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.

What Exactly Do You Want, Anyway?

Hey, gang!  You may not know it, but this page is officially over a year old now.  Yep.  And when you reach those kind of milestones, you sort of take inventory of what you’ve got and what you’ve wrought (RHYME!!  YEAH!!) So I recently had me an idea.  I was going to split this blog up and do two separate pages.  One would be my usual sci-fi, comic book, geektastic blog and the other would be the one where I tackled more serious subjects like war and quantum physics.  Both would be rich in that good ol’ Turner Watson humor and irony (and I mean RICH!!) and have plenty of misspellings and run-on sentences.  Seriously, it’s kind of a fun little game to play when I publish a new post:  Spot The Bad Stuff!  Sigh.  I know, I know.I thought better of it.  The splitting-up idea.  The thing is, this little craptastic bullhorn of mine is different things to different people, and if I can turn the guy who’s here to read about Dazzler’s first appearance in X-Men on to some serious old-school pomade and style tips, then I’ve done my job! 

I have totally just confused the rockabilly set.

So after deciding to scrap the break-up, I looked at my search stats again.  This is one of my favorite quick-and-dirty blog topics, as some of you already know.  It’s still fun and often mind-boggling to see the search terms that have led people here.  Search engines have been responsible for 17,308 visits to my site. Since it’s kind of a one-year anniversary special, here are some of the all-time search results which were responsible for people clicking on this page.  Number one surprised me a bit…

Raise your hand if you want four more years of Obama!
D’OH!!

Grammar Nazi.  This search is number one with a staggering 1,238 searches.  This does not include the variants thereof, like the ironic “grammer nazi” with 54 searches or “grammarnazi” with 42.  Wow.  I did ONE BLOG on that subject, but obviously it was something on everyone’s mind this year.  Okay then. What could possibly be Number Two on the search list?

Oh, hey! Wouldja look at that!

Amish. The irony, of course, is that the Amish are not allowed to use the internet.  HA!  JOKE’S ON YOU, BEARDY-STRAW-HAT-BOY!! Also, there were eight searches for “amišai” that led to my page.  Apparently, that’s a Lithuanian word for “Amish.”  True story.  Lithuanian people are searching for first-hand accounts of the mysterious Amišai and finding their way here.  And to them I would say “Dėkojame, Lietuvos žmonių!”

This is actually getting kinda fun.

Carrot Top and fake tans account for a good chunk of search-term visits, but there’s ONE particular post that has had enough disparate searches combined that it ends solidly in third place. Ladies and gentlemen, the Big Bang Theory.  For the uninitiated, I’m not referring to the actual theory that attempts to explain the first moments of our universe, but rather the mediocre television show that attempts to describe (and bring about) the end of geek culture.  There has been SOOOOO much hate, praise and discussion of this stinking turd of sitcomdom on sites like Reddit that I suppose it was only natural that some of those curious parties would find their way to my fetid little swamp of cyberdom.  In fact, just on this post alone, there have been 7,364 pageviews.  This is not including the people that came in through the “front door” and then clicked on that blog.  I’d post the numbers but am already patting myself heartily on the back, so more ego-stroking isn’t necessary anyway.  But, wow…talk about hitting a nerve!  That’s why I do this shit, you know.  I’d really suggest EVERYONE get their own blog and say whatever you want.  It’s like Facebook but with fewer things that you can share or “like” if you hate breast cancer or Chick-Fil-A.

Okay, maybe I’m getting a little carried away…

Finally, I have to give you mad props.  Yes, you.  You know who you are.  You’ve shared this blog from your Facebook a grand total of 10,838 times.  Wow. Reddit is responsible for 5,492 referrals, and your Twitter shares put 676 butts in the seats, so to speak.  StumbleUpon, WordPress itself, hell even the website of my of employers, 98.9 the Bear helped out.  Outstanding and wonderful.  Thanks again for those wonderful numbers, but thanks even more for reading.  Expect my next post to be about “Fake-Tanned Nickelback Guest-starring On the Amish Bang Theory.”  Can’t miss.

Ooo, That Smell…

Mmmmm!  Cookies!

There aren’t really any cookies, mind you.  It was a trick.  A ruse.  I wanted you to start imagining fresh-baked cookies.  Sugar cookies, chocolate chip…those peanut butter ones that mom used to kind of press down on with a fork to make the crisscross hashmarks…doesn’t matter.  Because odds are you did think of cookies and there’s a chance that you thought of specific cookies.  That’s because the sense of smell is one powerful motherfucker and we totally take it for granted.  Also, smart people claim that it’s the sense most keenly tied to memory.  That girl you fell for that one crazy spring break?  You know her smell.  And it’s not just perfume and hair conditioning cream and fabric softener…it’s the sum of all of that and more.  It works the other way, too…that bitch from accounting that thought Obsession was the greatest fragrance EVAH?!?!  ERMAHGERD!!  You know, the one who you could literally smell as she got out of her car in the goddam parking lot?!  Yeah.  Now, no matter who’s wearing that particular perfume, you somehow know upon meeting them that you hate them a little bit.

Unless they look like this. I mean, c’mon…it’s just horrible, eye-burning, nostril-scorching perfume, right?

It works for things, too.  Things like tequila. You have a bottle of it, puke your guts out, and then the next time you’re out someone offers you a shot and you respond with (all together now!) “Dude, no.  I can’t even SMELL that stuff without puking.”    See, it’s science!  Your body has conditioned itself to avoid certain harmful substances, and tequila is certainly a harmful substance.  You’ll smell it before you taste it or even see it, because your sniffer works pretty damn good despite being less important now than it was six million years ago.  Good job, nostrils!

So here, then, are some of my FAVORITE smells.  Good ones.  Happy ones.  Scents that take me immediately to a happy place.  Like the beach, for example…

Surf Wax

Specifically, Sticky Bumps original surf wax.  Sure, Sex Wax is the one everyone talks about because the 80’s.  But this is the stuff, along with the occasional Mrs. Palmer’s, that made it onto my deck all the time, especially on the longboard.  The way it bumped up (hence the name) without having to go over it again and again was, well…magic.  But the SMELL!!  Imagine a tropical drink that featured coconut, vanilla, and blueberries.  Imagine your truck being filled with that awesomeness on the way to the beach, and then on you after laying on it and rubbing against it all day.  Wow, I just turned myself on a little bit.  Awesome.  I had some friends send me a few bars of this stuff a year or so ago even though I am currently land-locked with NO chance of surf.  But when I want to take a break and hit the beach, I take a good long pull off o’ one of these babies and I’m instantly there, even if only for a moment. 

Seriously, these stickers and that ‘Oakley Thermonuclear Protection’ shit…everywhere. The 80’s kinda sucked.

On the other end of the spectrum…

Ice Rink

This is one of those “greater than the sum of its parts” deals.  Yes, the actual ice itself is amazing.  Remember Doug Dorsey smelling the ice in The Cutting Edge?  That shit is legit, yo.  But it’s more than that for me.  The mouldy foam flooring, the hockey pucks…a new roll of hockey tape…the slightly sickening burning smell of someone heating up their stick blade along with the singed smell of the glue as it pops free…beer…all of it.  Any hockey player knows how comforting it is to get to a new rink in a new town and instantly know you’re at peace as soon as you walk in.  It’s a little like heaven.

These, however, smell HORRIBLE.

Patchouli (Yes, Patchouli) and Leather

I know.  Trust me, I know.  Hippies have ruined this for sooooo many people.  That’s because hippies don’t know that you’re only supposed to put a tiny pinpoint of this stuff on each wrist then rub them together.  That’s it.  That’s plenty. Those dirty bastards ladle it on by the gallon.  When so applied, it smells much like I imagine the Devil’s asshole must.  Horrible.  However, when I was a lad, it was the general scent of the counter-culture.  You’d smell it at punk shows, at Lollapalooza, the cool alternative bookstore (COUGH! The Abyss COUGH!) and so on.  The cool thing is, we all wore the standard Ramones-issue black leather motorcycle jacket.  Now, leather smells really good, especially new black leather.  Add just a hint of that hippie-juice and marinate for a few shows and smell your jackets wrist-holes.  Holy Mary, but that shit’s good.  It also happens to be the perfect example of how two different cultures can compliment each other in the right proportions.  But seriously, fuck you, hippies.

I seriously had to scour Google images to find a stock photo of a hippie and a punk together. Now to crop out the confused sick boy…

Murray’s Pomade

Let’s just address the elephant in the room right now.  This smells like black folks.  It does.  I’ve always loved this baby-powder-meets-honey-and-vanilla scent, but until I got older and started actually using it, I was just always envious of black folks and how good most of them smelled.  (Like any of us need to be any MORE envious of the fact that our Nubian brothers and sisters will ALWAYS be cooler than white folks, Iggy Pop and Henry Rollins excluded.)  But man, I don’t care if I’m using this stuff on short hair to mess it up (like white folks do) or part or pomp it up (like white folks used to do) I love the smell.  No lie, I’ll sometimes open the orange tin (a lifetime supply!) and get a big whiff of it to carry me through the day.  There are other great-smelling hair care products…Dax Wave-n-Groom smells a bit like Murray’s, and if you add a topcoat of Tres Flores Brilliantine, you get a sublime mish-mash of powdery, waxy, wonderful-smelling awesomeness.  Good God, I want to eat my own hair now.  It’s that fucking good.  I’m waiting on a response from Jan Hella over at The Rebel Rouser to hear what his favorite pomade scent is.  If Murray’s doesn’t finish in the top-three, I’ll be sorely disappointed.

Ladies and gentlemen, something most of us will never see: the bottom of a tin of Murray’s. It’s…it’s beautiful…