I'm going off the rails...

I got tagged by B, the upside down one…since I don’t post (or use the computer) on the weekends, I didn’t find out until today.

Being tagged means you have to do whatever the person who tagged you wants. Kind of like truth or dare on the computer.

This is what I was sent:

Here are the rules:
1. Post the rules on your blog
2. Write six random things about yourself
3. Tag six people at the end of your blog
4. If you are tagged, just do it and pass the tag along

Okay, here goes.
Rule 1: Done…see above

Rule 2: I’d like to point out (before I do this) that my entire blog IS random (well, maybe…see below) things about myself, so I’m blowing six days of ideas by doing this (and I’ve kind of been in a slump lately).
First random thing about myself…I really like Kentucky Fried Chicken Original Recipe. I think about it all the time.
Second random thing about myself…My friend Ed has opined upon occasion (and I agree) that there is no such thing as a non-sequitur, so it is (my random opinion) actually impossible for me to write even ONE thing that is random…
Third random thing about myself (keeping in mind I don’t think it is random)…I don’t ever want to know how Stella got her groove back.
Fourth random thing about myself…I think Crazy Train by Ozzy Osbourne is one of the greatest songs I have ever heard. I just checked the lyrics online and it turns out I've been singing 25% of them wrong for 20 years.
Fifth random thing about myself… I think war movies are stupid. We already know the ending. Same for Titanic. In case you didn’t get to see it, in the end, it sunk.
Sixth random thing about myself…I can smoke cigarettes and not get addicted to them. I was told this was because I didn’t inhale like a real smoker. So I gave up trying.

Rule 3: I don’t actually believe that six people will read this…and B took everyone I know (even my wife...) that has a blog except for the Stupid Scholar and it seems that he has disappeared.
Rule 4: Done…but why are rules 1 and 4 satisfied just by doing rules 2 and 3 in the first place?

In closing, I appreciate the fact that someone I suggested a possible intervention for is still speaking to (or at least tagging) me.

I can now laugh about crying over this...

I really like chicken wings, buffalo style.

I have traveled the earth (part of it anyway) and on the way, I have tried to find wings wherever I could. The farther south you go, the less chance you have of good wings. This has been my experience. And if you go really far south, like the Caribbean, forget it.

In college, I lived near a fabulous place to get wings. Never done better since. But I still try. But I have a few rules.

1. Has to be in a place that serves beer.

2. Not at Pizza Hut. They make pizza. I know they have this huge wing promotion going on right now…but nope. Besides, in this town, it would violate rule number 1.

3. I usually get the next to hottest, not the hottest. When you get the hottest, someone in the kitchen sneers and says, “Who does this guy think he is? Let’s torch his…”

I’ve been at the wrong end of a torching a few times, creating free entertainment for my companions as tears ran down my face and I begged for ice cream.

(it was pretty much my fault every time. I say this due to the fact that each time I laughed and said, “tell the chef to make them as hot as he wants,” when they asked how hot I wanted them…they’ve always had one thing in common…habenero peppers…but I am getting smarter…I haven’t made a statement like this since 2000…I don’t think)

Also, the next to the hottest usually has better flavor than the hottest. I always get some brand of hot…no BBQ or teriyaki

And finally, 4. No ranch, no blue cheese. A side of the hot sauce is preferred. I might have some celery.

We'll see again in about a month...

I don’t know that I ever considered Americans smarter than the citizens of other countries (although electing Bill Clinton twice should have given me a clue that they weren’t), but it appears that assumption would have been a mistake.

I’ve seen panics for gasoline in other countries and the people act like idiots, hoarding it and sometimes selling it on the black market. It was funny at the time, because it seemed so stupid that people would buy gallons of gas to sell on street corners for twice the price. There were a few fires and explosions, helping ordinary citizens understand that having your own gas station and/or large quanitities of gasoline in milk jugs was not a great idea. But eventually, the strike/shortage/confusion was fixed and life went back to normal.

Now that people are doing it here, (right here in Tennessee) I’ve had to change my mind.

It appears the only thing that has kept Americans from utter stupidity is America itself.

Break a leg! You'll really be helping things...

I’m blaming the internet for all of this.

If you really want to help the economy, go out and buy something in a STORE, not used from someone else on ebay.

DRIVE your car there. Stop for GAS, fill the tank. Go inside and buy a Pepsi.

While you are out, EAT in a restaurant. Tip well.

We have to go out and consume, not just sit, worry and hoard. The Sit, Worry and Hoard method will create the very thing we are worried about.

Yes, I know, part of the problem is that there is no reason to go anywhere. The current lineup of movies is awful. Besides, just wait a little while and NetFlix will mail them to you. You won’t even have to leave the house. And there are hundreds of channels to watch at home anyway.

Why buy books, newspapers or magazines when you can get all your information online?

We have to break this cycle. Turn off the computer. Stop playing video games and watching TV. Go outside and exercise. Do dangerous things.

The hospital could use your money if you get hurt.

Maybe we should call Yale...

I was going to write a thing about this magazine I get each month with people who want to talk to radio stations to promote their book, video or idea on the air.

There are people such as the man with the idea that Obama was Abraham Lincoln in a former life (which is the reason you should vote for him), the nun-turned-nudist, and a guy who says your deodorant and dryer sheets may be killing you.

But on my way back from lunch, I heard the findings of a Yale University study that says if you smoke occasionally, you are more likely to drink heavily.

So let me get this straight…if I have a cigarette every once in a while, I’m likely to go out binge drinking. Not that when I drink alot, I’m more likely to light a cigarette.

So if you have an alcoholic in the house, hide the cigarettes.

And Monday Night Football...

Music is a memory-bank trigger.

I recently put a pre-set button on my radio to a rock and roll station out of Memphis, just in case I am close to suicide someday and need an emergency burst of energy…I don’t think Country Music will be able to pull me out of my downward spiral, in fact, I think it would be more like a shove in the wrong direction.

I don’t dislike Country Music…it’s just that I like other music more…however, Rock and Roll never paid so well…my DJ job when I was 19 paid all of $3.25 an hour or so.

Things weren’t going bad when I went home for lunch today, but I clicked over there anyway…I don’t remember what song it was, but a wash of memories from high school and college came over me…it was like it was yesterday, more than 20 years ago, back when I was driving around in my Renault Le Car, hoping the alternator wouldn’t quit on me.

As it is, listening to Country all the time (I do it to make sure the station is still on the air…my plan to get a needle meter so I could know without having to listen didn’t work out…) creates no memories when I listen to it, except for that song about Charlotte Johnson and that front porch swing.

It’s like I got a lobotomy or something.

Think of it as self-defense...

I heard someone on the radio today say that a hunter “took” a deer.

(I’m not making this up…I interviewed the guy)

I don’t think he meant that the hunter swindled the deer out of his life savings.

When he says “took,” I realize that this is much kinder to say than “shot in the head and ate,” but it bothers me that even hunters have gotten afraid to just say what it is.

There are t-shirts and bumper stickers out there that say things like, “Fire up the Grill…deer hunting isn’t catch and release!” and “Vegetarian: Old Indian word for Bad Hunter.”

My favorite bumper sticker for the occasion is, “I sit very quietly in the woods so when a deer walks by I can shoot him with my high-powered rifle.”

We take time out for the Real County Music lyric of the day.
People ask me how I do it, And I say, "There's nothin' to it,
You just stand there lookin' cute, And when something moves, you shoot!"
And there's ten stuffed heads in my trophy room right now,
Two game wardens, seven hunters, and a pure-bred Guernsey cow.

I don’t hunt. I’ve never killed an animal (unless you count the goldfish I overfed in daycare when I was five and the occasional "not quite quick enough to dodge my car" squirrel) but I’m sure glad there are people out there doing it. I have compassion for the animals, but they are here for us to eat. At least I think so. And they taste pretty good.

I mean, is there any doubt that they would kill and eat us if they had the opportunity?

And watch me try to figure out what button John pushed that took us off the air...

I’m about to sign a contract with the Discovery Channel for a reality series based on my life running a radio station.

The weekly show will follow me around as I record the weather forecast, do football games on the radio and flaunt the “no food or drink in the control room” rules on a daily basis.

The crew will be there as I run the down the local news each day…calling the fire department, talking to local high school coaches and interviewing the county extension service experts about what to do with tomato plants over the winter and how to get grass stains out of corduroy pants.

We’re still working on a title.

It’s time for the Real Country Music lyric of the day,
Now ole Lying Jim got drunk one time he passed right out in church
Fell right off the front row pew someone said Lord he's hurt
Next mornin' ole Jim sobered up out on the preacher's farm
He said preacher I was wrasslin' the devil and that rascal broke my arm

Anyway, they’ll be on hand when I argue with the people at the football game that I really am the play-by-play person and should be let in for free. They’ll record me trying to get free drinks and popcorn at halftime.

And of course they’ll be there when I take a nap on the couch in my office.

It should debut next spring.

One out of four isn't bad...

I read last night that Women have more issues than Men. This opinion was arrived at because there are “Women’s Issues” sections of bookstores but not “Men’s Issues” sections.

First of all, what man would go to the “Men’s Issues” section of the bookstore? And what man would ask where it was?

(would it be terrible to say that if a man asked where the men's issues section was that he maybe needed to just skip the question and head over to the women's issues section? if it is terrible, forget I mentioned it)

The books on Men’s issues are scattered about the store disguised as books on woodworking, car repair, women’s issues (your issues ARE our issues) and sports.

Men need to be out DOING something (even if it is watching ESPN) not reading about their issues.

This is where I would put a Real Country Music lyric of the day, but I haven’t had the chance to listen to the radio today…I’ve spent all morning transferring my stuff from one money clip to another and tweesing my eyebrows. Man, they needed it.

But for a moment, let's pretend that there was a Men's Issues section of the bookstore:

Last week I was standing in the Men’s Issues section of the bookstore looking at a copy of Broken Down. When Things Have Gotten Really Hard and You Don't Know Why (and When Your Car Won’t Run) when my friend Bill came down the aisle. “Man, your hair looks nice! When did you get it done?”

“Last week,” I replied. “Where’d you get those blue jeans! They look fabulous.”

Stop.

See why this won’t work?

The Home Economics Series: Part 1

How to remove pet odor from room where previous owner of house had a pack of animals (or at least one very incontinent and smelly one).

Ingredients/Supplies needed:
Baking Soda
White Vinegar
Dishwashing Detergent
3% Hydrogen Peroxide
Propane Torch
Cell Phone

Directions:
Pour the baking soda liberally on the area. Add White Vinegar until it is a thick paste. When the paste hardens, cover with dishwashing detergent. Immediately add Hydrogen Peroxide. Ready the Propane Torch and set flame to medium high.

After two or three minutes or when the peroxide is no longer bubbling, light the overstuffed armchair in the room on fire with the propane torch. Retreat from the house immediately.

After 10 minutes, use the cell phone to call the Fire Department and your Insurance Agent.

If the above method is not feasible, you may try two others.

Alternate Method:
Smoke one cigar per day in the affected room.

Alternate, Alternate Method:
Recruit the International Museum of Limburger Cheese to open a satellite exhibit in the affected room.

Next in the series: Disposal of Dentures Left Behind by Previous Owner in Two Easy Steps.

Take a ride on the reading railroad...

I have a friend who keeps buying books.

She blogs about buying them and reading them. She has lists of books she is intending to read and has read.

She blogs about visiting America’s Greatest Bookstores. I’ve been to her house. There are a lot of books there.

If I didn’t have so much respect for her judgment, I’d suggest an intervention.

But, in keeping with the spirit of reading, I thought I’d tell you about the books I’ve read recently.

1. Barnyard Dance by Sandra Boynton…It’s seems that the animals have scored a fiddle and are having a square dance. With a neigh and a moo and a cockle-doodle-doo….
2. Dogs by Julie Aigner-Clark…Dogs do a lot of things. Clark narrows it down to about seven and none of it is hazardous to shoes.
3. Sometime I Like to Curl up in a Ball by Vicki Churchill…This wombat is a busy little guy, but he finds time to, you guessed it, curl up in a ball.
4. The Pup Speaks Up by Anna Jane Hays…Pal the pup lets everyone else weigh in before he gives his opinion. Example: Chug, Chug goes a tug.
5. God Made Colours author unknown (must have been British)…Some of the major colors are covered in this six page volume.
6. One, Two, Three! by Sandra Boynton…Amongst the highlights of the book is the notion that Six is fun for a running race unless you are the one in sixth place.
7. God Made You Special by Eric Metaxas…Talking vegetables Larry the Cucumber and Bob the Tomato explain that even a gourd can be his own man.
8. Oh, Bother! Someone’s Afraid of the Dark by Betty Birney…Piglet freaks out during a slumber party he has with his friend Winnie the Pooh. Cameos by Tigger and Owl.

Included on my TBR (to be read) list is me reading them again to John tomorrow.

I report...you decide

I mentioned the other day to my wife that I wanted to go to my 20-year high school reunion. This surprised her for two reasons, first, since it was three years ago (I guess I meant my 25th) and second, that I was the least bit interested in going back to where I went to high school.

I only went to the high school I graduated from for about six months and didn’t spend much time in the town, so I guess it didn’t make much sense to her. Also, it isn’t on the list of America’s most livable cities, unless you were a coal miner.

She did take the opportunity to ridicule the town and area (although she’s never been there) that I did complete my high school in by asking me if I wanted to go to the reunion to see who had gotten indoor plumbing and who still had their own teeth.

It’s now time for the Real Country Music lyric of the day:
Now I'm paintin' the house and I'm mendin' the fence
I guess I've gone and lost all my good sense
Too much work is hard for your health
I could've died drinkin' now I'm killing myself
And I'm feedin' the dog, sackin' the trash
It's honey do this, honey do that
I sobered up and I got to thinkin'
Girl you ain't much fun since I quit drinkin'

Later that day…

We receive Holli’s hometown newspaper each week. This week there is a story about how a monkey may have started a house fire with a propane tank, but his owner won’t hear of the accusation, even though the monkey was seen with the tank moments before the blaze.

Right now, since her home burned completely to the ground, she and her monkey are staying at a hotel on the American Red Cross tab, but that is about to come to an end. It’s okay she says, because the monkey really hates the hotel room.

It was on the FRONT PAGE.

Thursday's genius is Friday's fool...

In high school…as I was either playing hangman with Steve Pollack while the class read MacBeth or while I did baseball statistics with Scott McCabe while the class read Silas Marner (I can't remember)…we had a visit from the guidance counselor.

He told us that Abraham Lincoln was an idiot. He explained that Abe said you could be anything you wanted to…that you could be all you can be and that you could have it your way.

(later in the semester he also told us that there was a Burger King near where he had basic training)

No, No, No. That wasn’t true, he said. You couldn’t be anything you wanted to be…some of us weren’t college material and we needed to recognize that and make choices that reflected a realistic view of ourselves.

As a side note…he told us that too many students become teachers because they couldn’t think of anything else to do with their lives. (I wonder what Mrs. Buckner (or was it Mrs. Glasser?) thought of that?)

I don’t know why he told us this…perhaps he had a deal with the local trade school for referrals or he had just spent all morning trying to find a chimney sweep.

And as quickly as he arrived he was back out the door.

Now for the Real Country Music lyric of the day…
(the hardest part was deciding what part of this song to include…)
I came crawling home last night, like many nights before:
I finally made it to my feet as she opened up the door.
And she said, "You're not gonna do this anymore."

She said: "I'm gonna' hire a wino to decorate our home,
So you'll feel more at ease here, and you won't have to roam.
We'll take out the dining room table, and put a bar along that wall.
And a neon sign, to point the way, to our bathroom down the hall."

She said: "Just bring your Friday paycheck, and I'll cash them all right here.
And I'll keep on tap - for all your friends, their favorite kinds of beer.
There'll be Monday night football, on T.V. above the bar.
And a pay phone in the hallway, when your friends can't find their car."

Back to the story of the little train that shouldn't even try...

A couple of days later he was back. He apologized for telling us we couldn’t be anything we wanted to be and told me, yes, I could be the next host of Dance Fever.

The only thing you couldn’t be (he didn’t explain this, but it seems obvious) was a guidance counselor who spoke his mind.

If I had been a general contractor, I would have been fired and sued...

I stacked a couple more logs on top of one another and checked the photo on the box.

It looked alright…I guess.

“Are you doing the directions Daddy?” came the query. “Are you doing them?”

My yes reply was less than certain. I was going as fast as I could. I just couldn’t really read picture directions…they were terrible.

“I want it to look like the box!” she said. “You’re not doing it by the box!”

No, I wasn’t. I took down a wall, which made me take down another wall. I started over. No, the front wall with the door needed to come down.

“Daddy!”

We started over. We started over again. Finally, I got it close enough. I think she was just being nice when she said, “Yeah, yeah, that’s it!”

No wonder Abe Lincoln was President. Anyone who could build something out of these must have been a genius.

A few hundred serious words...

I heard today about the Homeless World Cup…an international soccer tournament, where teams are made up entirely of homeless people.

It jogged my memory of a guy I knew a few years ago.

He got overwhelmed and just dropped out of “normal” life. One day he was living a “normal” life with a wife and kids…the next he was gone. After a while he wasn’t earning a living (by choice…he was quite employable) and he just took to the streets.

For him, life was too tough and just running away was the option he took.

To operate in the “normal” world, you have to pay rent or the mortgage…most places you need a car…there’s needing the right clothes and the right look to keep up with the times. It’s not a joke that you don’t have to worry about the cable bill or your retirement or the balance in your checkbook if you just decide to quit.

He just snapped and couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t want to work at life (and have the worry that goes with it) and he decided things would be better for everyone (but mostly himself) if he dropped out. It was mostly cowardly, but understandable, on a certain level.

For me, the impossible thing would be the things you left behind. The things that made all the above stuff worth it.

So if you need me, I’ll be at the office.

And they were still there waiting for me to come back...

After probably 20 years, I returned to a staple of my youth.

When you are a kid, you go where your parents take you. My parents, wanting me to be well-rounded, took me to Long John Silvers every once in a while. My love of fried seafood began here.

The plank ramps leading in, the rope railings and door handles, the funny sailor hats worn by the employees…some of my best memories of fine dining are there.

I usually got the chicken plank dinner or the two-piece fish with fries and extra crumblies*. There was a huge bottle of Malt Vinegar on the table to generously splash on the fries and fish.

(*crumblies were just extra breading that is broken off in the fryer…they strain them out of the oil and put them in a bowl and serve them as a side dish…I’m not sure of their dietary value, but they sure tasted good)

But something happened…I didn’t intend to stop going there…I just did…and after a while, I didn’t think about it anymore.

Tonight though, the air dripping with nostalgia, with my kids and never-been-there-before wife in tow…I returned and dined on the chicken and fish dinner with just fries. (I didn’t have the guts to go for the extra crumblies…saying “extra crumblies” as a grown man seemed silly) The Malt Vinegar was right where I’d left it. The kids loved it. I said “Ahoy, Matey!” every two minutes or so to keep the excitement in the air.

It was wonderful. I can’t wait to go back.

My brand new Chuck Taylor's...

Old man Grimes wisely told me one time
To never use orange when making a rhyme.
He also said to always, no…wait it was never
To write something crass unless it was clever.

And while I don’t think this can be called bad or “R” rated
I’d feel better if this disclaimer is stated
For those weak of stomach I will gladfully cater
Click somewhere else now and I’ll catch you a bit later.

But now the Real County Music lyric o' the day:
(I’ll put it up now so you can read it sans delay)
I got an alimony payment that's six weeks overdue
I got caught with a truck of bootleg outta state booze
I hocked my wife's diamond ring last June
Bought me an outboard Evinrude
But other than that we ain't nothin Just good ol boys

Anyway...

This past Sunday I went and heard the preacher man.
And in a good mood I left with the clan.
I put the boy in the car and got in to drive
When through my nostrils a smell did arrive.

Now when you have children, you immediately think
That a diaper well-soiled is the source of the stink
I said not yet knowing… “What's that thing in the air?”
If I’m not mistaken…it has the stench of the fair.

Then with dread I turned over my shoe
My fears were then confirmed and I knew
While I had gone to church (and listened) instead of taking a nap
The Lord didn’t see to save my sneaker from a huge piece of crap.

Tom T. Hall saves the day...

Until just a second ago, I was just sitting here staring at the computer.

Which brings us to the Real Country Music lyric of the day:
I was standin' outside of a hotel in Houston blinkin' my eyes in the bright morning sun
A feller next to me said where are you headed
I told him to Nashville cause that's where I'm from
I said I had one or too many last evening brother I damn near fell off of my steed
He said yeah whiskey gets 'em and whiskey gets many
But listen son nothin' kills people like greed
I said huh and I turned to him and he was a cowboy
Bout fifty years old in a big western hat
Sir if you said that greed killed more people than whiskey
If my taxi don't come tell me more bout that

He said I knew a guy who made millions on millions
Then he turned right around and made millions on that
He had crude oil and blue chips and good barns and feed lots
He could touch an old steer and just turn into fat
And he coveted the money that other folks lived on
He never spent nickels he thought he could keep
It was money that made him a night hawk and a worrier
And soon it was money that robbed him of sleep
And they buried him deep in a west Texas graveyard
They put up a tombstone of all he had done
And I am the man that he fired for a few beers
But I'm sure feeling good in the west Texas sun

I shook hands with that man and I crawled in the taxi
And I thought of the two things that I keep doing wrong
The man said that the greed killed more people than whiskey
And I'm sittin' here hung over writin' a song

In a minute, I’ll be staring at something else. Have a nice day.

We stand by what we sell because we don't have any chairs...

I got a letter in the email today:

Dear Mr. __________,

We're very sorry to hear that you had an issue with your bag of beef jerky. We've had thousands of positive responses to our snacks and very few complaints. Our all-American jerky should have been fresh out of the bag, carrying a great flavor.

Each snack we produce is put through an extensive screening process. I can assure you that this problem is not a common occurrence. We would like to know the information that is stamped on the back of the bag. This information is important for our quality control team to investigate the issue that you are experiencing.

We'd be happy to send you another bag as a replacement. Please let us know by email so that we can send that bag along.

Sincerely,

Ms. _________________ Consumer Affairs

Stirring up bitter memories of high school since 1998...

In a moment of boredom (while on hold with AT&T) I put name on classmates.com, a website devoted to letting you find out that your old high school girlfriend turned out to be a binge-eater and look like her mother.

You can look on the site for people you went to high school with and you can leave your name, but you can’t contact them directly.

But now these people won’t leave me alone. Everyday I get an email from classmates.com, telling me that there are people curious about me, signing my guestbook and wanting to see a picture of me (or is it my boat and motor?). But they won’t tell me WHO until I give them at least $15 (for a three month membership).

So there’s the problem. It could be an old friend that I haven’t spoken to in over 20 years (some friend, huh?) or someone just released from prison who spent his time as a ward of the state plotting revenge against EVERYONE.

Or it could be my old high school girlfriend looking for a meal ticket. Or a stack of meal tickets. Or a date for her mother.

The stuff under my fingernails...

If someone offers to help you paint…turn them down.

It’s tedious and messy and no matter how well they do it, there will be drips and runs that sit there for all eternity, mocking your judgement in letting someone else put something permanent on your walls. It will be a memoriam to the fact that (insert name here) messed up your house.

So do it yourself. Keep good thoughts about your friends by keeping them off your walls.

Which brings us to the Real Country Music lyric of the day :
It's where I drank my first beer. It's where I found Jesus.
Where I wrecked my first car: I tore it all to pieces.
I learned the path to Heaven is full of sinners an' believers.
Down that Red Dirt Road

I have had help over the years with a painting job or two, a few that worked out great and one time that, in the end, was just some “painting snobs” wanting to let me know how great they were at it by telling me how incompetent I was. I already knew that…but it didn’t help to hear it again.

I don’t have the attention span or the patience to paint. I’m surprised I had the resolve to even finish writing about it.

And I told the guy selling long distance service I was headed to prison...

One of the things about moving back to the United States of America is that we get calls from telemarketers again.

(we may have gotten them in the Dominican Republic, but I never knew what anyone was saying on the phone)

I really missed them.

It’s a spontaneous chance to have a little fun with people whose employers have no regard for your time or family life.

I told the newspaper people I couldn't read and if they could have someone come and read the paper for me, I’d be happy to take it.

I told the credit card people I couldn’t believe they’d give me a card after my two bankruptcies and I hoped they’d send it right away.

I told they guy selling software that I didn’t have any “windows” in my house (it was a cinder-block building I explained) so I guessed I couldn’t use their product.

But my favorite is what a friend of mine did.

He listened patiently while the person selling the time share in Myrtle Beach droned on and on. He didn’t hang up when they said it would only cost him about $300,000 to take advantage of this “opportunity of a lifetime.”

He asked exactly where in Myrtle Beach the time share was located. The guy thought he had a sale.

Then he asked if the guy on the phone how far that was from the bus station.