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.

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.

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…

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.

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.