Tuesday, March 30, 2004

Husker Du(de)

Former Husker Du Bassist Greg Norton now owns and operates his own restaurant--the aply named THE NORTON'S-- in Western Wisconsin (just over the river from Red Wing, MN); of which an assorted gaggle of extended family and I dined this past weekend. Everything was great (the food, service, ambience, Greg's handlebar 'stache, et cetera) but I couldn't help but be slightly disappointed that there weren't items on the menu named after some of his former bands songs/albums; like:

Candy Apple Gra(v)y

New Day Raisins

59 Times the Pain Perdu*

and so on.

Y'know what I mean?


Not that I want the place to come off as a Mom/Pop Hard Rock Cafe or anything remotely like that...

Ah well...call me a recovering fanboy.

* 'Pain Perdu' is a New Orleans-style French Toast.

Monday, March 29, 2004

English Bulldog + Plush Simian that makes Screeching Monkey Noises= Ecstatic Pet/Sopped with Drool Chew Toy Combo

Don't I feel the fool.

My dog turns six tomorrow and, per this annual celebration, I picked up a few gifts; a new collar, a new name tag, and the aforementioned stuffed ape.

Ever the spoiling Alpha Dog of the Abode, I decided to spring this toy on him when I got home from work today and, Holy Shit, he took to it like bums to loose change.

Not since his early years and an unusual gnawing attraction to a laundry basket have I seen Roger summon such levels of slobbering gusto when attacking something he can get in his mouth (even taking into account the llama doll that he tore through in less then a week; the head is all that remains of that thing). At the rate he's going (even as I write) I don't expect this mini-Doctor Zauis to see the dawn.

If I had only known or even suspected that THIS was the sort of thing he'd have liked it wouldn't have taken me Six Years to get one for him.

Would have saved me a lot of scratch in the Rawhide Chew department.

Consider a selection of this type the next time you hit the Pet Store; apparently dogs love (in a I MUST DESTROY way) monkeys.

Who'd a thunk it?

Perhaps it's their way of expressing some inherent canine rage over us Hairless Apes, eh?


Friday, March 26, 2004

The Corky Clause

The college I work for makes it mandatory that all staff attend the quarterly graduation ceremonies thrown for our out-going students; it was whilst there last evening that I learned a lil' tidbit that I thought important enough to share with you, my anonymous fans and ill-wishers:

You are not allowed to ask a person with Down's Syndrome to stop snapping their chewing gum.* His/Her family/friends/wranglers look down (kaff) on this sort of request and will disdainfully ignore it and--quite flagrantly-- allow said action to continue in total disregard to other audience members trying to watch the ceremonies.

So, apparently, if you suffer from this congenital abnormality you have free reign to behave in whatever manner your extra-chromosome dictates.

Chew on you crazy diamond.

*I sure as hell hope that was chewing gum and not just his tongue.

Thursday, March 25, 2004

Quote of the Day Best Left to the Imagination and/or Unanswered

"Why does my phone smell like a Man?!?"

Source: Unidentified Mathematician close to this writer

Messing with Children's Minds: Part One
Another True Tale from the Office

Setting: My cubicle
Participants: Female student, her son, and your's truly

It often helps to engage kids in coversation to keep them from getting bored/more bored while I am working on their parent's accounts.

Here's today's Exchange with a young lad I will refer to as Ricky:

Me: How old are you, Ricky?
Ricky: (holds up one hand with all five digits extended) Five.
M: Five? But you only showed me four fingers? Are you sure you aren't four?
R: (Hand thrusting towards me, all five digits waggling to be seen) I'm five!!! I'm going to be six soon!
M: Oh, I'm sorry...did you have your thumb out? I couldn't see it because I'm Thumb Blind. It's a Medical Condition I inherited from my mother.
R: No!
M: Don't worry...it's not all that bad...although I have a helluva time figuring out what Roger Ebert thinks of movies.
R: (Doesn't understand I thing I just said...and rightly so) FIVE!!!


Tuesday, March 23, 2004

Why Subway needs a Drive-Through Window
The Sandwich Confessional: A True Tale

The Resident Chef was away for the evening leaving the Resident Un-Chef Boy-R-Dee with only a smattering of choices for dinner-like sustenance:

-Open-Faced Peanut Butter Sandwiches (probably three)
-Nothing (and liking it)
-Take-Out from a local Fast Food joint

A short but vigorous chin and tummy rubbing session was concluded with opting for the Latter Selection; why dirty up a knife with the first choice or suffer the gut groaning noises of an unfed belly if electing for the second, I thought.

Plus, Subway has those wickedly Good Buffalo Chicken sandwiches available (definitely NOT on Jared's Slough-Weight-Off list of Recommended Subway Noshes) and was Just the nourishment I had a Hankering for.

As it turns out I got a lot more than just a sub and probably, in hindsight, should have stayed home with my Jif and Bread concoctions and one lone unclean knife.

In the course of my five (felt like thirty) minute visit to the nearest Subway Restaurant for the aforementioned desired dinner I learned the following about my ever-so-chatty Sandwich Engineer (unsolicited) as she prepared my meal (in no particular order):

-She's a recovering alcoholic
-She has a four year old son
-Her boyfriend/live-in lover is on disability for a bum ticker and diabetes
-She plans to live well past 100 years of age in order to set the Guinness Book Record; although she was uncertain what the current Record is (she suspected it's 120)
-She has three video game systems at home
-She works over forty hours a week
-She likes her quiet time

The totality of My part of this dialogue (really more of a monologue) was the following:

'I would like a 12 inch Buffalo Chicken Subway on Parmesan/Oregano with Cheddar and nothing else, please.'

Three or four AHs

and one GOOD BYE

At least the Subway hit the spot once I got home.


Monday, March 22, 2004

An Open Letter to the Fellow with the Tolkien-Esque License Plates

Don't let ENT 111 go to your head (foliage?). I can understand the Geek-Out since you're a fan and all...but the HROOM HROOM HROOMing startled my dog and put him off his walk.

Were you really off to an Ent Moot? I mean, aside from that little cap bedecked with twigs and leaves and the sheet of sod affixed to your chin, you aren't REALLY an animated sapling...although the brown body paint did you give you a nice bark-y hue, eh? And no matter how many times you repeat the phrase 'By my Mossy Beard' I remain skeptical towards the veracity of your claims towards Ent-Hood (not to mention the fact that you were driving a car...seems a bit contradictory...but it's your psychosis, so what the hell).

However, I guess you can call your trips to the local arboretum whatever you want as long as you and your Tree Buddies don't bother anyone or their pets (ahem).

On the other branch, there's no way in Hell I'm calling you HOT SAP...even if you believe that's your REAL name now AND those two 'Halflings' riding astride your shoulders kept calling you that.


Friday, March 19, 2004

Zombie Jesus?!?
A Real Exchange at a Local Cinema

Film Goer: Are you getting that movie where the dead come back to life?
Smart-Ass Theater Employee: 'The Passion of the Christ?'

It should be noted that the inquisitive potential ticket buyer was asking about the new remake of THE DAWN OF THE DEAD and that the employee of the unnamed Movie House knew this...however, I can see where this misunderstanding could happen quite a bit once TDOTD opens.

Heh Heh Heh.

(Thanks to Matt for sharing this tale)

Thursday, March 18, 2004

When 'Irish' Eyes are Blackened...

In keeping with the time honored Saint Patrick Day's tradition of engaging in post-swilling-fisticuffs, my friends and I were entertained by a a group of alleged Irishmen* duking it out at a local tavern last night. After much choking, shirt-ripping, grappling, and impromptu non-Rugby Scrum-ing, someone was wise enough to notify the Police. The arrival of reps from the Thin Blue Line settled things down and it was at this moment that we, the non-brawling witnesses, decided to make our escape. Outside I caught a bit of a rather enlightening dialogue between one Scuffler and an Officer of the Peace:

Fight Participant: I don't wanna go to jail!
Police Officer: Buddy...it was a bar fight; where do you Think you're going?

Good to hear *that* cliched plea still doesn't work.

*Some of the gentlemen that partook in the FIST-ivities were far-too-swarthy to be True Irish; hence, ALLEGED or Faux Micks. Although, as some folk say, 'Everyone's Irish on Saint Patrick's Day.' R-R-R-R-ight.

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Ways to Torment the Mathematicians in your Life

-Round Pi up to 4
-Define LOGARITHM as a 'bowel movement's tempo'
-TANGENTS are swarthy gentlemen
-COSINE is your aunt or uncle's child
-AXIS is a small clutch of hatchets
-A FIBONACCI SEQUENCE is a progression of prevarications about nacho chips
(What Dortio's? There weren't any Dorito's here. Someone else must have eaten them. My fingers aren't orange from eating the Dorito's! You're on drugs!)
-GEOMETRY is a small four-cylander automobile produced by Chevrolet
-CALCULUS was Cassius Clay's uncle on his father's side.
-SUBTRACTION is where you end up after injuring your back in a bathyshpere mishap
-QUADRATIC FORMULA is what you feed crippled tots
-A SQUARE ROOT is either a Geek's 'tackle' or when you show support (RAH! RAH! RAH!) for a favored Nerd
-HYPOTENUSE was a creature created by Geisel Seuss that 'sluiced the juice from a goose...that snarky obtuse Hypotenuse from Toulouse!'


Monday, March 15, 2004

Slight Misunderstandings

Guy 1: You gonna eat all them ribs?
Guy 2: Does the Pope shit in the woods?
G1: Beg pardon? I thought it was a Bear shitting in the woods?
G2: Hunh? The Pope was bare in the woods, shitting?
G1: Er...uncertain. I don't think the Cardinals allow the Pope to be naked anywhere besides his Papal rooms and/or bath.
G2: In other words, he wouldn't be out in the woods at all, let alone with a Bear? Is that what you're saying?
G1: I'm not even sure if there are Bears in or around the Vatican.
G2: So it's a no-nude area?
G1: Pretty sure that's spelled out in the Bible...'thou shalt not bare such and such...'
G2: Right, right...it's all clear to me now; but how in the Hell does anyone take a dump if they can't get naked in order to do so?
G1: One word...Robes.
G2: Including the Bears?
G1: If you're wearing a robe you aren't bare at all...so, yes.
G2: Who's going to the trouble of cladding all Bears in Robes? Is that a part of the Papacy?
G1: Right. Papa C. is the local tailor of all Bear-related clothing.
G2: If I'm getting this straight...the Pope was never actually in the woods shitting...it was a Bear in a Robe which sorta resembles the Pope...hence, the misunderstanding?
G1: Bingo.
G2: Okay, Mister Smart Guy...can you explain the whole 'Beware the Ides of March' thing to me?
G1: Is it the IDS or IDEAS of March?
G2: Wha? IDES...like the Malt Liquor. St. Ides.
G1: Well...one shouldn't get hooched up during the month of March.
G2: ?!? I thought it had something to do with Julius Caesar?
G1: Right on...Julius Caesar was a booze hound.
G2: Are you sure?

And so on.

Sadly, the ribs got cold and went uneaten.

A cautionary tale.


Saturday, March 13, 2004

Say my Name, Say my Name, Say my Name...

As mentioned earlier, I attended a work-related conference this week. One little tidbit of fun that I partook in that I haven't yet shared with you, my adoring fans/murderous nemeses,* involves the Name Tag I was required to wear, the fake name I put on it, and one particular reaction to said 'alias.'

Feeling a tad impish, I scrawled the name 'Nien Nunb' on the blank Name Tag (in honor of Lando Calrissian's alien co-pilot on the second Death Star Rebel assault as seen in Return of the Jedi) and slapped it on my shirt, right below my left clavicle. I knew that there were a select few folk in attendance that knew me and would overlook this bit o' foolishness but hoped that the strangers would give me an odd look/comment or three.

The best one went as follows (and I am not kidding):

Guy (peering at the Name Tag and then looking at me): How do you say your name?
Me: Nien Nunb.
Guy (a moment to ponder): Oh, I get it. Are you from the Middle East?
Me (about to utilize a bit of Star Wars Trivia): Nope, I'm Sullustan.
Guy: Ah. That's a beautiful country.
Me (repressed sniggering): Thanks.
Guy: Catch you around.
Me: Sure thing, pal.

Heh heh heh.


*That's the correct spelling for the plural form of nemesis...not nemesi (like walrus/walri, penis/peni, cactus/cacti, and so on...okay, I'm kidding about the weiner-reference).

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

My newfound Thug Life

We had to expel a student this week and he showed up for classes today. He wouldn't leave...so they (the powers that be) came and get ME to 'take care of him.'

Yeah...call in the swarthy Financial Aid guy. Smack 'em around with my desk-monkey-forearms if he gets 'wise' with me.

Or, to misquote Sean Connery from The Untouchables:

'Just like a wop...brings a calculator to a fist fight.'



Tuesday, March 09, 2004

One Reason I'll Never Be in a Management Position

Whilst attending a work-related conference today I kept thinking that Fixed Expenses were the cost our institution spends per year on castrations.

Who the hell they're Fixing has yet to be determined. I'll check the members of the Glee Club first...


Monday, March 08, 2004

By the Hoary Scrote of Vlad!!!

According to this article on the Embalmed Corpse of Lenin 80 years dead ain't no thang; he looks better now then when he croaked thanks to a crack team of preservists and their tools and fluids of the trade.

Of particular interest (in a purely 'freaking hilarious' way) is the following excerpt:

Lenin's blood, bodily fluids and internal organs were removed as part of the initial embalming. His eyebrows, moustache and goatee are his original hair — no molting. And his genitals are intact.

Heh Heh Heh.

Why in the world do we need to know that Lenin's sack is still intact? It's not as if Lenin's form is on display in its glass container SANS PANTS (as far as I know)!!!

Can you imagine the conversations stirred up by this revelation?

'Harold...remember that Commie Lenin? No, No, No...the fellow Before Uncle Joe. Anyhoo, according to this article his three piece set are still swinging (which is more than I can say for you, Mister). Hmm? No, it doesn't specify if he's nekkid or in Red-Leadership-Denoting-Slacks...although I think the latter Would be the case.'

I completely understand that if you are going to preserve and display the Founder of Soviet Communism than you'd need to keep his trademark stache and chin hair intact; otherwise he'd look like any other late bald old comrade under glass...but his genitals?

Am I missing something?

Well... Lenin's nuts...er...not.


Sunday, March 07, 2004

Films that would make bad Video Games
(topic inspired by my friend, Brian MacDonald of City Council Productions)

The Matrix, The Hulk, the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the Latter James Bond films, et cetera, have all had video game releases tied to them. This led me to consider films that Would Not adapt well to your lil' brother's Gaming System (PS2, Xbox, Game Cube) nor to the family Home 'puter; here's a sampling of ill-advised films-to-games:

Sophie's Choice
The Color Purple
The Passion of the Christ AND The Last Temptation of Christ
Schindler's List
Rain Man
My Left Foot
My Dinner with Andre
The Deer Hunter
Harold and Maude
Malcolm X
Birth of a Nation
Simon Birch
Fried Green Tomatoes
Terms of Endearment
Ordinary People
Bad Lieutenant
The Piano
Mister Holland's Opus
Pink Flamingos
The English Patient
Driving Miss Daisy
On Golden Pond
Pink Cadillac
Soul Man
Dog Day Afternoon
La Cage Aux Folles

And the worst one?

The Crying Game

(some picks provided by the kind folk at the Brian Bendis Message Board)

Friday, March 05, 2004

Lamentations of Sasquatch

C'mon...seerslee; how'd choo feel if yer were chased all over cree-a-shon havin' yer feet's prints plaster'd and stool ker-lected an' anna-muh-lized? Howsabout I follow ya's inta the can the next time ya's feelin' nature callin', fish yer waste outta the poo basin, and writes a papeh on the corn bread ya hads fer lunch?

Speakin' of plaster'd...bar-keep, anotha coupla brews ovah he-ya.


Wednesday, March 03, 2004

The Lyrics to DEAR JANET JACKSON by Richard Thompson

As I promised to post in my blog entry dated 2-23-04...I sure hope he records this tune for his next studio release:

Dear Janet Jackson, you don't know me,
But I saw you on the telly,
You were wobbling like a jelly,
When you gave that song some welly.

I couldn't help but notice that
you've got a pair of beauties,
And if your other duties,
as a diva give you time,...

There's lots of hungry babes out there
that need something to chew.
A role as a wet nurse
might be just the thing for you...

If you must shove your titty in somebody's face,
shove it in a baby's,
shove it in a baby's, shove it in a baby's.
If you must shove your titty in somebody's face,
shove it in a baby's,
Tits are a tease and fun to squeeze,
but babies need them, too.

When you flashed your titty at the Super Bowl,
I hope it wasn't plastic, I hope it wasn't plastic,
Held up with elastic.
When you flashed your titty at the Super Bowl,
I hope it wasn't plastic, I've heard tell for babies, well,
that implants just won't do.

When you shoved that spike right through your nipple,
I hope you didn't burst it,
I hope you didn't burst it,
I hope you didn't burst it.
When you shoved that spike right through your nipple,
I hope you didn't burst it,
'Cos havin' it leaking all down the sides,
when you're feeding kids
it just won't do.

That's what they're there for.
That's what they're there for.
Who are we to ask the why or wherefor?
That's what they're there for.
That's what they're there for.
Now tits are a tease and fun to squeeze,
but babies need them, too.

When you're sick of all that dancin' around,
You'll make a lovely mother.
Kids are such a pleasure.
Just ask your brother.
When you're sick of all that dancin' around,
I hope you have a dozen,
But sleepovers at Neverland
are strictly taboo.

If you must shove your titty in somebody's face,
shove it in a baby's, Shove it in a baby's, Shove it in a baby's,
If you must shove your titty in someody's face,
shove it in a baby's,
'Cos tits are a tease and fun to squeeze,
but babies need them, too.

That's what they're there for.
That's what they're there for.
Who are we to ask the why or wherefor?
That's what they're there for.
That's what they're there for.
Oh, tits are a tease and fun to squeeze,
but babies need them, too.

For more on Richard...give his Official Site a visit.

Tuesday, March 02, 2004

Cerebus: RIP
No Spoilers to the final issue of Cerebus

I assure you in advance that this is not a synopsis or discussion of the comic book now that it's final issue-- 300-- has arrived in my mailbox; more of a moment for me to look back on the 22 years that I've been reading and enjoying it (through all of its highs and lows, ascensions and falls).

The first one I picked up was cover dated November, 1982...issue 44 ('The Deciding Vote'). I have a vivid memory of that day; a group of friends and I had hit the comic shop during the middle of the week for some reason (we normally took the bus downtown to Saint Paul Comics on Saturdays to get our weekly picks) and I, once again, took a look at this comic series...wondering if I should buy an issue to check it out.

My portly 12 year old self thought:
Hmm...who/what the heck is that Grey Guy on the cover? A talking Aardvark?!? Ooooo-Kay!?!


Since I was a fan of funny animal comics* at the time (as evidenced by my complete run of (I am not kidding) Captain Carrot and his Amazing Zoo Crew) I 'splurged' and plunked the 1.50 down for the comic (thank Crom for the paper route funds); unknowingly picking up an issue near the end of a 25 issue storyline (collected in the HIGH SOCIETY trade paperback...Volume Two of the Cerebus run of phonebooks).

Thoroughly confused AND entertained after reading it I was determined to amass the prior 43 issues as soon as possible (done so in a short amount of time via reprints of issues 1-24 and the original issues of 25-43).

And so it began.

22 years of following this book.

Now over.

In those two plus decades I've (in no particular order and certainly not an all encompassing list):

Finished Junior High
Graduated from High School and College
Fallen in love (at least) three different times
Spent time in the clink (well...a few hours, anyway...love them holding tanks!)
Went from Tuddly to Regular in pants sizes
Gone Grey
Worked part-time as a janitor for ten years
Got married (not for weak-willed)
Bought a dog
Bought my first house
Engaged in a bar brawl with a future Heisman Trophy Winner (the little candyass)

And, each month, throughout this time there was a new issue of the Anthropomorphic Aardvark to accompany me through my Real Life.

An interesting Companion, no doubt, on my journey into my latter years.


So, tonight I plan on having a celebratory drink or eight to this towering achievement of Dave Sim and his partner in crime, Gerhard (who's been with the comic since issue 65); no other comic book in the history of this artform has ever accomplished what those two have done...300 issues, independently published, and rendered by the same creative team (the next closest would be the 102 issues that Stan Lee and Jack Kirby did on the Fantastic Four and Erik Larson's Savage Dragon run...in its early hundreds now).

Love it or hate it...it has been a fascinating and thought-provoking run** and, no question about it, beautifully drawn and written.

But that's just my humble opinion...the opinion of a Cerebite.



*Okay...actually that was the only one I was getting at the time; most of my collecting involved superhero comics from DC and Marvel...

**No...it really was/is.