?

Interviewer: Sure...why not? It'll play big with our Dago viewers...keep 'em off the slopes.

Editor: Bingo.

Next better.

(or I will)

Sunday, January 04, 2004

Atari Game that Could Have Been

One of the party favors (in a manner of speaking) that the host of this year's New Year's Eve fete had available was his ancient (and functional) Atari 2600...plugged in and with a slew of old games on-hand for a old-school-gaming Walk Down Memory Lane.

I spent a nice chunk of time watching others take part in the joys of Combat, Pitfall, River Raid, Yar's Revenge, and so on as the evening skipped along at a merry pace. At some point my eyes passed over the selection of second tier game titles lurking nearby (aside from the more popular ones that were actually being played) and I was momentarily taken aback when I misread the title of one particular game:


What the hell?

What's this video game all about?

My mind raced; perhaps it had something to do with rescuing morbidly obese shut-ins from their home sanctuaries via chainsawing through doorframes or walls and backing forklifts in to get them out and over to one of Dick Gregory's weight loss fat farms?

Could that be it?

If so, Why had I never heard of this game? If this were the actual nature of the game it would have been one that I took great pleasure in joy-sticking to victory (it could even vie with Burger Time for all-time greatest video game).

After each successful level the difficulty would increase. Whereas the early portions of the game would involve extricating corpulent folk from their resplendent stately mansions, latter ones would involve the challenging task of doing the same thing only from increasingly smaller and smaller abodes...and larger and larger characters. The final level would essentially be on big mutha with a thatched roof resting on his/her head; his body basically taking the place of proper load-bearing walls. How to enact a rescue in this scenario without injuring your target tubby?

How indeed.

Unfortunately, after all of these thoughts passing through my mind and pondering how much fun this game would be I double-checked the title and was sad to note that it was not FatHome but:


Oh...some stupid underwater adventure.

I'll leave computerized bathysphering to my more aquatically inclined electronic gamers.