If I ever go to jail, I hope someone sends me a cake with a file in it, because I really, really like cake.
My friend Chris is a wild man. Or at least he was when he was 17.
In 1986, when we had been friends for about 6 months and were juniors in high school, I spent the night at his house. We're hanging out, watching TV, and at 10:45 he up and says, "Hey, I've got an idea. Let's go to a midnight movie!"
I came from a home where, if I was laving the house after 8 PM, I would hear, "you're just now going out?" Chris's parents said "have fun."
My first midnight movie. The thrill of going out late. My parents would have freaked out. Aaah, memories.
If only we had seen something besides Outrageous Fortune.
I've been jammin' to some Barry in my car lately. He gets a bad rap because they've made some pretty bad muzak out of his work, but he's really a genius.
Yes, he's probably gay. And yes, he has a slight speech impediment. But he's quite the musician.
As it turns out, the love you take is inversely proportional to the love you make.
"Sir Paul" forgot to carry the four.
Although beans often get credit for being the musical fruit, I think Elton John is much more deserving of the title.
I mean, beans aren't even really a fruit.
I love college football. I'm so glad it's here.
Vandy lost to Ole Miss, but proved Eli Manning to be mortal. Good game, bad outcome.
Vandy plays UTC next week.
I think the worst McDonald's in the greater Chattanooga area is the one on 3rd street near Erlanger's main campus. I've never had anything good from there. What's your vote?
I think I'm related to one of the Olson Twins.
I'm not sure which one, though. I can hardly tell them apart.
On rare days here at work, the vending machine in the teachers' lounge is blessed with a confection known as an "Apple Ugly."
I love Apple Uglies. They are like Honey Buns or Bear Claws, but they have a bit of an apple flavor to them. Nuke one up for 10 seconds and enjoy it with chocolate milk... Mmmmmmm!
The label on the wrapper proclaims that the Apple Ugly is "Just Like Mom's." Yep, I remember the days when mom used to slave over a hot stove, making Apple uglies just like the one I ate mere moments ago.
Mom would mix the flour and water, then add a bit of dextrose. A good dollop of vegetable shortening (partially hydrogenated soybean and/or cottonseed oil) was next, just to take the rough edges off the batter.
Mom would then add salt, yeast, baking powder and apples, but the true secret to her Apple Uglies was the whey, mono-and diglycerides with BHA and citric acid as preservative, sodium stearly-2-lactylate and agar gum.
Yep, just like mom's.
Joshua Tree (U2)
Ten (Pearl Jam)
American Standard (Mary's Danish)
License to Ill (Beastie Boys)
Down in the Shacks where the Sattelite Dishes Grow (JudyBats)
More later
I laugh whenever someone describes someone else, usually an adult of marrying age, by saying that he or she still lives at home.
Where else should they live? Doesn't everyone live at home? I'm not looking it up in a dictionary right now, but isn't home, by definition, where one lives?
If you live in a dorm, then your parents' house might still be considered "home." If you are in the military and live in some sort of barracks, then I suppose your parents' house might also still be considered "home."
Otherwise, wherever your permanent residence is, whether it's a studio apartment or your parents' basement, everyone lives at home.
I was once a minor celebrity. Not a major minor clebrity on the order of Kato Kaelin, but a minor minor celebrity on the order of Megs Hazzard.
I was on a TV show called On the Other Hand. We aired on Saturday nights at 12:30 on the local FOX affiliate from November 2002 until March 2003. In March we took a 2-week hiatus. That 2-week hiatus continues to this day.
As a high school teacher, I knew lots of students at my school watched the show and knew who I was. And I know there was a decent fan base who watched the show, either on TV or online.
Why, then, was I only recognized in public once? COME ON! I was on TV! Didn't any of you people see me at the mall? Didn't you see me eating at O'Charley's? Would it have hurt so much to approach me politely and ask, "Hey, aren't you that guy...?"
I never was asked for an autograph. There were no throngs of young ladies commiting suicide upon hearing that I am happily married. The paparazzi never once followed me into a mens' room.
Once I was at the Blockbuster in East Ridge and an elderly woman approached me. Her son (a 40 year-old who had a long beard and obviously still lived with his mother) had recognized me. That was nice.
Where were the rest of you? Did I pour my heart & soul into OTOH in vain? I expected fans & groupies. I got squat. Thanks a lot, America.
All of my male friends love Andie McDowell. They think she's sooooo sexy. I do not. In fact, Not only do I not find her attractive, I find her totally unattractive. I just don't get it. She does these hair & makeup commercials where she talks about how beautiful she is. But she's not. She's hideous.
So here's my point:
There needs to be a term that means everyone else in the world finds this person incredibly attractive except me.
Any suggestions?
Just in case you were wondering, I was the one who saw Raising Arizona in the theater in 1987. I loved it then, and I love it now. I just wish I knew the significance of the tattoos.
I went to Bi-Lo today. Although I usually shop at the Wal-Mart Superstore across the state line in GA (lower taxes & prices), I hit the local Bi-Lo hen it's more convenient to do so.
One thing Bi-Lo has going for it is the U-Scan. I love not having to deal with a cashier. Only problem is, sometimes you get stuck waiting for some moron who doesn't know how to use it. I guess it's OK because we were ALL that moron our first time, but I get impatient with them nonetheless. If Wal-Mart had a U-Scan, I'd probably take up residence there.
I'm still kind of creeped out from my trip to Bi-Lo, because I had to buy cereal and the trip to the cereal aisle gives me cold chills up the spine. Darn scary cereals! Why, oh why did they have to make Count Chocula look just like my worst nightmare?
Why did they stop selling Taco Bell Pour 'n' Simmer? It was the best thing in the world and now you can't find it anywhere. Probably because some dunderheads thought it was salsa and got themselves sick on it.
Would someone please tell me how to put a picture in a blog entry? I know nothing about HTML. Thanks.
Dick Van Dyke is one of the most talented people who ever lived. Diagnosis Murder is such a waste, though, because he hardly ever sings or dances on it. Oh, he might sing or dance a little here and there on occasion on DM, but I guess he doesn't get around as well at 78 as he did back in the black & white days.
Watch Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. The man is pure gold.
Nearly every day I am reminded that some bag or the other is not a toy. Is this really neccessary? Are there any parents out there that would really give their young 'uns a plastic bag for Christmas? Do the plastic bag makers really think they are so easy to confuse with genuine articles of amusement?
Goodness, Wilford, it seems that in creating a simple plastic garment bag, we've unwittingly created the most amazing source of family fun and amusement ever known.
Just imagine -- families gathered together after dinner, playing games like "Pin the Tail on the Plastic Bag" and "PlasticBagopoly." Fun, fun, fun.
Actually, I must confess that my curiosity got the best of me and, ignoring all warnings and against my better judgement, I played with a plastic bag.
Time of my life, man. Time of my life.
During the colonial days, sewage disposal was at a premium. People pretty much pooped wherever they felt like it -- on the street, in front of public buildings, etc. An anonymous pooper could leave a poop somewhere and then not have to worry about disposing of it.
Eventually, a tax was leveed on anyone who pooped and left it in a public place, which, at the time, was known as "giving a poope." If you gave a poop, you paid a tax. This tax was used to pay citizens who collected poops and disposed of them properly. They were called "poope takers." So basically, if you "gave a poope," you had to pay and if you "took a poope" you got paid.
Then people started to work the system. They began referring to the act of pooping as "taking a poope" to make themselves sound entitled to a share of the "poope tax." Meanwhile, to avoid having to pay the tax for giving a poop, the expression "I don't give a poope" caught on.
Eventally, with the advent of indoor plumbing the "poope tax," like the silent e, was dropped and people could poop with impunity. But the terms "take a poop" and "I don't give a poop" lived on. Or some paraphrase thereof.
Mmmmm... I think I could eat Shrimp Fajitas from Amigo every day of the week. Well, not every day. I would go to Chef Lin a few days a week as well. And Porker's. And Provino's.
I guess what I'm saying is I like to eat. And watch TV. Donuts are good too. Oh yeah, and tater tots. Yum.
Here it is, Friday afternoon, and some poor kid is serving a detention with me. A lot of teachers make detention kind of fun -- thereby negating the punitive aspect.
This year I started a new thing:
"You have 15 seconds to get into a comfortable position. At that time, you must remain perfectly quiet and motionless for the next thirty minutes. If you move or speak, your thirty minutes starts over."
That's a deterrent.
There once was a guy named Reese. He created a Peanut Butter Cup. He put his name on it. It became what we now know as Reese's Peanut Butter Cup.
Later they made an M&M -type candy and called it Reese's Pieces. This made sense because Reese's rhymes with pieces.
Let me repeat that: Reese's rhymes with pieces.
Reese's is not pronounced reecey. It does not rhyme with fleecy.
Please stop referring to your Reese's cup as a Reecey cup. It makes you sound like an uncultured redneck.
You may now return to your everyday lives. Thank you.
OK, everybody, repeat after me:
Krystal
Amigo
Blimpie
Notice that none of these places has an "s" on the end.
I know poeple love to say they're going to eat at Krystal's, Amigo's, and Blimpie's, but they're wrong.
The names of the establishments are Krystal, Amigo and Blimpie. Please get it right.
NCAA football 2003 kicks off next Saturday. I can't wait. Vandy plays Ole Miss. Even though Vandy is ripe for a shellacking, the preseason is the only time of the year when a Vandy fan can be optimistic. The game in question will be on JP sports. My calendar is clear and I'll be showing my son his first college football game. Corn dogs. Gotta get some corn dogs.
You used to hear a lot from politicians about how social security was in great danger and we'd better raise taxes if we're going to save social security.
Hogwash. Social Security isn't going anywhere.
Think about it -- if there was no social security, there'd be no need for Social Security numbers. And without SSN's, how would the government keep tabs on us?
I always wondered, How does my ability to pay a certain tax and receive payments when I am old relate to this Blockbuster application?
The answer? It doesn't. But it sure is convenient, isn't it?
I have no problem with having a national ID number. It's smart and efficient. Why does the government feel the need to hide behind something with such a benign name as "Social Security?"
Today is Wilt Chamberlain's birthday. It is also Princess Margaret's, my friend Chris's Mom's, and my cousin Gene's. And at least 5 people I used to work with at Komatsu. I know all this because it is also my Dad's birthday today. He's 68.
I never thought I'd be saying my Dad is 68. That's old. He's still pretty spry, though. No one ever gets described as "spry" until they're old. Why is that? We say they're "still spry," indicating that they were once spry and that they continue to be spry, but no one ever bothers to mention it until they get old. Maybe we take spriety for granted until we approach our 70's.
That Bill Colrus sure is spry, don't you think?
Happy Birthday Dad. You rock.
I'm new to this, but it seems that everyone would benefit from a good, daily dose of my wise remarks.
Stay tuned and witness as I learn how to blog and keep you in stitches with my self-defecating sense of humor.