Musings.

Okay, you know the drill (unless you’re just now discovering this blog, in which case, welcome!  Have some dip!  It’s delish!) Now and then the random crazy thoughts and notions in my head must be purged, so here we go again.  A little housekeeping.

I used to smoke a pipe.  A tobacco pipe, no less.  It was the 90’s.  I would probably still smoke one to this day, but smoking a pipe is much like eating Buffalo wings:  it’s too much work for the amount of gratification.  You hafta pack the tobacco in strata of compaction and texture, then light it and possibly re-light it and sure, the amaretto vanilla smell is extraordinary, but Jesus…it’s just easier to grab some Black & Milds and go to town. That thought led to me to this one:  why the hell haven’t the hipsters taken up pipe smoking?  They already have the old-school glasses, neckties, Smith Corona typewriters and Schiltz beer (I am trying to get hipsters to drink that stuff so they leave the decent beers like PBR and Hamms alone) so it would make total sense that they would all take up the ludicrously time-consuming and attention-grabbing act of tobacco pipe smoking.  They should be all over this shit.

I left the Shire before it was cool.

I left the Shire before it was cool.

I think I may have covered this in a different post, but here’s one hard fact of life, my friends: The green and pink hippos in Hungry, Hungry Hippos always rule. They are good and fast, with smooth action.  You always get tons of marbles with those two.  However, the other side of that coin is that the yellow and orange ones (at least one, usually both) suck.  Terrible.  The jaw sticks open, the neck doesn’t go all the way out…something.  Avoid at all costs. BTW, did you know all those hippos have names?  I don’t know what they are.  Probably something like Geoff or Brad.  Brittany, maybe.

Pictured: utter, dismal failure

Pictured: utter, dismal failure

There was a series on Showtime way back in the day (back when we’d watch the cable movie network late, late, way after we should’ve been in bed, in order to glimpse the nightly showing of Porky’s, Zapped, or some Shannon Tweed flick; anything with some skin) called “Steambath.”  Here was the entire premise of the show: heaven (Nirvana, Elysium, whatever you prefer to call your afterlife) was a steam bath.  That’s it.  Guys died, they went there, they sat around talking about life or whatever (I honestly don’t remember much of the show, as I was about twelve and it didn’t have laser guns or tits or laser-tits, so I couldn’t be bothered.)  I think this is a show ripe for a Netflix revival.

I think this is from the actual show, and I'm pretty sure that's Bill Bixby.

I think this is from the actual show, and I’m pretty sure that’s Bill Bixby.

There are two phrases that have been completely ruined by musical numbers from animated films within the last year or so.  They are expressions that you can’t possibly utter now without hearing someone belt out their own rendition of the song that incorporates the phrase in question.  They are “Let it Go” and “Everything is Awesome.”  The sad thing is that I never realized how often I use both phrases until the goddam singalong thing started.  It’s a living hell.  It’s like living in my own private ongoing production of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” done as a Disney/PIXAR monstrosity.  Fuck.

So close.  Maybe Frank would work better in a Ren & Stimpy revival...

So close. Maybe Frank would work better in a Ren & Stimpy revival…

I think hats fell out of favor because of Hollywood.  See, men in particular (but everyone, really) used to wear hats.  Fedoras, Derbys, Homburgs, etc.  But then they started making movies.  And in the movies, you want to see the faces of the big, bold stars up there on the silver screen.  So they’d contrive to have the hero go without a hat.  Seriously, think of Humphrey Bogart.  Sure, he had his lid on for a few minutes in Maltese Falcon and at the very end (the tarmac scene) of Casablanca…but otherwise, it was his slick pompadour and a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.  And guess what everyone in the United States of America has always done?  Imitated the people they see in the movies.  Slowly but surely, as fewer hats appeared onscreen, fewer were seen on the heads of the fine young men and women of the USA and freedom-loving peoples all over the world.  That’s why even today you’ll find everyone in North Korea wearing hats.  Because those godless commies don’t allow easy access to American cinema.  (Okay, I really don’t know what the hat situation in North Korea is, but fuck ’em.)

And no, Bogey.  Liking margaritas does not make you gay.

And no, Bogey. Liking margaritas does not make you gay.

Television science guy and ambassador for rationality Bill Nye is NOT the same guy as crusty English actor/sea monster Bill Nighy. They’re two completely different people.  In fact, one is English and the other is not.  Plus, according to some internet sources, one of these two pronounces their last name “Nigh-hee.”  Just wanted to clear up any confusion.  Also, Gordon Lightfoot might look sort of like one of these two, but he is not.  Not either of those two guys.  The science one and the English dude.  Okay, I wanna go home now.  Seeya.

See, now I don't remember which is which.

See, now I don’t remember which is which.

String Theory, Gun Control, and How it All Really Doesn’t Matter

Well, now that right there is a title.  Ain’t it grand? On Facebook I solicited ideas for blog subjects, and my buddy and occasional teammate and verbal sparring-partner Luke gave me that one.  I thought it pretty much summed everything up, so here we are!

But, of course, it does matter.  Not going to delve too much into a discussion about the multiverse, but here’s the thing about time/space: it’s constant and already there.  Imagine a map of the United States, and straight railroad line from New Jersey to California.  The railway itself is time, carrying us towards some future destination.  We see the landscape pass by and that how we perceive or measure time.  But here’s the thing:  just because we leave New Jersey behind (and for good reason.  I KEED!) doesn’t mean it ceases to exist.  It’s still right there, but our train is going full steam ahead.  All the States we pass though are like days, weeks, years that we’ve traveled through.  They still exist, right where we left ’em.  The trick is getting the train to stop and backing ‘er up.  Is it possible? I think so.  But in order to do that you must lay down some new tracks and leave the old railway behind.  And when you do that, you’ve just created another new set of possibilities.  This happens anyway, every time you make a choice.  Every time you decide to go back to sleep instead of getting up, order Dr. Pepper instead of Coke, watch the rerun of The Jeffersons instead of going for a walk.  There’s an alternate timeline where you kissed your high school crush at that dance instead of chickening out.  And in that reality, you ended up getting married to your crush and having two kids before seeing your marriage fall apart and within that reality there’s also one where you reconcile and end up being married for 60 years and seeing your grandkids go to college.  And one where you murder your true love.  Damn.  Thanks, Luke…you’ve just brought everyone down.  Asshole.  I love you.  (Even though this section really didn’t deal with string theory or gun control.)

He looks so cute when he's all victorious and stuff.

He looks so cute when he’s all victorious and stuff.

Okay, next we have Joe Schultz (whose own idea to crowd-source his blog was the inspiration for this one.)  He says to write about the band Rush.  Dude…did you even read the last paragraph?  Tell me that wasn’t basically the blog version of “Freewill?”  Or maybe “By-Tor and the Snow Dog” since the ORIGINAL story concept had Snow Dog losing.  Plus, By-Tor shows up  in “Caress of Steel” and kills the Necromancer so that the three travelers can escape, which means he’s the hero of the story. See, who knows if he would’ve made that sort of decision if he hadn’t been literally taught a lesson by the defeat at the hands of Snow Dog?

I swear to God, this is one of the top-8 images for "By-Tor" on Google.

I swear to God, this is one of the top-8 images for “By-Tor” on Google.

Jesus, this thing is turning out to be a lot geekier than I had planned.  Okay, how about we hear from a lady?  Kellie wants my thoughts on crispy bacon v. chewy bacon.  Dude.  I don’t know what chewy bacon is all about because I won’t eat the filthy motherfucker.  That shit better not even make it to my plate less’n you wanna feel my PIMP HAND.  (I am 100% legit, folks.  No brag.  Just fact.)

Who the hell would ever even try to market "chewy bacon?"  Makes no goddam sense.

Who the hell would ever even try to market “chewy bacon?” Makes no goddam sense.

Brandin’s question is whether “liking” your own status is the same as laughing at your own joke.  It is.  It totally is, and Joe Schultz does it ALL. THE. TIME.  Then again, Joe needs me to explain to him when things are funny.  True story.

This is actually Joe's profile picture.

This is actually Joe’s profile picture.

USMC and Royal Marine air-traffic controller and all-around officer and gentleman Rob (true story: he’s so bad-ass that he’s actually commanded Marines for two different COUNTRIES.  You’ll never be that awesome, so don’t even try) wants to ponder “Crazy dreams about having to pee because your body is trying to wake you up to go before you wet the bed.” This would really be a good question for Dream Analyst Lauri Loewenberg.  It’s hard for me to really speak about with any sort of experience, because I usually just pass out and wake up in a pool of my own piss and blood. Often, upon awakening, I discover that I’m clutching what seems to be some sort of scalp or pelt.  Weird.

Uh-oh!  Gotta go potty!

Uh-oh! Gotta go potty!

I also had some more musical suggestions, so I’ll cover them all at once.  Joseph (not Joe Schultz) said to write about how excited I am for the Social Distortion show at Piere’s in Ft. Wayne on June 29th.  Extremely.  I’ve seen them before, but to have a legendary band like that playing in our backyard is so wonderful.  Darryl suggested that I wrote about the differences in various styles of Heavy Metal.  The problem is, I’m really not a big “metal” fan.  I prefer punk.  Or Rush.  Plus, as a guy who’s never really followed the genre, I don’t know whether some things I like actually are considered “metal.”  Five Finger Death Punch certainly seems like metal to me, but is a lot more enjoyable than much of what Drew Cage plays on Bear Metal every Saturday at 10m on 98.9 the Bear and online at 989thebear.com!  Sure, there are several bands I can get behind…old-school stuff like Slayer and cheeseball stuff like Manowar…Atreyu seems pretty rad for a more modern band…but, yeah.  That’s pretty much it.

This.  This I know.

This. This I know.

Honorable mentions:  2-ply v. 3-ply toilet paper (see also:  crispy bacon v. chewy bacon), my friends Nick and Shannon getting married, how much fun I had at the last FWDG bout, how I resist the societal pressure to “grow up” and act like a 42-year-old, and the Boston bombings.  Some of these things make me happy, others make me sad, and (other than the toilet paper thing) all deserve more time/space/respect than I can afford at this point.  So, go enjoy the weather and we’ll catch up later, mmmkay?  Thanks!

Clutter.

Many years ago, my brother and I used to “jam” in my mom’s basement.  I’d riff some Barre chord punk riffs on my reverse-headstock Aria Pro II, my brother would pluck away on his Fender bass.  We weren’t any good, of course, but that didn’t matter.  It was therapeutic.  Now and then, our buddy Danny would join us. Danny lived up the street and was essentially another brother.  One day we discussed getting an actual punk band together, and what we should call it.  The winning entry, in my opinion, was Danny’s suggestion of “Clutter.”  He said it represented the disorder of our music and the varying styles we would surely incorporate into our live shows and albums.  I thought it was wonderful.  But, as you can’t download our music on iTunes and I’m writing a blog in my spare time instead of banging groupies and dodging rehab, “Clutter” the band never took off.    But that name is still a good one, so I’m using it for this catch-as-catch-can blog entry.  Thanks, Danny!

First up: This…

D'awww!  Some Indonesian kid made his own Mushroomhead band member!

D’awww! Some Indonesian kid made his own Mushroomhead band member!

That right there is a little voodoo keychain guy that my Sweet Baby got me on one of her travels because she knows I miss surfing.  She’s a good ol’ gal, that wife of mine.  Anyway, the other day I noticed something horrifying.  Apparently, my little surf guy was a proud member of Hitler’s Waffen SS.  Take a look at the board…

Gott in himmel!

Gott in himmel!

Sure, it’s probably supposed to be a lightning bolt, like the legendary Lightning Bolt surfboards surfed by the likes of Gerry Lopez at places like Pipe.  Probably.  Or maybe this is supposed to be a promotional piece for “Surf Nazis Must Die.”  Either way, I’ll betcha green money that some little Indonesian kid fucked this shit all up.

Speaking of things I didn’t notice at first…the other night was a windy, blustery, snowy one in Ft. Wayne, Indiana.  I sat alone in my loft and fired up the ol’ Netflix, choosing (for the 346th time, I believe) John Carpenter’s amazing, classic, incredible 1982 sci-fi thriller “The Thing.”  (Trust me, there really is no better dead-of-winter movie.  None.)  Anyhow, my friend and fellow blogger Blake (The Beard Gospel, Poptopia Madness, reviewer for Nerdspan, etc.) pointed this particular Easter egg out to me, so I waited eagerly for the last few moments of this film to see it for myself, and…I’ll be goddammed.  I’ve been watching this movie for over thirty years now and never caught it.  Peep this…

“Okay,” you say. “What’s the big deal?”  Here’s the big deal: SPOILER ALERT!!  SCROLL TO THE NEXT BIT IF YOU DON”T WANT TO HAVE A THIRTY-YEAR-OLD MOVIE THAT YOU SHOULD’VE ALREADY SEEN RUINED FOR YOU!!

The big deal is that Childs is The Thing, although technically he could be one of several “Things.”  Did they all get blown up?  Maybe.  MacReady was able to escape, so what if that final creature-combo that looked like a Super Mario Dragon Plant mixed with the worst sort of Greyhound rescue ever at Red Lobster didn’t include Blair?  Or Garry? Nauls?

Back to the point. How do I know that Childs is the creature?  We can’t see his breath.  MacReady’s is steaming and swirling with every word, encircling his head with clouds of cheap scotch-scented respiration.  Childs is in within three feet of MacReady, and yet…nothing.  Nary a wisp. He’s not a real human. He’s waiting to either freeze again so that when the rescue crew comes to the research station, they cart his remains back to the mainland where he will thaw and get into an amazing street fight with Rowdy Roddy Piper over whether or not to put on glasses that let him see (ironically) the alien invaders as they really are…or he straight up kills MacReady and assumes his identity.  (Although my money is on Mac.)

kurt

Remember, when you mess with Mac, you also mess with Snake and Jack. Just fair warning, pard…

Next subject:  Burn Notice.  Yeah, I know. I’m late to the party.  The wife and I basically started watching it this last fall because Netflix.  Boy, is it good.  I don’t know what I expected.  Maybe I figured it’d be a revamped Silk Stalkings or that stupid syndicated show wherein Hulk Hogan drove a powerboat around the Florida panhandle or whatever.
"Terry?"  Really?  Also: there are three discs in this box.  Three.  how...how did this come to pass?!

Terry? Terry?!? Okay. What if all this time, the Hulkster was really just Terry Bradshaw with a paste-on Fu-Manchu?!? It would make so much sense…

Anyway, it struck me the other day why I enjoyed it so much (Burn Notice, not that “Terry” Hogan crap.)  The writing is decent, the locale is spectacular (seriously, as long as there is a Miami, there will be crime dramas and such) but it’s really the cast.  Man, what a cast.  It reminds me of Firefly, in that it’s the grand total of all the pieces…that’s what makes this thing shine.  Change one character…say, the mom from Everybody Loves Raymond instead of Sharon Gless…or Tom Selleck as Sam…and the whole thing falls apart.  Sure, characters come and go, and it took about a season before everything gelled so perfectly, but imagine Bruce Boxleitner playing Jayne Cobb.  “Did that almost happen?!?” you shocked fanboys scream, to which I simply whisper back “No.”
Ladies and gentlemen, the Hero of Canton!

Ladies and gentlemen, the Hero of Canton!

But here’s my semi-legitimate fear:  I really hope this show doesn’t end up being like LOST or something.  Seriously, consider this theory that I just came up with:  what if Michael didn’t actually get burned in the pilot episode.  What if he got SHOT?  What if the whole show is either in his mind or in actual purgatory?  That would explain why he has trouble leaving, why he’s surrounded with the only people he’s ever really cared about, and why he’s compelled to help others.  He’s trying to earn his way NOT back into the service of the CIA, but into heaven.  It’s very possible that in the final episode of the series, Michael sacrifices himself for someone else and the show ends with him standing in a bright, white light as the voice of Morgan Freeman welcomes him home.  Or even better, Sam Axe is actually wither God or THE DEVIL!!! Does that make a lick of sense?  No. But tell me it wouldn’t fuck with some heads.
Thanks for reading, all.

Discotron and On, Mon!

I’m in a silly mood.  And when I’m in a silly mood, you get a silly blog.

Recently my kids have been on a TRON kick.  Specifically, they’ve been on a TRON: Legacy kick, watching it every day.  EVERY. DAY.  They’ve made Identity Discs out of paper plates and Frisbees, every toy motorcycle is now a Light Cycle, the Android tablets are full of Light Cycle games and TRON videos on YouTube, and TRON: Evolution has taken up permanent residence in the Xbox 360 tray.  It’s a phase, and I’m aware that recently they were in Iron Man mode, and Batman mode before that, and of course hockey is always a go-to obsession, so it’s all good.  But I took it upon myself to further their education by downloading the demo versions of the original TRON coin-op game and even found an Xbox Arcade demo for the classic “Discs of TRON.”  (It turns out that this game is not nearly as fun as I remember, but maybe that’s because I’m not playing it inside one of those enclosed sit-down cabinets that the original game employed.)

I seriously doubt my big ass would even fit in there.

I seriously doubt my big ass would even fit in there.

Anyway, word association and rhyming are two ways my addled mind uses to distract me from doing real work, so here’s the way my runaway brain train took off on me…

Instead of “Discs of TRON” I started thinking “Discotron.”  Now, Discotron can be a lot of different things.  A tune by Alex Metric which sounds an awful lot like some of the Daft Punk soundtrack to TRON: Legacy, ironically…

A disco-techno-house hybrid band…

A record player…

I'm guessing it looks like this.  Just spitballing here, but with a name like "Discotron" it has to be pretty close.

I’m guessing it looks like this. Just spitballing here, but with a name like “Discotron” it has to be pretty close.

A “Heat Digital Transfer Machine”…

transfer

Or this weird German party truck.

Das auto!

Das auto!

And actually about 4,000 other things.  In fact, if you add alternate spellings like “DiskoTron” or “Disco-Tron” the results from Google explode exponentially.  And goddammit, we don’t NEED more explosions!  My lord, didn’t you SEE that footage of the meteor in Russia?  THINK, PEOPLE!!  This world would be so much better if people would just learn to be responsible with their Google searches.  And don’t even get me STARTED on that Bing crap.
Anyway.
“Discotron” led me to think of Robotron 2084, another bad-ass arcade classic that was sooooo much better than “Berzerk.”
One of the few home-console versions that looked pretty much like the coin-op.  It's all we had, people.

Berzerk: one of the few home-console versions that looked pretty much like the coin-op. It’s all we had, people.

And “Berzerk” was infinitely better than “BirdZerk” the cut-rate San Diego Chicken rip-off that infiltrates minor-league ballparks around the United States every summer.
KILL IT!  KILL IT WITH FIRE!!

KILL IT! KILL IT WITH FIRE!!

And “BirdZerk” is head-and-shoulders above that Myron Noodleman buffoon.  Seriously, dude:  looking and acting like Jerry Lewis has never been funny, even for Jerry Lewis. Jerry Lewis cosplay is the absolute worst.  Stop it.
KILL IT!  KILL IT WITH...ah, never mind.

KILL IT! KILL IT WITH…ah, never mind.

But Discotron also reminds me of Gravitron.  The Gravitron is the single-greatest carnival ride in history, equal parts fun and vomit.  It’s amazing.  Sometimes you sprawl all over the place like a confused Stephen Hawking, and sometimes you hope that the centrifugal force keeps that dude next to you’s puke right on top of him where it belongs.
Or you sack up and make gravity your bitch.

Or you sack up and make gravity your bitch.

In closing, here are some other things that Discotron reminds me of.  Thanks, kids.  Thanks, TRON.  Thanks, Google.  And thank you for making it this far.

ron-jon-41heymondon-juan-demarcowrath of khan 46

Presto-Chango!

Hey guys!  Remember when I told you about slicking your hair with pomade and how cool it was to rock the old-school haircuts of the 40’s and 50’s?  Yeah, well…I kinda look like this now…

Ironically, I'm still using Murray's for this haircut.

Ironically, I’m still using Murray’s for this haircut.

I guess the lesson here is “don’t get comfortable.”  Or maybe “try something different.”  Perhaps a better slogan would be “What the fuck did you do to your hair?  Don’t you realize that you’re 42 years old, for God’s sake?”

Maybe it’s not about my comfort.  Maybe it’s that I enjoy making other people uncomfortable. The problem, for me, is that people are so used to my stupidity that they seldom react with the shock or chagrin that I so desperately love.  This hair, for example?  People in my stuffy office said “Oh!  Cool!”

Bottom line is, I like change.  As much as I enjoy old-school style elements and music, I also love vivid surf-themed clothing and punk rock.  At Christmastime I’m just as pleased to hear Bing Crosby as I am to hear that one song by the Waitresses. The end of the year is a good time to explore change.  I think that’s especially true since (at least here in the tundra of Northern Indiana) the landscape ain’t gonna change much for the next four months.  So change it up your self! LIVELY UP YOURSELF, MANG!!

You should!  Get that haircut!  Read that new novel!  Download some new music!  Buy some new slacks (or trousers!)  Go a little nuts! Damn, it feels GOOD to go a little nuts, and this is the perfect time to do so!

In closing, I would like to share this video of myself being silly with a leaf blower.  Carry on.

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.

Kindness Ninjas

(4/25 UPDATE! Barry Thickk, my old partner in crime, pointed out this post on The Chive today.  Synchronicity?  Someone biting my rhyme?  A little of both?  No matter.  As long as people are getting the message!  Oh, and KCCO!!)

This particular blog is for the betterment of mankind.  Sort of.  I have, as usual, a jumble of thoughts rolling through my head and wanted to put them down on, uh…html? Anyway, my friend Kassi suggested via Twitter that I need to blog today instead of playing XBox.  She’s having a bad day, so I’ll indulge her.  BTW, Kassi is awesome, adorable, and a blogger in her own right. (And, ahem…single, fellas.)  BTW, I’m in a cursing sort of mood, so I apologize  in advance for the number of “fucks” that will likely end up in this post.

Kassi is hella cute. maybe TOO goddam cute...

I wanted to get away from the sci-fi/comicy geeky goodness that so often permeates my blog entries and get into some randomity.  The good kind!  I had a college professor named Gavin Whitsett.  He was a true hippie.  He didn’t go all tie-dye and Birkenstocks, but  when you saw his worn tweed jacket and long hair you knew who he was immediately.  Wire-rimmed glasses and a permanent smile completed the picture.  Anyway, Gavin had written a few books about “Guerrilla Kindness” and for a while in the mid-90’s you heard people saying things like “I practice random acts of kindness!”   He was great.  And for an author living in Evansville, IN his impact was huge. Dude was on Oprah, for God’s sake. He also ran a public radio station for a while.  Gavin knew how to communicate.  It is in his memory (RIP, sir) that I pass along some of things I try to do on a regular basis to make the world a little better.  And a word of warning:  if you’re doing nice things for people in the hopes that someone will notice and say “Wow!  You do nice things for people!” then you’re doing it wrong.  The acts of kindness must be anonymous.  Discreet.  You are a ninja of goodness.  Got it?

Get it? There's a Gorilla...and it's Guerrilla Kindness, so...aw, fuck it.

You know how you’re driving around the parking lot looking for a space close to the entrance?  Especially in the dead of winter or the heat of August?  Do everyone a favor and leave the good spots for someone else.  They’ll never know.  They’ll just turn up an aisle and go “Wow!  A spot two stalls away from the door!  And here am I with these twin babies that I must safely and warmly ferry inside!  What luck!”  But it isn’t luck.  It’s kindness.  Well done. Along those lines, carry some extra change in your car.  I love doing this one, but it can sort of backfire.  While doing a weekly radio event called “Bear on the Square” in downtown Ft. Wayne, I usually park in metered parking.  I pay up my maximum of two hours, then if I have any leftover change I’ll put it in the meters on either side (provided there’s a car parked there.  Otherwise you’ve just wasted fifty cents, asshole!)  The drawback is this: once, as I made to leave, I overheard a larger fellow mutter “Huh!  I walked all the way out here and somebody done fed the meter!”  He didn’t sound angry…but disappointed, either because he REALLY loves putting coins in that thing and I robbed him of his glory, or he hates walking.   At least he saved a few coins and got some exercise.  Double-win, if you ask me. You know another easy car-related piece of kindness?  Letting another driver merge.  Even (and this is the tough part) if said driver is being a douche.  There are two kinds of bad mergers: the asshat that knows the lane is about to close and he needs to get to the right but guns it as fast as he can to bypass everyone, hoping he gets in ahead and then there’s the old person who c r e e p s her car forward about ten centimeters at a time, terrified of the oncoming horde of metal and glass shrieking and honking her way.  You’ve encountered both of them.  Now and then, let ’em in anyway.  The first guy I mentioned is probably some date-rapist that reeks of Drakkar Noir.  But he could also be an undercover cop or have a wife delivering a baby in the passenger seat.  You never know.  Letting Captain Fuckstick in that one time might save a life.  Prolly not.  But it’s still a kindess. Here’s another simple idea:  say “Bless you” when someone sneezes.  Even if they never say “thanks” or even acknowledge your kindess.  Sometimes I’ll hear what I think is a sneeze and say “Bless you!” and the other person replies with “It was a COUGH you moron!”  Big fucking deal!  Cough, hicup, spasm, orgasm…I don’t care what the fuck caused your problem, buddy.  I’m being kind, so fuck you!  And bless you, while I’m at it!

However, if THIS happens, I'm calling you an ambulance.

And I guess that’s the real lesson here.  Gavin would shake his head and smile if he heard me talk like that.  But he’d be okay with it, because it proves that even the surliest, mangiest, tatted-up, swearing-like-a-sailor bastards and bitches can be good.  That guy with an eyepatch and septum piercing that just held the door for you?  He’s one of us.  That geek in the “Bazinga!” t-shirt that helped you track down the papers you just dropped to keep them from blowing across the quad?  He’s one of us, too.  He’s just wearing a stupid fucking t-shirt from the most awful show ever.  We’re kindess ninjas.  We’re usually unseen.  But we’re there…lurking…waiting to strike. There are literally thousands of little ways to make the world a little less sucky for others.  I can’t wait to see some of your ideas (hint!) in the comments section. In the meantime, have a great day, fuckers!

Randomity!

Getting ready to go camp out at McDonald’s for Ronald McDonald House, so I thought I’d throw a quick blog together.  It’s sort of like leftovers…and it ain’t even Thanksgiving yet!  Bing!  In other words, no rhyme or reason here, just more random thoughts and observations. Such as…

Winter is Coming.

Those are the Stark words, and living in the wasteland that is Northern Indiana, it’s a fact that’s on everyone’s mind.  me?  I love winter.  LOVE. IT.  I love it for many different reason, but one of my guilty pleasures is leaving work after it’s been snowing and using my arm to clear a little space on my windscreen.  Not the whole window, mind you: just a patch.  Then I pretend I am driving an old Sherman tank like in Battlefield.  I suggest you try it.  however, please try not to be too terribly drunk when you do so.

WEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Nazis in my shoe

Sometimes the seam of my sock loops over my little toe.  It’s one of those things that I try and tell myself is no big deal at first.  “I’m sure it will shake itself out before long.  No big deal.  It’s just a sock, after all.”  After about thirty minutes, it feels like there is a little Nazi sneaking up behind my toe with a wire garrote.  Little bastard is totally trying to cut my piggy’s head off.  I hate Nazis.

Get...out...of...my...SHOE!

Ethnic names

Some people make a big deal out of “ethnic” names.  You know what I’m talking about: Daekwon, LaToya…names that tip you off  to the far-away origins of the person’s family history.  You know, names like Ian, Connor, or Josh.  Aboriginal names like Braden, Caden, Jaden, and Binladen. (Okay, that last one was a joke.) It goes in cycles, though.  I would say there was a 100% chance that the white kid serving you pretzels at the mall in 1998 was named “Josh.”  And here’s another little insight into my situation:  in college I briefly squatted with some fellows in the campus apartments at the University of Southern Indiana.  Turner Watson, Marcus Gresham, and Micah Hawkins all sharing a room.  People would look at the housing rolls and assume we played for the basketball team.  Racist? Possibly.  But absolutely true. Later in life I had a surfing buddy named Lawrence Hawkins.  Also terribly white.  Never judge a book by its cover, people.  (Notice I didn’t say you people.)

Wu Tang is not a group of troubadours to be trifled with lightly, good sir.

Bachelorette fun!

Adult bookstores are great places to stock up on gag gifts.  Funny cards.  Bachelorette party supplies.  And Avatar-themed Fleshlights.  The bachelorette stuff always strikes me as funny.  You girls are so nutty!  A straw that looks like a penis!  HOW CRAZY IS THAT!  LOLZ!! See, when guys go on a bachelor party, they drink and look at titties.  It’s what you do.  Some cool bachelorette parties do the same thing.  Hell, my lovely wife and I actually ended up at the same strip joint the night of our respective parties.  Got his-and-her lap dances.  It was awesome.  ladies, THAT’S how you begin a healthy marriage.  Which makes me wonder about how much actual materiel the adult bookstores sell every year.  My guess?  A crap-ton.  And there’s a very simple reason: camouflage.  Say a gal wants a personal sexual toy or marital aid.  She goes to the bookstore.  She shops around.  Finally, after exhaustive research and hours of self-debate, she settles on the $250 double-ended Taint Ranger with vibrating love rabbit, perfect for those nights at home watching Twilight!  Only now she feels a little self-conscious.  As she approaches the checkout, the young lady wonders whether the cashier will thin she’s a deviant (hint: no.  No, they won’t.  Those employees see REAL deviants every single day.) So to confuse and obfuscate, she grabs a “#1 Bachelorette” tiara, some penis straws, and a colorful “Bride to Be” feather boa.  She’s going to pass the $250 Vadge-inator off as a gag gift.  And God bless her.

This exists.

Front-clasp bras

While on the subject of femininity, what the hell ever happened to these things?  I remember the first time I ever encountered one in high school…fumbling around under her shirt, prolly clawing the shit out of her back in a vain attempt to smoothly undo her brassiere and free her budding teats into my waiting, eager hands.  After about ten minutes of this nonsense, she pushed me back, lifted her shirt, revealed the magical mamary-constraining mechanism, and out came the globes.  It was very anti-climactic.  I was trying to be all George Clooney.  I was not.  Good riddance to these abominations, now that I think about it.

Whaddayouknow! Heaven has a front gate!

Red Cream Soda

What the fuck is that? Strawberry?  It’s not cherry.  I know that shit for damned sure.

Don't know what it is, but I drank the shit out of it in college art class.

Cracked Pavement

Ever see a parking lot or side street with a spiderweb of cracked pavement…that someone has painstakingly gone over and caulked with that rubbery black stuff?  What the hell, dude?  I understand that you don’t want big asphalt chunks laying all over and the resulting ever-widening holes and whatnot.  But how about just re-paving that shit?  Can it really be more troublesome?  I don’t get it.  I don’t. Then again, it’s pretty obvious that there’s a lot I don’t get.  Life is a mystery to me.  Like a front-clasp bra in eleventh grade.

No problem! We'll have this banged out in about twenty years.

Quick and Dirty.

In reference to the title of this entry: THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!  So, there’s that.

Anyway, I noticed a couple of things the other day.  One:  I start wayyyy too many paragraphs with “Anyway…” so I’ll try to get more creative with my transitions.  Two, thanks to you reading this blog (and all the other entries herein) I’m approaching 10,000 views since the beginning of August.  Dayum…I never figured people would actually want to read this!  So in all sincerity, thanks.  And keep spreading the word!  Would it be out of the realm of possibility to see 20,000 by the end of the year?  Or to put it bluntly: can a nigga get a table dance?

Anyway…

So they had me in a “Brainstorming” meeting today to help a client find ways to market a series of sex-type classes for couples.  I shit you not.  They actually WANTED me in there.  Most of my ideas were rejected.  I suggested that the client have a series of classes called “Your Wife’s Asshole Is Like a 9-Volt Battery: You Know You Shouldn’t Put Your Tongue On It, But You Will Anyway!”  I also mentioned that many of us would sign up for a class called “Bitch, It Ain’t Gonna Suck Itself” and also “What The FUCK Was That Noise, And Where Did It Come From?”  I was asked to leave the meeting early.  Their loss!  But while I was bored, some thoughts crept into my had.  Here are some of them…

1. You know what would be terrifying?  Not zombies.  Fuck zombies, man.  They’re slow. (REAL zombies are slow.  28 Days Later was Rage Virus, you imbecile.)  Ah, but what if some mad genius outfitted an army of zombies with Segway scooters?  A horde of undead douchebags with Bluetooth headsets coming after me? I’m OUTTA here, Jack! Get me to some stairs, stat!

While writing this piece, I had NO IDEA that this was already a thing! Seriously, Google "zombie on a seqway." I'll wait.

2. People know I don’t like the show Big Bang Theory (ahem…) but did you know that the guy that plays Sheldon on that show was recently a guest star on iCarly?  True story.  He played a patient in a mental ward, and he was actually very entertaining.  See, sometimes you have to hate the game, not the player.

3. I’m starting a rumor, right here and now, that a big-budget remake of “Smokey and the Bandit” is underway with Michael Bay writing/directing.  Ryan Reynolds has been cast as Bandit, and Emmy Award-winner Peter Dinklage is signed to play Smokey.  In fact, in this remake the name of the character Buford T. Justice has been changed to simply “Smokey” because they want this thing to be as stupid as humanly possible.  I love the Dink, and though I hate to see him belittle himself (see what I did there?) with this kind of role, but dude…strike while the iron’s hot!  (Seriously, though…his Tyrion Lannister is spot-fucking-on.)

TOTALLY not 'shopped.

4. Speaking of “Game of Thrones,” does anyone else think that George R. R. Martin only added the extra “R” initial so that people would call him “The American J.R.R. Tolkien?”  If so, that shit worked, because that’s EXACTLY what everybody calls him.  Maybe he’s just a big railroad fan.  Maybe somebody took his first choice, George H. W. Martin.  I ain’t care, long as he gets to writin’ some more books, y’all!

5. Finally, I learned recently that it was after the Battle of Bannockburn during the Scottish war of independence (the big one) that the esteemed GaGa’s received their peerage, land, and title.  Brave Lord GaGa so confounded the troops on both sides of the battle that Robert the Bruce was able to cement his claim to the Scottish throne by getting wasted and puking all over the Stone of Scone, which became customary at the coronation of every British monarch since.  In fact, the name of the sacred stone comes from the simple fact that scones were all the Bruce had eaten that day.  The English, upon seeing this horrifying display, wrote their digits on a bar napkin and left the field.  The Bruce never even called them back.  Actually, he totally ran into the English army a few weeks later and claimed he’d meant to call but couldn’t find their number.  Oh, and he dropped his phone in the toilet, so yeah.  But he suggested that maybe they could totally hang out one day.

"...the FUCK is he doing?!?"

The End.

Random Pancake Tampons!!

Okay, full disclosure: there are no pancakes OR tampons in this week’s missive.  Sorry for misleading you.  I just thought of the word “random” and then the first two words into my head were pancakes and tampons, so there you go.  Speaks volumes about the state of my mental well-being, eh what?  Forgive me, it’s been a strange week.  I flew a plane, for God’s sake.  Seriously.  They let me have the controls of an actual goddam airplane, and I lived to tell the tale.  See, the lesson was only one dollar…but the landing cost me a hundred-forty-nine bucks!  ZING! (That’s a pilot’s-license-instructor joke.  It absolutely has ’em in stitches at the airport.)  And you know what I learned about flying an airplane (other than it’s fuggin’ AWESOME?) It is EXACTLY like every video game you’ve ever played.  Only, you know, more terrifying when you stall.  Fact.

Oh! Okay, yeah...up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, THEN B-A-Start. Got it.

Anyway, there’s no point to the blog this week.  I just wanted to point out that this place is now conveniently called turnerwatson.com!  How ’bout that!  SOOOO much easier to ignore! Notice that I’ve changed the look a bit, too.  Yeah, that’s me.  Keepin’ it fresh and real like a goddam Wendy’s!  YOU KNOW WHEN IT’S REAL, BITCH!!

One of the other things I did this week was pay one more visit to the Ft. Wayne’s Children’s Zoo.  For the uninitiated, that’s an actual zoo full of animals, NOT a collection of ragamuffins and street urchins.  If that were the case, no one would go to the Africa exhibit because it would be sad and depressing and full of flies.  And the England exhibit would have loveable scamps playing footy and picking pockets while shouting “‘Ello, guv’nah!”  The fish & chips would be bomb-diggity though, yo.

D'awwwww!

Anyway, one of the rides there at the Ft. Wayne’s Children’s Zoo and Orphanage is the Australian Outback River Ride.  Basically, the zoo got a deal on some old Cedar Point log flume ride parts and threw together a meandering little teenage make-out session on water.  It’s kinda cool, and you get to see Black Swans and they always remind me of cheap-but-tasty Australian wine. As the family (the wife, two kids, and myself) wrapped up the ride and got ready to disembark, I had a brilliant idea that would be sure to liven the day of the poor minimum-wage kids running the damn log ride day after day.  I tell you this now at the end of the season so that maybe they’ll forget about it by springtime (as if anyone read this blog anyway, amirite?)

I’m going to need an accomplice, but here’s the plan.  I’m going to get into one of the old Abandoned Saw Mill Mining Town Log Ride Boats (formerly the Australian Outback River Ride) and about halfway through, once out of sight, I’m going to bail out.  Yep.  Leave the goddam path, so to speak and find out if Nedry turned off power in the ‘Raptor paddock.  This is where the accomplice comes in.  He/she will have been in the boat one or two spaces behind me, and I’ll hop in THIS person’s boat.  “That’s it?” you’re asking yourself.  “Big friggin’ deal!  Gosh, I thought there was more to this.”

You also wish there were more to this, don't you? Me, too.

Ah, but here it is!  The reason I need another boat is because I would have left the following items in my original ride:  One (1) mangled athletic shoe, four (4) children’s teeth (My oldest son is losing his baby teeth.  We don’t just throw those away once the tooth fairy comes, do we?) one (1) hunting knife, and five (5) clumps of animal hair (likely from my fat-ass cat, Keyser.) All of these items will be covered in copious amounts of fake blood, or deer blood if one of my huntin’ buddies bags and guts a deer.  I actually just realized that I’ll need a second accomplice to videotape the reactions of the zoo employees, as that’s the whole point: to scare the living shit out of some poor pimply-faced kid who sees a vacant log boat filed with blood, carnage, and signs of struggle wash up on his landing. God, that’d be priceless. “OMIGOD!!  A WALLABY MUST’VE GOT LOOSE AND TOTALLY NOMMED ONE OF THE VISITORS!!!”  Fuckin’ wallabies, man.  They’ll fuckin’ GET ya.

Swear to God, this already existed on the internet. It just happened to be perfect.

Of course, if someone executes this plan before I get a chance, well…as an agent of chaos, I’ll sit back and smile quietly.  Perhaps I’ll even clap, slowly.

And wonder why I never get any work done.