Entirely Possible!

Greetings! It’s been a while since I assembled a collection of randomity for you.  I am so, so sorry.  Allow me to correct this oversight.  I shall do so by category!  This should streamline your pleasurable blog-reading experience!


ENTIRELY POSSIBLE

There are more undiscovered species living in the oceans of Earth than there are known species of living creatures on the land.  One of them is probably Cthulhu.

Nicolas Cage is  a time-traveller.  His movies begun to suck at the exact moment that his original timeline intersected with our own.  In that timestream, he ceased to exist.  In this one, he can’t come to terms with the demise of his parallel alternate self.  The result is shitty movies.  Basic science, really.

He was much less confused back in the 1800’s.

Spock once said “there are always possibilities.”  What he didn’t tell you is that many of those possibilities are horrible and will likely kill you or ruin your life with a bunch of kids you don’t want via some stripper from Daytona Beach.

There was once a thriving civilization on Mars.  But they were all douchefags and deserved to die.

Someone actually made this. Also? Someone really doesn’t like Dan.

Twice an hour (three times an hour in Kendallville, Indiana) a redneck attempts to get high using old coffee grounds mixed with kerosene and huffed out of an old condom.

Eatin’ ain’t cheatin’.


NOT BLOODY LIKELY

Cats once endorsed a brand of cutting shears with the slogan “Fiskars are Great For Wiskers!”

You KNOW that Grumpy Cat is behind this.

Famous pirate “Black” Sam Bellamy was one of the first people to come up with a marketing slogan.  He was attempting to increase the sales (and theft, I suppose) of rum in the Caribbean.  His nifty catch phrase was painted in huge letters on the mainsail of his flagship.  From miles around, you could read the words “RUM IS FUM!!”  When a crewmember pointed out that there was no such word as “fum” in the English language, Bellamy incorrectly replied “It’s Polish, you twit!” and lopped off the head of the offending crewman.  Later that month, the logo on the sail was changed to “RUM IS YUM!” and sales of the cane-derived spirit skyrocketed.  Since that iconic advertising campaign, rum has been closely associated with piracy.  And interesting footnote is the episode of Spongebob Squarepants wherein Patrick Star devises an ad slogan for The Chum Bucket.  “Chum is Fum!” resonated with the citizens of Bikini Bottom in a way that would have made Black Sam smile.

It turns out you CAN stop the bum rush.  The rock, however, is unstoppable.  This fact has been proven by the Copenhagen Interpretation.


QUESTIONABLE

Justin Bieber was created in the same lab as Theory of a Deadman. Apparently, when scientists decided to split Nickelback in the Large Hadron Collider, two splinter products emerged as a result of Nickleback’s diamond-like cleavage and also their overpowering awesomeness and pussy-getting abilities. One such offshoot was TOAD itself, basically a small sliver of Nickelback that exhibited many of the same qualities.  The other unexpected by-product was Bieber. One possible explanation for this remarkable occurrence was that Canada somehow hates the rest of the free world, and this experiment was an attempt to re-create the amazing Shania Twain-Celine Dion space-time cross-rip of years past. (An interesting point:  it is widely believed that the white rapper known as Snow was a precursor to this same experiment, and may in fact be a shard of Celine Dion-like substance caught in the atomic matrix of Canada itself.)

Eazy-E, however, was created when the universe decided to un-fuck itself in the most righteous manner possible.

Mitt Romney’s entire presidential election bid stemmed from a bet he made with John McCain to “cock it up better than you did, pal!”  Romney is said to have winked and given McCain a friendly shoulder slap.

Syndicated radio personality Mancow Muller once possessed a fair amount of talent.  According to some witnesses, back in the mid-90’s he was not considered “a worthless hack who passes of his show-prep service as actual original content.”

I should’ve just titled this blog “Mancow is a douchey doucheface douchebag of douche that wears sunglasses inside. Douche.”

A Nokia cell phone was retrieved from the bottom of the North Sea after being dropped by a fleeing worker (he luckily escaped with only minor burns)during a horrible oil rig explosion.  The phone was found to have light scratches on the glass display.

Everything’s Cool.

I was going to call this post “Everything’s Cool, and That Ain’t Cool” or steal from Pearl Jam and say “Everything Has Changed; Absolutely Nothing’s Changed.”  But there’s really not a whole lot of negative to my thoughts on this subject, so I figured I’d leave it with the simple, hopeful, calming “Everything’s Cool.”  Because it is.  Literally.

There was an article earlier this year in Vanity Fair that basically said that stylistically we’re exactly the same as we were in 1992…twenty years ago.  The article points out that the styles of 1952 were vastly different from those of 1962, and those were different from 1972, and all of ’em were nothing like the fashions of 1982, and so on.  Basically, every ten years there’s a new way of doing things, and from car designs to clothing to music. There’s a big change with each passing decade.

Except, you know, Steve Jobs.

Not anymore.  According to the article, we’re stuck in a stylistic wormhole, reliving the same things for twenty years.  My initial reaction to this reality is:  Um…so?

In this very blog I’ve mentioned how cool it is that I can, in this 21st century, elect to wear a wide-brimmed Fedora and listen to Operation Ivy on my way home from seeing “The Avengers” in IMAX to play Black Ops II on my HD television before switching over to TCM and watching “Invasion of the Saucer Men” or settling in for a night of Star Trek (the original series) on Netflix or reading The Dark Tower.  I mean, I can literally do whatever I want from whichever time I choose.  Music, books, movies, television, fashion…all mediums and all genres and all styles and so on have been archived so well over the ages that we now have the sum of EVERYTHING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED at our fingertips.  That’s very powerful.  I can pick up a Nook or an iPad or whatever and read Chaucer or George R.R. Martin.  I can look at sketches and read translations from Copernicus or “A Brief History of Time” by Hawking.  That is so incredible.

Or hell, combine the two! Save time!

As for fashion, I’ve kind of developed the following philosophy regarding trends in fashion:  FUCK FASHION.  Have I been caught up in one trend or another over the years?  Sure.  And anyone who says otherwise is lying.  I rocked a blazer with a t-shirt during the early-2000’s.  But you know what I realized?  I also rocked that look in the early-90’s.  I was too young to really rock a blazer in the 80’s, when that seemed like the thing to do (thanks, Miami Vice!) but I’m sure I would’ve.  Also, that style combo wasn’t born in the 80’s anyway.  You know who started the shirt-sans-tie/blazer combo?  Jed fucking CLAMPETT, that’s who.

Well, I reckon it ain’t lupus! Can’t rightly figure what in tarnation it is, though.

I love this outlook in current trendy fashion.  Quick:  what’s the popular male hairstyle called these days?  Is it the high-top fade? The buzz-cut? The side part? The pomp? The shag? I’ve seen every one of those at the mall in the last few months.  What the hell is that mullet-shaven-skater cut that Skrillex is rocking?  Who knows?  More importantly, WHO CARES?!? Hell, I’ll make the question easier:  what’s the trendy female hair style?  Or hair color?  The bob?  The pixie?  The Rachel? (remember that?  Everyone wanted hair like the characters on Friends!)  In a world where Miley Cyrus goes with a near-buzz cut and one out of every four chicks sports either that bright fuchsia color (sometimes just highlights) or wears shiny blue extensions, I suppose anything goes here, too.  Katy Perry wears blue or pink wigs. Rockabilly chicks sport sleeve tattoos and Bettie Page ‘dos. The Katniss braid shows up here and there.  Short, sexy, sassy haircuts mingle with luxurious manes of auburn curls.  It’s literally all good, and it seems that for once (I am an outsider here, so forgive my naiveté) women are genuinely excited to see/meet someone with a strikingly different hair style than their own.  “Oh my GOD!!  I love you hair!!  Who does it?!?”  seems to have replaced “Uh, the 80’s called and they want their bangs back.” That’s so nice.

Just…so much…HAIR…

Sometimes I wear a suit.  Like, a real suit and a tie.  Sometimes I wear shorts and a hockey jersey (sidebar:  nobody cares about you anymore, NHL.  Not many people did before, but now?  Forget it.  You’ve effectively fucked yourself after an amazing playoffs including a first-ever Stanley Cup awarded to a team in the SECOND-LARGEST TELEVISION MARKET IN THE UNITED STATES!  Good job, assholes.  You all suck.  Owners, players, etc.)  Sometimes I wear a “Portal” t-shirt and some jeans.  Now and then, a baby-blue guayabera shirt and some linen pants.  And any time I wear one of these wardrobes in public, it’s like I don’t even get a second glance.  I love second glances, because I crave attention. It’s becoming harder and harder for me to glean that oh-so-wonderful attention simply based on my clothing alone.  Now I must stand in the middle of the Glenbrook Mall food court wearing nothing but an old Chick-Fil-A napkin that I’ve poked a hole in with my pecker (see, the napkin is impaled on my business) and a beaver-skin hat that I’ve set on fire before anyone even nods knowingly at me, like they’re in on some sort of joke.  I must essentially be a one-man flash mob these days.  It’s too much work.  And the reason for that is that anything goes.  Really.  Literally. Anything. Wife-beater-wearing women, utilikilt sporting fellas, old-school Mod Cloth dresses and slinky tube skirts.  Flat-brimmed caps with the sticker on ’em and tweed newsboy caps.  High-top Chuck Taylors, black Doc Martens, leather flip-flops, two-tone wingtips, alligator skin stiletto heels. Faded blue denim jackets, Hurley hoodies, Dickies work jackets, stoner-riffic bajas. Flannel shirts, athletic-fit moisture-wicking polos, pearl-snap western shirts.  All of it.  It’s all good.  Some of it has changed very little in the last twenty years.  Some of it hasn’t changed at all in fifty years.  Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.

Sigh. It’s not a chihuahua skirt, goddammit!!

Except, of course, for one tiny little issue.  The idea that maybe, just maybe…the reason that anything goes right now is that, well…there just aren’t any more ideas.  Nothing new.  We’ve reached the end, and so now we just recycle everything that’s already come to pass.
This theory is supported, of course, by looking at our popular entertainment choices.  Hollywood is staggeringly bad, simply re-hashing or re-booting old films instead of offering original, entertaining fare.  Another option, of course, is taking old television shows and making them into movies.  Then again, looking at the television itself and seeing recycled shows like “Hawaii 5-0” and “Dallas” and you realize that we are indeed pretty much done giving a shit.  Musically, things are as bad as they were in the woeful 1985-1991 time period, when the likes of Foreigner and Boston walked the Earth side-by-side with atrocious crap like Every Hair Metal Band.  At least then we felt like something was coming.  Something new and slightly dangerous was bubbling up and threatening to upset the entire music industry.  I just wish I believed that something like the Grunge Revolution was going to happen again.  ‘Cause I’ll tell y’all right now, the answer ain’t dubstep.

This image speaks for itself.

In the meantime, I suppose I’ll just have to make do. I’ll avoid the Red Dawn remake like the plague, but revel in the fact that my black leather Brando-style motorcycle jacket will always be cool.  Unlike Crocs and Affliction shirts.  Seriously, that crap is stupid.  Stop it.

Mean Old Ladies, etc.

Oh my God, an old lady was in our office yesterday and she wanted my soul.  She was a soul-eater.  I think.  I’m not really sure.  All I know is that I was leaving the restroom, on my way back to the studio, and GAH!!  There she stood, near one of the unoccupied desks that the sales weasels use/used.

Like this, only less “smiley.”

The desks are mostly unused because they’re moving us all down to another building, see.  The radio station I work for, 98.9 the Bear is owned by a company that holds several radio properties in Ft. Wayne.  Finally, after about twenty years or so, somebody got the great idea to move us all in to the same building.  Cut overhead costs, etc.  One of the hiccups that I foresee is the fact that all of the 98.9 the Bear staff are roughnecks.   No, really.  I know that radio rock jock assholes all try to act like a bunch of bad-asses and hard-charging partiers, but the fact is that this crew is loud, obnoxious, literally filthy, and has little or no sense of decorum or self-control.  They’re going to add us to the mix that includes female-friendly country juggernaut K-105 , female and family friendly Adult Contemporary WMEE, and conservative news-talk WOWO.  I’m stocking up on booze, whoopee cushions, fake blood and vomit, giant rubber dongs, and some anarchist propaganda posters and literature. We’re going to FORCE these motherfuckers to get down with us.

Awwwwwww, shit! Look at these booty-slammin’ crunk-ass mothafuckas right here!!

The only hitch in this plan, of course, is the Mean Old Lady.  It turns out that she works in the South Building.  The same building we’re going to be relocated-to. God damn it, Mean Old Lady is going to be my Nurse Ratched…my Richard Vernon…my Dean Wormer…a nemesis to be overcome and/or destroyed.

Then again, she might just eat my soul.  And flesh.  Oh, she probably loves eating human flesh.  It’s the only thing that sustains her.  She’s probably a thousand years old, and continues to exist simply through force of will and the consumption of human flesh and the wails of infants as she passes by in the night, her long, spindly shadow washing over their cribs like a cold terror…

Wow…I found an image of a crib that is actually scarier than the Mean Old Lady. Thanks, internet!

Anyway, that’s what’s going on in my world.  At least, that’s what’s going on when I’m not doing the Sloppy Swish. I also sometimes try to respond to stuff here and on Facebook.  One young man asked me recently how I got my hair to be so goddam awesome and good-looking.  (Okay, so that’s not an EXACT quote.)  I steered that young ‘un over to Jan Hella at The Rebel Rouser (I still need a bumper-sticker, Jan…hint-hint…) for more tips and vids on how to rock a decent pomp and such, but here’s Uncle Turner’s go-to formula:  start with mostly-dry hair, get yourself some Murray’s or Dax Wave and Groom.  Getcha a dab/scoop a couple fingers’ worth, rub it between your palms until it’s melty smooth, and work it through your hair.  THEN…and this part is muy importante…add a dab or so of either Tres Flores brilliantine or Royal Crown hair dressing. Smooth it through just like the Murray’s/Dax.  This does two things:  it softens the sticky pomade and also adds shine.  It seems like most pomades have an inversely proportionate hold/shine ratio.  The shinier it is, the less holding power and vice versa.  You can use Murray’s to pile that hair to the goddam sky…but it’ll be dull and matte-finished.  You want a little shine.  Trust me.  OTHERWISE YOU BE ACKIN’ DA FOO’!!  (I have not idea where that came from.  Apologies.)  You’ll know you’re doing it right if your hands are a sticky, greasy mess after doing up your ‘do.  Y’done good, son.

The shiny, perfect hair of Jan Hella.

Final thought:  I’m giving serious thought to sporting a mohawk for the holiday season.  A real one, not that fake David Beckham circa 2000 faux-hawk crap.  Shaven sides.  Stiff strip of inch-wide hair jutting proudly.  I made a joke about it, and my friend/coworker Drew Cage said “Dude!  You hafta do it green!”  I laughed and made the remark that I would consider doing it, but alas, I am a 42-year-old man.  An old guy.  A husband and father.  A responsible adult.

“That’s exactly why you should do it,” he replied.

Goddammit.

So…that happened.

It’s Friday, November 9th.  Last night, apparently, I went on a bit of a Twitter binge.  This usually happens when I watch the NHL playoffs (which may or may not happen next spring.  Don’t get me started) or U.S. Presidential Election-related stuff like debates or election-night coverage (which is thankfully over for another four years) or the Walking Dead.  Another time this phenomenon occurs is when I partake of some manner of booze.  Usually, the booze is simply a catalyst, acting in conjunction with the other events I’ve mentioned.  Sometimes, however…well, the booze just unlocks the crazy, and I take to Twitter to try to infect everyone that follows me.  Here, then, are some highlights from last evening’s Twitsplosion…

Okay, see that Tweet at the bottom? The one about the mayonnaise? Yeah, that’s how it all started. Also, there is a reference in there to me changing my avatar.  The old one looked like the offspring of The Governor and Wil Wheaton.  I changed it to the one you see now.  It’s more…me. you’ll also note some response from @WoMarty. That guy is my boss, BTW.  Good chap.

Some more responses.  Hey, great!  People are paying attention!  TO ME!! I LOVE ATTENTION!!!

The pic that I failed to expand in this screenshot is of me drinking Scotch.  Okay, we get it.  Turner likes Scotch.  Also, this marks the second time in this blog entry I’ve mentioned Wil Wheaton.  I long ago unfollowed Wil because he went on and on about the Big Bang Theory, a show he makes frequent guest-appearances on.  You may recall that I am not what you’d call a “huge fan” of that show.  Since then I’ve begun following him again, in part because he is sometimes the polar opposite of Adam Baldwin.  Adam and I used to get into spirited political discussions.  One night I gave him a royal beating in a debate we were carrying on via Twitter and the sumbitch blocked me. That’s how you know you’ve won the argument.  The other person takes their ball and goes home.

Apparently, when I drunk Tweet two things happen:  I forget how to spell and I start obsessing about body parts.  Okay, good.  Also, @jan31875 followed me, and it made me happy (I don’t know who that is, BTW.)

More interaction: @ajmotia (a lovely young lady whose last name is pronounced “mo-TEE-ya”) makes a joke about my old avatar.  Ha.  Then @RMRacing19 chimes in with concerns for my wife’s safety.  Russ is a lcoal Komet hockey fixture, NASCAR fan, and race care driver.  I will fucking END HIM if he doesn’t watch it.

I have deliberately left the conversation between myself and my old friend @brettyrocks hidden from your sight.  See, Brett is a big ol’ dirty, stinky hippie.  He’s also gay as they get.  I love Brett because he once wore his “100% Negro” shirt to work when Reverend Al Sharpton came to visit when we both worked at the alternative station 99X in New Bern, NC.  Oh, by the way…Brett is also very white. True story.  The suits were nervous about the non-PC shirt and Sharpton’s reaction to it, but to everyone’s surprise the good reverend absolutely loved it and even posed with  Brett for a picture.  Last night, however, Brett was describing sexual acts with gentlemen, and while I am all for guy-on-guy or girl-on-girl (okay, mainly girl-on-girl) action, I’m treating his Tweets as the language of Mordor and will not utter them here.  One more to wrap it up…

The guy named Sneed was a consultant when I worked in NC.  He was the mentor of my sworn enemy, so, yeah.  And that’s my foot.  I think I blacked out after that one.  I Tweeted a few pics last night, and one of them was of me eating my kitty cat, Keyser.  My good friend (and sometime drummer for the rock band Rains) @TheJoeSchultz reminded me that he, in fact, had posted a similar pic long before I did.  Giving credit where credit is due:

And finally, my boy @TikiBoundRay tried to unravel the mystery of the strange Tweets coming from my account…

Quite a detective, that guy.

Living in the FUTURE!!

I love old-timey stuff.  Jesus, sometimes it seems like that’s all I friggin WRITE ABOUT. But I’m also a dreamer and sci-fi addict, so my eyes are always on the horizon.  I love it here.  And by “here” I mean, of course, the future. I like the fact that I have access to all the old-timey stuff (I made chainmail once.  True story.  I also own an M-1 Garand which was manufactured in the spring of 1943.  I looked it up) and still get to play Skate 3 with my kids on the ol’ Xbox 360.  It really is the best of both worlds.  Yessir, no doubt about it: this is the best time that’s ever been.  Ladies and gentlemen, this is the future.

Because perfectly sane men spend months twisting and cutting metal links for a costume they’ll wear once.

“BULLSHIT!” you scream at the cold, unfeeling monitor.  “AIN’T NO FLYING CARS!!”  An excellent point, and the one that everyone uses when they wish to express displeasure at the quality of life in these modern times.  And my counter-argument is that there will never be cities full of flying cars.  Never.  Films like “Metropolis” and “Fifth Element” aren’t going to happen.  They aren’t.  Why?  Because technology is going to make flying cars obsolete.  Remember when Doc Brown tells Marty that where they’re going they “don’t need roads?”  In the coming century (yes, it will happen within a hundred years) you won’t even need cars.  Instantaneous transportation is going to change everything. How do I know?

It’s already been done.  (Kind of.)

This article from Scientific American is already four years old, and a decent Google search will bring up more recent experiments, surely.  But the gist is this: scientists were trying to see if entangled particles could communicate faster-than-light.  Under our current physics model, this is impossible.  However, when they created two entangled photons and separated them by about eleven miles, they proved (again) that entanglement is fucking spooky.  When they’d tweak one particle, the other responded instantaneously. With our primitive measuring capabilities, they weren’t able to prove that this sort of communication is infinitely fast.  They were able to measure that at the very least, data transfer was happening at 10,000 times the speed of light.

Let me say that shit again: TEN THOUSAND TIMES THE SPEED OF FUCKING LIGHT!!

The applications right now are obviously limited.  But it’s safe to assume that someone will one day soon build a pair of transmitters that include entangled particles.  When one is switched on and off in a pattern like, say, Morse code or Binary, the other gets it immediately.  No lag.  No waves traveling through the air, no bouncing off satellites.  A guy in China knows what’s happening in Nevada at the exact second it happens.  And like our own communication systems that have gone from telegraphs to telephones to radios to Skype and Wi-Fi, you can imagine that this is just the beginning.  And even better; entanglement theory is part of the grander, broader world of quantum mechanics.  Mark my words: we’re on the verge of figuring out how to actually either fold time-space what we’d call “Warp Drive” style propulsion (which is kind of a misnomer, since you’re not actually propelling anything…you’re moving space-time, not the object itself) or a “transporter” of sorts.  Build a bubble of entanglement or probability (or whatever spooky shit they call it) here and another one somewhere very far away.  You step into one, you come out in the other.  Seriously.  This is going to happen.  And most of the world has no idea how close we actually are.  It’s moving beyond theory now, into actual applied science.  This proximity to amazing breakthroughs literally give me goosebumps.  We live in the future, but our grandkids are going to live in the FUTURE!!!

I’d like to say that I photoshopped this. I’d like to, but I can’t. Because this shit is real.

Louis C.K. points out that right now, at this time in Human History, everything is awesome.  And it is.  He also points out that nobody is happy.  His assertion is that we take so much for granted.  We don’t appreciate things like the miracle of flight.  he has some valid points.  But if you think you’re spoiled now, just wait until you can have a real-time holographic conversation with your pal who’s going to school at the Martian Colony…or step into a terminal in New York and step out in Berlin in less than a microsecond.  It’s sort of staggering, but it’s coming.

And I can’t wait.