Sunday, February 29, 2004

In Honor of Five Decades of Marital Bliss

Mister and Mrs. Arthur Henderson celebrated their 50th Wedding Anniversary with a dinner reception at their modest rambler on the city's East Side this past week. Their extended family, close friends, and select city dignitaries were in attendance to hail the couple on their marital achievements over the last half century. Soup was served ('Thin and unsavory' noted one partaker) and Mister Henderson's extensive collection of primate photography was on display in testament to his life long dream (sadly unrealized) of being hailed as the 'Dian Fossey' of Saint Paul. Many glasses were raised to Mrs. Henderson's unwavering patience with her husband's simian obsession and she was heard to quip (after several banana daquiries) that, with all the time he spent at the Area Zoo's Monkey House with his ancient Polaroid camera, Arthur should have been crowned 'Lord Greystoke; King of the Lazy Do-Nothings.' The gala event came to a uncomfortable end when Mister Henderson, clad in his homemade lifelike orangutan costume, caught fire from a well-aimed cigarette butt flicked from his wife's general direction.


Thursday, February 26, 2004

Ineffective Super Powers: Part One

Pom Pom Hands
Ultimate Sandwich Grip/Manipulations
Organ Growth (literally, piano enlargement)
Moebius Strip (the ability to make mathematicians remove their clothing)
Water to Stew
Sentient Pants
Pelt Awareness ('Don't move, Captain Sieve...there be animal pelts nearby...possibly a clutch of otter skins...and they're evil!')
Language of the Street (communicate with slabs of concrete, tar, asphalt, et cetera)
One Night Stand (the ability to remain on one's feet for an entire evening without tiring)


Wednesday, February 25, 2004

New Deli Slang*

Translated: Ham Sandwich

Translated: Short form of Delicious Ham Sandwich, Delicious Hammich or 'This Ham Sandwich/Hammich is delicious.'
Not to be mistaken for the composer/arranger Marvin Hamlisch, who, I have been assured by sources close to the man, tastes nothing like a ham sandwich...unless properly prepared and seasoned.


*Which has nothing to do with New Delhi Slang as I speak not a lick of proper Hindi nor any jargon they may have.

Tuesday, February 24, 2004

Tip's Reading Nook

Today's excerpt from:

Buffed: Seduction in the Janitor's Closet

'Mmm...lemme jez move this here slop bucket.'
(splash splash)
'Giggle. Oh, Maurice!'
' out fer that there stack o' urinal cakes...they cause a rash something fierce if ya gets it on yer bare skin (don't ask how I knows that). Ya might wanna prop yerself up onna sink instead.'
(Cooing and rustling noises)


Monday, February 23, 2004

Fourth Encore

I had the great pleasure of catching Richard Thompson in concert at the Fitzgerald Theater last night. As usual*, he put on a wonderful show, armed, as he was, with an acoustic guitar, his sharp and sardonic wit and 30 plus years of tunes (of which he chose from liberally).

The show, itself, lasted almost three hours and included a great new ditty about Janet Jackson's breast incident/titty debacle/wardrobe malfunction from the Superbowl Halftime show (I hope to have the lyrics to this song stay tuned for'll be worth the wait) and three encores.

Three Encores with each comprising three additional songs a piece.

Well worth the 25 bucks for the ticket.

AND there was an added bonus.

After the show I (unexpectedly) was graced with a FOURTH encore--albeit not one performed by Mister Thompson nor in the theater proper-- as presented by a trio of gentlemen out for a 'leisurely' and, quite possibly, besotted evening stroll (heck...they may have even been at the show and had partaken in, not only the fantastic show Richard put on, but also way-too-many inebriating bevinos...or simply the latter at a nearby tavern...I cannot be sure).

En route to my parked vehicle, the wife and I took note of these three fellows galumphing down the street just across from us. They were 'chatting' in a truly gutteral manner (purely monosyllabic grunts and other assorted neanderthalic noises**), which, at first, made me suspect they were Special Needers but, upon closer squints and careful listening, we were convinced that, in fact, they were simply 'Alcoholicly Challenged.'

All the better to chortle at their respective conditions.

It was but a moment after our realization of their state of intoxication that one of them took a splendidly acrobatic spill onto the sidewalk, hitting with an audibley moist THUMP (we've been in a bit of a warm spell and the streets about town are wet with melted snow; at least, I sure hope the wet noise I heard was the guy's body hitting the slick pavement and not the sound of his saturated-via-personally-produced-watery-substances-clothing making contact with the Earth).

Well...WE heard (and saw) him go BOOM; his buddies did not as they continued with their nocturnal constitutional, leaving his prone and slightly shuddering form behind.

Assorted WHISTLES!!!

It was a few moments later that they realized they were down to a duo*** and, looking back, espied their companion sprawled out on the ground. By this point I was struggling mightily with a fit of the giggles and dealing with the 'you really shouldn't be laughing' look from my wife. They staggered back to their buddy and, in a flourish of non-assistance, did not help him regain an upright stance.

So...God bless you, too, Mister Impromptu Street Performer and your two travelling companions/trainers. Your prat/splat-fall was the perfect capper to a wonderful evening.

The best Fourth Encore...Ever.


*I've seen him live--solo and with a backing band--at least a dozen times at this point in my life. Hmm...I must be a fanboy.

**Probably loosely translated as:
'Me like booze!'
'You am yes!'
If their actions could be accurately translated to modern English.

***'Where am Bob?'
'Bob am Boom!'
'Not goodly.'

Friday, February 20, 2004

Quote of the Day

'Do you like the Marx Brothers?'

'Are they anything like AC/DC?'

Which brought to mind the many times I have heard people respond to:

Pink Floyd
Molly Hatchet
Mott the Hoople
Jethro Tull
Jesus Jones
Roxy Music
Pere Ubu
Wolfgang Press
Zodiac Mindwarp
Right Said Fred
King Crimson

in the following way:

'(insert a band name from above)? Yeah, he's/that guy's cool.'


Wednesday, February 18, 2004

New at your local Stink Counter


A head(spin)y fragrance precariously balancing a blend of sweet street cred with the scent of slightly-moistened-by-perspiration cardboard and velveteen sweatsuits and set to the pulsating urban soundtrack reverberating through your own 'inner' boombox.

Oooo Yeah!

Available in:
Cologne, bodywash, unguent, poultice and Bling rinse.


Monday, February 16, 2004


The following is a list of books that I am currently not working on nor ever intend to have published:

The Missing Link: Sausage Scarcity in 16th Century Europe

Morbid O-Bless-ity: Finding Christ through Intense Gorging

Trial and Er...uhm...What?

Uttini!!!: A Day in the Life of a Tatooinian Jawa Tribe

Horshack's Scarf

SPLORCH, BBLLRRGGHH, FLAH: Modern Day Onomatopoeias


My Ladle, Your Gravy


Sunday, February 15, 2004

Pardon Me

Two Questions that were posed to me in a little under 12 hours yesterday; the first at a wedding and the second at a local watering hole. Two Questions that I feel represent opposite ends of the Inquiry Spectrum that can be posed to me:

Are you a designer?

Do you have any chew?

No to both.

After replying in the negative to the first question, the woman followed with: LOOK like a designer.

Say, Hunh? What does that mean? And what is it that I look like I might design?

The second question may hold the answer to the first.

The latter question was less confusing to me but still made me wonder what it was about my person that wrongly exuded Dude's-A-'baccy-Chewer' vibes to this fellow bar patron. Heck, I don't even have that universal tell-tale sign of a chewer; the circular tin shape discoloring the back pocket's denim.

P'raps together my real purpose in life has been revealed...that I should be working for Big Tobacco devising a new brand/flavor of dip?

Anyone care to sample my new chaw? I call it TIP's SPIT...


Friday, February 13, 2004

Quote of the Day

From this evening's Entertainment Tonight:
Magic Johnson's response to what he'll be doing for Valentine's Day:

I gotta take care of all my ladies.*

Uhm...Mister't that what got you in to trouble in the first place?

*In all fairness, he was talking about his wife and family...but, Curse my Evil Mind, the above is the first thing I thought of...completely out of context, natch.

Thursday, February 12, 2004

Breaking Down the Lyrics of the theme song to TV's GRIZZLY ADAMS

'Maybe' by Thom Pace

Deep inside the forest is a door into another land,

Put the shrooms down, Adams...there ain't no mystical door leading anywhere (Narnia? Wonderland? Oz? Middle-Earth?); just the one that opens into your rundown dump of a bear-stenched cabin.

Here is our life and home,

Nice spread, Fugitive; 'pears the whiskey-sodden Mountain Man Friend of your's musta helped install this porch as it has a noticeable slant to the east. I'm also assuming that pile of timber over there is your 'divan'? And, really...what's that smell?

We are staying, here forever in the beauty of this place all alone,

Who's this WE you're referencing? You and Your grizzly bear companion? The besotted Mad Jack? His pack-ass, Number Seven? Nakoma? Your rugged overalls? Or has your isolation from society and the thin air on your mountain retreat driven you into some weird ass (non-donkey) insanity? Of course, it could very well be that sucking the fumes of that peculiar and off-putting odiferousness day-in day-out has made you nuts...ya ever hear of soaking in a creek once in a blue moon (or are you afraid of someone purloining your natty threads or peeping a glance at your backwoods junk?)?

We keep on hoping ...

For?!? Hoping for what? That your criminal record is expunged? That you had a water closet or a bar of soap? Maybe some other compadres besides a stolid and reticent Native American and a Doctor-Doolittle-esque Mule Chatting Trader? I can understand THAT kinda hope in your particular situation, crook.

Maybe, there's a world where we won't have to run, and

An unlikely dream world there, Adams...sounds like you've had your nose in the ether again (which, I can say assuredly, would smell a helluva lot better than your malador).

Maybe, there's a time we'll call our own,

Shall I ring the good Doctor and see if the Tardis is available for a trip to a different age? P'raps an age of abundant lather?

Living free in harmony and majesty,

Hardly a harmonious and majestic life if you're constantly worried about:

the authorities locating you and bringing you to justice
Mad Jack's appearing unannounced and eating all your bacon
Nakoma standing around not saying much
Ben getting into the corn-squeezings
and so on

Take me home,
Take me home.'re fucked up. Have you so quickly forgotten Line Two to your little Ditty?
Here is our life and home?!?

You're already there, Adams. See that glorified lean-to over there? The one with the Stink-Lines emanating from it?
With the bear sitting on a barrel chewing on a boot?
And the grey-haired and bearded Daniel Boone-ian holding a one-sided argument with the silent Indian over the use of his beast of burden?

That's your damn home.


Wednesday, February 11, 2004

Spontaneous Parking Lot Singalong with Woefully Ill-Picked Song

LOCATION: Guitar Center parking lot across from Best Buy in Roseville, Minnesota
PERPETRATORS: Two folk in the mid to late 20s (Caucasians)

I was leaving Best Buy Tuesday night with my haul of new (to me) CDs when my ears caught a tune on the wind; a frightening tune of 80s vintage that was horrible when initially released and has not improved with age (unlike, say, cheese or wine or Sophia Loren or Rene Russo or Ann Margeret For but a moment I thought that someone was blasting it from their vehicle's 'booming system' as a declaration to all within earshot (that would be upwards to 100 yards away or more) that they lack any sense of good taste in their music appreciation and had cranked the volume to 11 to prove this point...however, I quickly realized that there was no music accompanying the vocals and that, in fact, it was NOT the recorded version but two people singing it aloud to one another in the parking lot across the way.

Over and Over they repeated the chorus as I wondered why it was they were leaving Guitar Center singing THIS song?

Had it been playing Inside the store?

Were they practicing for a gig their cover band had forthcoming?

A true love for the band and this song from 1985?

Bad Taste?

I'm leaning towards the latter as you will see as you scan down and I reveal that they were singing:

SONG: 'We Built This City' by Starship from their 85 release Knee Deep in the Hoopla

Yeah...Knee Deep in something Other than Hoopla...(shudder)

(I can say with certainty that Marconi did NOT play the mamba...he was more of a harpsichord guy)

Tuesday, February 10, 2004

Quote of the Day

I think THORAX means chest area.

Uttered (and overheard by your's truly) by one of the student's in my school's Medical Assistant program.

Hopefully she still has a few quarters left before completing her courses of study or I fear where future patients may find her stethoscope placed during routine examinations.

'Relax, Mister Huffalumph. I am now going to check your heart. Please remove your pants, clasp each of your gluttonly thorax-imals, and yodel into this stepPUHmuhscope.'

'But...but...I'm here for an Eye Exam.'


Monday, February 09, 2004


What would you think if, when invited to a dear friend's house for dinner, you were told the following:

Ted Nugent is my butcher.



This bear/moose/bison/ocelot/boar/orang was lightly killed by the Motor City Madman with a bow and arrow/bowie knife/maul/industrial-sized shovel?


I have to admit that this is much more delicious than the swine Joe Cocker throttled for the fete he threw last week; and don't get me started about the texture of Billy Gibbon's 'Tube Snake Boogie' goulash.


(would you care for a bag for your leftovers?)
Revisiting Old TV Programs: Chico and the Man

A gentleman of Spanish descent befriends/is hired by a crusty old car mechanic; this relationship blossoms when 'The Man' allows Chico to sleep in a parked station wagon (or was it a hearse? an old ambulance? Whatever it's make...he slept in it) in his garage; Not in the apartment OVER the garage, not on a cot somewhere or even an urban lean-to...but in a PARKED VEHICLE!!! Hilarity and Ethnic Humor ensues. Throw in Scatman Crothers as the neighborhood Garbageman and a television classic is born.

Can you imagine getting this show optioned in this day and age?

'Here's the plan...we've got this Streetwise Chicano teamed up with an aging Caucasian and--get this--the codger let's the younger punk sleep in his garage in the back of an automobile. It's got HIT written all over it and is sure to play well to the 18-80 year olds...and especially to folk that HAVE slept in cars and may know a few Spaniards.'

'Get this pilot made, STAT!!!'

However, back in the late 70s, it WAS a huge hit until the unexpected suicide of Freddie Prinze, Sr.

Weird, huh?

I do seriously ponder how it might have fared in today's television climate.


Saturday, February 07, 2004


As I explained to one of the neighbor kids the other day:

Playing a few games of the arcade classics Burger Time or Food Fight does not give you the recommended daily allowance of anything remotely nutritious nor is a healthy exercise regime* don't try and tell ME that it's a new type of Diet Plan like Atkin's or The Zone or whatever.

When I was a kid and played those games at the arcade they made me hungry. Just watching some lil' Chef Guy running across gigantic meat patties (in Burger Time) or pitching fruits and vegetables as the large-headed hero of Food Fight caused a Gorging Frenzy when I'd return home.

*Unless your idea of being 'in-shape' is really 'buff' fingers from all the joystick reps you've put in ('Check it out, ma...I can crack open this bottle of Fluff wit' one digit!')

Friday, February 06, 2004

Avert Your Eyes!!! I'm at the Grocers!!!

I was asked by the 'Power That Is' to hit the supermarket today to refill our foodly reserves. Armed with a list of goodies and corresponding coupons I was in and out in about 30 odd minutes; but not without making one interesting observation:

-People do NOT make eye contact with other shoppers whilst seeking their grub. Peepers are firmly set on the items they're perusing/squeezing or aimed straight down into the cart they are propelling before them. Whether this has something to do with a form of shame relating to their selections (like the fact that their cart is filled to bursting with Jerky Flavored Oleo or Uncle Ben's Frisky Biscuit Mix) I do not know. But they certainly ain't looking at anyone...unless it's the butcher when opting for a half a dozen pounds of ground hog jowls or the cashier when checking out* (That'll be $487.53, Mister Gumflapper.).

Not me.

I was looking at everyone (lazy eye and all)...and HOLY SHIT, people...would it hurt you to clean yourself up before going grocery shopping? If I see a greasy mitt stain on another eggplant I had intentions of bringing home for a lovely evening again it will not be too damn soon.


*Which should not be mistaken for CHECKING OUT the cashier in an ogling, lecherous manner; unless, of course, you find trolling for babes at the local market the Bee's Knees (Say, Honey...what time's yer shift over? Wanna come over and help me thaw out these giblets?).

Wednesday, February 04, 2004


How sad is it that I've spent the better part of the last two days wondering how to spell the Giant-izing Activation Command Word utilized by Apache Chief on the old SUPERFRIENDS Saturday Morning cartoons (probably on the Cartoon Network these days, eh?)? Mulling it over and over in my head when I could be doing something far more constructive; like finishing construction of the Sweat Lodge in my backyard, stowing aboard a freight train bound for parts out West or rehanging the Bison Head I inherited from my Great Uncle Mo-Peep?*

Purty dern sad, indubitably.

Phonetically, it's:


but that cannot be the actual spelling, can it?

I'm also wondering if 'E-Neck-Chuk' means 'get freaking tall' in Apache. Did the producers of the SUPERFRIENDS consult with the tribe about this to lend some credibility to their newest member?

One more thing:

Couldn't the same producers/creators of the show come up with a better Superhero Name for him than APACHE CHIEF? Doesn't really clue you in on his abilities at all; just that he's a member of a particular Native American Tribe. Hell, Elephantin-Dian would have been better than APACHE CHIEF; although This Choice implies that he could morph into a humanoid pachyderm and not simply increase in height to fifty feet. Maybe Gargantu-Indian would have been more apt?

More to scratch the ol' noodle about.


*He acquired this particular nickname for his voracious appetite for sugar-coated marshmellows molded into baby chicken shapes that are so popular around the Easter Holiday. Family Gatherings on this 'holy' day would not be complete if he wasn't heard slurrily screaming "Mo' Peeps!!!" through a mouth and lips caked with remnants of those confections that has passed before to anyone within earshot. Good times...good times. The Big JC would be proud.
Quote of the Day

From The Comics Journal's Journalista entry today:

I'm more embarrassed than a shy Mormon at a penis-twirling seminar by how busy I've been lately...

Creates a nice visual, eh?


Sunday, February 01, 2004

En route to the Winter Carnival Ice Palace...

the following exchange happened betwixt I and a panhandler:

PH: You got a spare nickel?
Me: All I have are a few dollar bills.
PH: Hahahaha (razzinFrazzinrazzin).

Judging by the look on his face, the fellow rued NOT asking for a larger amount of swag; assuming--in error-- that a student of the beggarly-arts should start Low and hope their 'victim' goes High with their charitable donation.

Not this time, Bread Bag Shoes...Not THIS time.