Thanksgiving Story - Again

The last couple Thanksgivings, I've posted on all the stuff for which I'm thankful.  It all still holds true.  I continue to be blessed with a bounty of family, friends and good fortune.  So why dwell?  Instead, I'm rerunning the Thanksgiving post I wrote in 2010.  You probably didn't see it.  This is a story about the Thanksgiving Day adventures I had with my best buddies, back when we were teenagers.

One thing about having friends for a really long time is that you have ball-busting material that goes back decades… IF you can remember it all, that is.  This story goes back to the Thanksgiving after my buddies and I graduated high school.  This is one of those stories where you hope you’re going to have one kind of day but it turns out to be one CF after another.

So it’s Thanksgiving morning, 1979, and I get a call from my buddy John.  Seems he beached his Camaro on a big sand berm on the side of one of our country roads.  He needed some help dislodging the car and wanted us to come out with "Jaundice," our big Jeep Wagoneer, and pull him out.

I have no recollection of how the Camaro got up there, or where John was coming from, but I’m fairly certain he was up to no good.  That’s just how we rolled back then.

My buddy Rik and I took off and found him a couple miles away.  His car was perched up on the undercarriage, with the back wheels in the air.  It wouldn't be a problem to attach the chain and yank the car off the berm.  As we started fiddling about to get everything hooked up, John started swearing.  Seems he just locked his keys in the car.  Or maybe that was us swearing.

Not being versed in breaking and entering a car; we decided to track down his 2^nd set of keys.  They happened to be with John’s dad, who was having Thanksgiving dinner with his side of the family, somewhere in the city.  So off we went, into the urban jungle that is Toledo Ohio.

We found the place easily enough and John was in and out in no time, keys in hand.  We started back to the original scene, when just as I was about to pull onto the interstate, there was a big *BANG* from under the hood, followed by a great deal of racket thereafter. 

Shit!  Now what?

Luckily, I had Rik and John in the car, both of whom knew their way around under a hood.  Me?  I know the big holes where the oil and washer fluid go, but not much else, so I let them dig in. 

Rik immediately burned his hand on one of the hot parts.  More fevered profanity ensued.  Then it started raining.

Come to think of it, the only two times I've been in the car with these guys and there was car trouble, it started raining.  This was the other time.

Eventually they figured out that one of the spark plug thingies (technical term) popped out.  They popped it back in and we were moving again.  We got back to the beached Camaro and pulled it off the berm with relative ease.  It was mid-afternoon by this time, so we headed back to my house to enjoy a little Thanksgiving.

Immediately, Dad set us up with some Jack on the rocks and we told him of our adventures.  (And that he’d better have those spark plug thingies checked out.)  Mom, who was in the midst of creating a stellar Thanksgiving Feast, sent out a plate of stuffed mushrooms.

Not a photo of our actual mushrooms, but these look close.

Oh, they were fantastic… big mushroom caps stuffed with sausage, the ground mushroom stumps and assorted seasonings.  Naturally they were a big hit… at least at first. 

As we passed the plate around the room, Rik went to put them back on the coffee table, and, well, missed.  He set the plate half on and half off and it promptly toppled right over onto the floor.

You should have seen us dive down there to retrieve the mushrooms.  It was like a fumble on the goal line… nothing but bodies flying and rooting around on the ground.

What, you think we weren't still going to eat them?  We were 18-year old guys.  We didn't care that they hit the carpet.  He could have dumped those mushrooms onto a pile of nuclear waste and we’d still try to pick out at least the big chunks of plutonium before we resumed munching.

So we get all the shrooms put back on the plate and Rik goes to put the plate back and he does the same goddamed thing again!

Mushrooms go rolling all over the floor and we go chasing after them again, thus ensuring that the subject of mushrooms will never, ever come up again, without one of us piping up, “Just make sure you don’t pass them to Rik!”

Yes, we still ate the mushrooms.  But we knew not to pass Rik the turkey that day.

The Follow-up

My mom used to make pizzelles for the holiday every year.  If you’re Italian, you know what I’m talking about.  If not, pizzelles are thin, waffle-type cookies made with a pizzelle iron. 

These are pizzelles.

They’re usually flavored with anise, so they taste mildly of licorice.  They are often served after dinner, to dunk in your coffee or wine.  But for this batch, Mom also made some with cocoa added, which turned them brown and gave a nice hint of chocolate.

So as we all snarfed down the plate of pizzelles, Rik pipes up, “These are really good, Mrs. Dude, even the burnt ones.”

So for the last 30 years, any time we hand Rik a chocolate cookie, we can’t help but add, “We know how you like the ‘burnt ones.’”

So as you gather today for your Thanksgiving celebration, aside from giving thanks for your family, your health and relative well-being, be sure to give thanks for old friends.  Without them, who else would remind you of the stupid shit you did when you were a kid?  And who would, in turn, tell you to shut your pie hole and pass the mushrooms?

John, me, and Rik in 2008, being thankful for beer.

Happy Thanksgiving to you, my friend.  May your legs be plentiful, your thighs be juicy, your breasts swell pleasingly and you get all the stuffing you could want.

Hip Pointers

There’s nothing like a Saturday night out with the girls, to get a spring back in one’s step.

Well, more “evening” than “night.”  OK, an hour, but still…

I heard from my friend Misty, this week, that our blog friend Val was coming into town for the weekend.  Val and I have been commenting on each other’s blogs for a couple years now, so I've been looking forward to meeting her for some time.  Judging from her blogged exploits, I knew a good time was to be had.

Misty and Val were planning on seeing a play on Saturday afternoon (Elf), then going on a Fells Point haunted pub-crawl at 7:00.  We decided to meet for dinner and drinks in-between.  Misty suggested meeting at a designer pizza place called Joe Squared, in the nightclub area known as Power Plant Live.  When I looked the place up online, their website had some interesting information, which I immediately shared with Misty.

Bluz: A hipster bar?  You’re taking ME to a hipster bar? I can see it right now…

Hipster: Hey, you’re not wearing skinny jeans!

Bluz: What are skinny jeans?

Hipster: Jeans that are really snug through the waist and legs.

Bluz:  [shoveling pizza into mouth]  I’m workin’ on it…

Misty pointed out that hipsters never acknowledge that they wear hipster stuff; they just wear it.  I figured I’d be OK, because my closet is full of t-shirts with antiquated references.  I’d be fine with anything, as long as I wore it ironically.

I showed up a mere 3 minutes past our meeting time, just as Misty was beginning to text me to meet them somewhere else.  But then the hipster bartender started making promises about a free shot, so they agreed to stay.  Once we dispensed the hugs and settled in at the bar, I realized immediately that Val was all that I expected, from the first words out of her mouth.

Bluz: So how was the play?

Val: Some fuckin’ c*nt almost ruined our day!

Bluz: [Spews beer all over the bar, almost chokes]

Seems that the lady sitting beside them in the theater was unimpressed by all their laughing and applauding (at a comedy) and told them to “Pipe down or I’m calling the manager, because I’m tired of your shit.”

Nice.  That’s the Christmas spirit!  It’s a good thing the lady made tracks out of there after the show, because Val swore she tried to track her down so she could step on the back of her shoe and give her a flat tire.

Anyway, I had a great time and I learned a number of things:

* Val is not only funny, but very quick on her feet with a retort.  The bartender was trying to run some shit with her, but she basically had him roped and tied with her banter.

*  Val is for sale, perhaps even as a timeshare.  A transaction was proposed and accepted, wherein the bartender was to purchase Val for a short period of time, and she would live in his basement.  I’m not sure if there was a pit involved, but I need to recommend this option to Sitcom Kelly.  Cash payment is quicker and easier than all the stalking.

*  Woe be unto he who takes pictures of women from a low angle.  We took a number of pictures among ourselves, which I thought were perfectly lovely.  However I was the only one with that opinion.  Misty tricked me into letting her see my camera (I can’t believe I fell for that) and proceeded to erase all the offending pictures (which was most of them).

That’s funny, because Pinky used to yell at me about the same thing.  Apparently, it’s all about chin camouflage, so the only acceptable angle is from above.  Somewhere, Pinky is probably reading this and proclaiming, “Revenge is mine!”

I still left with at least a couple of useful shots…

Bluz and Val.

I’d show you one of all three of us, but Misty does not appear on camera.  No, not like a vampire, I mean she actually does a good job of maintaining her online anonymity.  But trust me when I say, we looked dazzling!

*  No one uses actual cameras any more.  When we wanted the bartender to take our threesome shot, I had to provide some instruction.  What he really wanted to do was take a selfie, but without the “screen reverse” feature, it proved daunting.

When Val gave him some shit about how we were all bloggers, about to write some shit about him, he panicked.  Then they revised their statement, saying they were just kidding, and only I was a blogger.  He said, “I can tell, because he still uses a camera.”

Fucker.  I dare anyone to take a picture like these, with a freakin’ cell phone:

I shot these earlier that evening, on my way to meet Val and Misty.

*  Bartenders lose major cool points when they drop the bottle they've been flipping around.  (That’s the shit they were going to write about the bartender.)  But Val was mostly upset because he wouldn't serve her anything that was on fire.

*  It’s a good thing I was only with them for an hour.  I might have sprained my face, from all the laughing.  We’d met at 5:30, and by 6:30 they had to get out to Fells Point for the start of their pub-crawl.  It only took an hour for my cheeks to get sore from the constant laughter.

*  At 52, I am too old to be hip, no matter what I wear, or use to take pictures.  Fortunately, I’m also too old to give a fuck what anyone else thinks about it.  Life is much easier this way. 

I love when I get to move a person from my mental “Blog Friend” file to just plain “Friend.”  So I say thank you to Misty and Val, for allowing me to hang out with you for a while.  It totally made my weekend. 

And Val, you totally have to come back for HonFest!

Marginally-related note: On the way home, I realized why I'm always so unsettled by the subway station I had to use to get to Power Plant Live.  Tell me that this...

Doesn't remind you of a brightly colored version of this...

Source

Who knows what really dwells in the subway tunnels... 

The Nuclear Option

Speaking of bombshells, (see the prior post) a bomb went off in Washington today as the Senate enacted the so-called “Nuclear Option” to curtail the rampant use of filibusters on judicial and cabinet nominees.  Filibusters will still be in play for bills and Supreme Court nominations.

You may recall that over the last couple of years, there has been talk of enacting these reforms, usually when the GOP is holding up more nominations than usual.  In fact, Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid was close to going nuclear before Mitch McConnell agreed to ease off on the filibusters, so to get a little of The People’s business done.

Unfortunately, that promise turned out to be hollow, as the obstructionism continued, well, unobstructed.  At the moment, they are holding up 3 judicial nominations to the US Court of Appeals right now, essentially to maintain the conservative tilt that it currently on the bench.

I wrote about it at the time, expressing my worry, because I feared that when the Republicans eventually reclaim control of the Senate, they will have no such qualms about taking the filibuster away from the Democrats.  And it that’s the case, the Democrats might as well see some of the benefits first before they inevitably get screwed when they become the minority.

It’s sad that such a venerated Senate tradition had to fall by the wayside, but it was being used in a manner that was worlds away from its original intent.  From 2006 to the end of 2012, the Republicans have put forth 380 filibusters.  (They no longer have to go up to the podium and speak for long period of time… all they really have to do now is say, “I call filibuster!” and the bill or nominee is held up.)

“Cloture” is a vote that is called to end a filibuster.

For contrast, Lyndon Johnson faced one filibuster during his entire term. 

This is why we can’t have nice things.

I think if they’re going to have filibusters at all, I think they should at least have to go up and hold the floor.  Even better would be to have them go through an increasing series of twists, as if it were a “Survivor” competition.

Say, the Senator starts off by merely speaking.  Then after a couple of hours, the start a cold rain machine on him.  An hour later, they kick on the giant fan, and so forth until the speaker gives up or the vote him off the island.  That would certainly make CSPAN more entertaining.

That’s a joke, of course, but then so is the current process, where a minority of Senators can hold the rest of the Body hostage and indirectly nullify the results of the last two elections.  The Senate’s approval role is supposed to be “advise and consent,” not dictate at gunpoint.  “Put in a guy that shills for US, or the country gets it.”

Part of winning the presidency is getting to appoint the judges and cabinet members you want.  That right is mixed into the stew when we’re voting (or at least it should be).  Seeing people with whom you disagree put into these positions is the cost of losing the election.  That the minority side should insist that the President appoint people who believe the exact opposite of what The People voted for, is blatantly un-American.

But then, the GOP only believes in “America” when they’re on the campaign trail.  And they believe in Americans even less. 

Unless, of course, they’re white, male, Christian and well off.

Going Solo

Just in case you noticed a shock wave on Facebook last weekend, or a “disturbance in The Force,” Pinky and I split up.

OK, it wasn't quite that dramatic, but it was still pretty rough.  I’m not one to air my dirty laundry in public, so I’m not going to go into the meat and potatoes of the situation, but since her presence has been a part of this blog since it started, I feel I owe an explanation.  Plus, I’m sure it will extend ripples into future posts. 

This was a change that I initiated.  (And no, I’m not doing this for better blog material.)  She didn't do anything wrong, she’s not mean, cruel or obnoxious.  In fact, she has a huge heart and would do anything for anybody.  She’s taken care of me for seven long years, from the daily slog of shopping, cooking and cleaning, to the big-ticket items like advocating for me during my various hospital stays.  (Including making sure I went there in the first place…)  She doesn't think I appreciate all that, but I do.

So what was the problem?  Well, I just don’t feel like we connect the way we should.  I've hinted at some of the problems before, here, and here.  The way I see it, we’re like a couple of gear cogs that don’t quite mesh; in fact, we grind.  We don’t communicate well and any time we’re stuck together for more than 45 minutes, we inevitably end up squabbling. 

It has to be a bad sign when I look forward to the nights when she’s at her place, far more than those when she’s here.  That’s not fair to either one of us.

In no way am I saying it is all her fault; it’s the way we are together, so I’m in for a minimum of half the blame. 

This has been on my mind for some time, and I have been looking for the right moment.  It’s taken years and has been very elusive, but it finally came about.  I am making sure that she has every chance to be self-sufficient.  But we both have to walk our separate ways.

It’s been hard, and very sad, watching her packing up and saying her goodbyes.  It kills me to know that I’m the cause of her pain.  I’m much better at getting dumped.  In fact, I should write a “coping” book about it.  I hate being on this end.

As I read my friends’ blogs, I see the kind of relationships they have with their spouses.  I realize that it’s usually just the good stuff that gets written about, but I want the kind of close relationship that I see in others.

Aha!  It’s all YOUR fault!

OK, I’m kidding.  But curse you all for being such a good example for me.

There was a time when I was terrified of ending up alone, but that’s no longer true, otherwise, I’d never be able to do this.  I've been alone for huge swaths of my life, so I know I can deal.  In fact, I got so used to it, I probably inoculated myself from ever cohabitating again. 

So, wish us the best as we make our ways alone, for however long it takes to trick someone new into loving us.  But you’ll have to send your wishes another way, because I’m not opening this post for comments.  I've already said more than enough, publicly, about a very personal topic. 

You probably have my email address already, so you can write me directly.  (It’s on the Helpful Stuff to Know page, if you don’t.)  I’ll tell you whatever else I can, in private.  (Or just let you call me an asshole.)

The Problem with Homonyms

Two Irish nuns are sitting at a traffic light in their car, when a car full of drunks pull up beside them.

"Hey, show us your tits, ye bloody penguins!" shouts one of them.

The Mother Superior turns to Sister Immaculata and says, "I don't think they know who we are.  Show' them your cross."

Sister Immaculata leans out the window and shouts, "Screw off, ye little fookin' wankers, before I come over there and rip yer balls off!"

Sister Immaculata turns back to the Mother Superior and says, "Was that cross enough?"

The Post-Malaise Post

Thanks for the suggestions and encouragement.  The tally on directions you want me to go?

Cultural Whistleblower:                      2

Raging Politico:                                  2

Spinner of Yarns                                2

Purveyor of the Absurd                      2

Navel-Gazing Self Analysis:                1

Odd Stuff:                                          1

Chronicle of Personal Adventures       1

So basically, keep doing everything I’ve been doing. 

I probably should have just embedded one of those survey thingies, but I didn’t feel like it. Blame it on the malaise. 

In fact, I think I’m going to blame every shortcoming on The Malaise. Now if I can just find someone to blame it on and sue, I’d accomplish the modern American dream.

Anyway, something in the news piqued my interest this week.

Sure Walmart employees will have to work Thanksgiving DAY, (along with those from Target and many other big box stores), but management is going to provide a traditional Thanksgiving dinner for them at the store.

Talk about missing the point! 

“Hey Wallies! It’s not the turkey and mashed potatoes that people are upset about missing; it’s having the meal with their families and sharing some fellowship! (And wine!)  I know you think of all your employees as one big happy family, but it’s not really the same, now, is it?”

I say, if they really want to provide a “traditional Thanksgiving meal,” then go whole hog.  Let everyone pull the demo recliners up to the flat-screen TV display, put on the football game, and fall asleep with their belts undone and their hands in their pants.

OK, that’s probably just for the sports fans. Everyone else should get to go shop at Target.

But seriously, I hate that Thanksgiving has been getting chipped away by the ever-encroaching business of Christmas. Or more specifically, Christmas shopping. These big businesses don’t care a lick about their employees, no matter what their press releases say. The only thing that matters is the pursuit of increasing revenues. But that’s what big business does… it’s their only reason for existence. Increase profits… lower costs… continue. You can’t blame the snake for acting like a snake.

I’ve seen petitions going around on the matter, but they’re not going to accomplish diddly-squat. The only way this trend gets rolled back is if people stop going out to shop on Thanksgiving, period. Once opening on Thanksgiving becomes unprofitable, they will stop, and not a moment before.

I’m not optimistic. There should be a point where a good deal on electronics costs too much in human collateral damage. But I don’t think we will ever see it.

In 2013 America, a good deal for “ME” trumps any concern for “YOU”, every time.

Regardless, I’ll be staying home for Thanksgiving. No shopping for me… not at night, not during the day, not any time. (And that has nothing to do with the fact that the Steelers and Ratbirds are playing that night. I haven’t been out on Thanksgiving or even Black Friday, since I still worked in a record store.)

Of course, I’ll be hitting Cyber Monday like a Big Dog…

The Malaise Post

These are weird times and I don’t know what I’m doing.

Maybe you've noticed that my last several posts have basically been re-postings of other stuff, rather than my customary original, or at least marginally stolen material.

The thing is, I feel like I’m running out of stuff to write about. It seems like I've said everything I can say about any given subject. Because let’s face it; there aren't many new subjects surfacing. Everything in the news seems like we've seen it before.

Republicans and Democrats still disagree on everything and will tear down the country before one accommodates the other. Fox “News” is still manipulating its presentation of current events to obtain and preserve power for conservatives. People are fighting with each other over all the societal issues… abortion, birth control, gay marriage, fracking, drilling, gun control, voting rights, health care, food stamps, censorship, and the Kardashians.

At one point or another, I've covered all of it, multiple times with some. I mean, look at each of those issues and guess which side I come down on. Easy, right?  So commenting on the news has become an exercise in deja vu. Contact the Department of Redundancy Department.

Regarding my own life, nothing’s happening. I get up, go to work, come home, cobble together a post on Tuesdays and Thursdays, watch TV, go to bed. Repeat. While I’m perfectly happy with that routine, there’s not much worth writing about, without getting into the minutiae of the moment. I mean, if I want to do that, I always have Twitter. I don’t want this blog to devolve into nothing but photographic evidence of what I had for dinner every night.

I love to tell stories about my wild past, about family, friends, and whatnot, but by now, I've already told all the best ones. There may still be a few floating around, but none that really excite me to tell.  (And if they don’t even excite me, how can they excite you?)

I've cut way back on sports, mostly because I’m not writing for a primarily Pittsburgh audience anymore, so when I lead with a Steelers or Penguins story, I suspect there’s a lot of, “Oh, more Pittsburgh bullshit. See you next time.” I've even cut out the mojo stuff because even though I’m still actively working the game jersey mojo for every game, I've already done it to death on the blog.  It’s a long running joke, to which I don’t have anything new to add.

I suppose could just claim a Sabbatical and walk away for a while, but I know how that goes. Out of sight, out of mind. It’s not like I’m getting flooded with hits right now; how hard will it be trying to get back even to this level after a prolonged absence?

I look back at old posts and see how I used to get 10-12 comments per post. Now? Three or four. It makes me wonder if I’m doing anything differently, or if people just naturally move on to seek newer and fresher things.

I love the writing, telling stories, entertaining, and interacting that goes with doing a blog. But sometimes that love ebbs and flows, and blogging becomes more of a chore than a reward. I've gone from “Oh boy, I can’t wait to sink my teeth into this (issue/story/series),” to “Aw, crap, I need to do a Tuesday post, and I got nuthin.”

Today, I was going to use an idea I literally stole from my fine Buckeye friend, Uncle Crappy. He found a site where you can make a map that shows every state you've been to, and color it accordingly:

Red, for states where you've not spent much time, seen very much, or just passed through.

Amber, for states where you've at least slept, and seen some sights.

Blue, for states you've spent a lot of time in or seen a fair amount of.

Green, for states you've spent a great deal of time in on multiple visits or lived in.

White, for states you've never been in.

So I took 5 minutes and did one, so I could post it here.

Yeah… BFD, as we used to say. What is there to say about it, other than I need to go visit the south-central and northern plains states? And that I need to collect North Carolina for no other reason but to fill in the hole.

Note: Hey Mom and Dad, did we ever hit Maine when we did that big New England vacation back in the mid-70s?

Now here I am, having just produced a post out of my own malaise. I’m in the clear until Thursday and then I’m back in the same boat.

If you’re a blogger, what do you do when you run out of ideas, or you just feel stale? 

More importantly, blogger or not, what would you like for me to write about? If you've read me a while, what is the role you like me in best? Raging politico and cultural whistle-blower? Spinner of old yarns?  Purveyor of the absurd? Music and film critic? Chronicler of personal adventures? Seeker of human truths? Navel-gazing self-analyzer? Joke of the moment jukebox? Feel free to create your own label for whatever it is I do that entertains you.

I’m curious to see if there is a predominant answer. I sure don’t have any.

When Math Meets Baked Goods...

I don't remember where I first saw this, but it reminded me of my brother, who has considerable expertise on both numbers, and chocolate cake.

Now How About Quentin Tarentino as C-3PO?

I’ve seen a number of stories lately about the upcoming (in a couple years) 7^th Star Wars film.  Now that George Lucas has sold the franchise to Disney, they’re wasting no time in getting the Empire back together to continue the story of the Force and the Jedi and the Sith, et al.

Last I saw, both Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher were interested in reprising their roles as Luke and Laia, and they were trying to land Harrison Ford.  One guy who I know is waiting for a call is Samuel L Jackson, who played Mace Windu in the 4^th through 6^th movies (aka Parts 1-3).  He said he’d love to play in any and all upcoming Star Wars movies, regardless that his character is presumed dead.  Face it, that never stopped anyone else in the Star Wars universe.

Back in 1998, when it was announced that he would be playing a character in “Phantom Menace,” (Part 1), my cousin sent me an email listing the Top 10 Things We Want to Hear Samuel L Jackson Say in a Star Wars Movie.

Because it seems to be coming around again, and I can’t think of anything intelligent to write about tonight, I thought I’d reproduce it here.

Note 1: I did not write this stuff and I don’t know who did.  It just showed up as an email 15 years ago.  (Holy shit.)

Note 2: Caution… Industrial Strength, Samuel L Jackson-caliber vocabulary is used.

Note 3: This post won’t seem nearly as funny if you’re not familiar with both the Star Wars world, and Sam Jackson films (mostly “Pulp Fiction”).  (Mom and Dad, you may be excused.)

And now, the Top 10 Things We Want to Hear Samuel L Jackson Say in a Star Wars Movie.

10.  You don’t need to see my goddamn identification, ‘cause these ain’t the motherfuckin’ droids you lookin’ for.

9.  Womp rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I’ll never know, ‘cause even if it did I wouldn’t eat the filthy motherfucker.

8.  This is your father’s lightsaber.  When you absolutely positively have to kill every motherfuckin’ stormtrooper in the room… accept no substitutes.

7.  If Obi-Wan ain’t home then I don’t know what the fuck we’re gonna do.  I ain’t got no other connections on Tattooine.

6.  Feel the Force, motherfucker.

5.  “What” ain’t no planet I ever heard of!  Do they speak Bocce on “What?”

4.  You sendin’ the Fett?  Shit, Hutt, that’s all you had to say.

3.  So Jabba the Hutt threw Chewie Rocky Horror through a third floor window.  Since then, it seems the Wookie has developed a speech impediment.

2.  Does Jabba the Hutt look like a bitch?

1.  Hand me my light saber… it’s the one that says “Bad Motherfucker” on it.

That’s not the order I would have put them in… I think my favorite was the first one, #10.  Then #4 and #5.  But why quibble?

One of my favorite movies is “The Long Kiss Goodnight,” where Geena Davis plays a badass CIA assassin with amnesia and Sam Jackson is the comic relief, if you can believe that.  Anyway, my favorite SLJ quote can be found early on in the movie, which I will end with right here.

“You’re assuming I won’t shoot your sorry ass.  And as you know when you make an assumption, you make an ass out of you, and umption.”

How Did We Get Here From There? Part 2

A couple years back, I received an email containing all these old-time advertisements… you probably saw the same email.  These were print ads from what looked to be the 40s or 50s, and were remarkable for being so scientifically and socially out of touch with today’s world, and shockingly misogynistic.  I featured them in a post and added my two cents.

Sitcom Kelly recently sent me a similar email.  (Man, I get a LOT of blog content ideas from her.  Every blogger should have a Sitcom Kelly at his disposal.)  This one had a number of the same ads, but also had a bunch I hadn't seen before.  Ever the sucker for an easy blog post, I thought I’d share some comments on a few of the more interesting ones. 

Looking at these collectively, I can see why conservatives yearn to return to the days of yesteryear.  Well-to-do white men had it pretty good.

“We Hate Women-Part 1.”  So this is why Cassie looks so good… I can’t imagine her cleaning the house in heels, knee-length dress, lacy apron and full makeup though.  (I actually used this one in my first post… but this is a different take.  So sue me.)

We Hate Women-Part 2.”   I can’t, for the life of me, figure out the connection between killing a woman and a postage meter.  Any help?  I think she ought to jam the guy’s tie into the slot and start cranking.

We now take time out from killing women, to kill some children.  Actually, this could be an NRA ad, right now.  The “Iver Johnson Arms and Cycle Works?”  Do those products really go together?  It sounds like “Bluzdude Socks and Sheet Metal Works.”

“Killing Some Kids Part 2.”  Baby: “Yeah, Mom, please chill out and have a smoke, before smoking my bottom for smearing my diaper all over the wall.”  Random thought: If a baby is nursing while the mother is smoking, the baby should be able to blow smoke rings.

I bet those Chesterfield boxes, autographed by The Gipper, are worth something now.  At least I hope so, just to make up for the emphysema.

This is amazing.  “A case of Blatz in your home means much to the young mother, and obviously baby participates in its benefits.”  So we’re getting the babies drunk, are we?  I’m picturing the baby taking a long pull off of Mommy, leaning back and going, “BRAAAAAAAAAP!”

“We Hate Women-Part 3.”  This one has the exact same theme as modern face cream ads; it just spells it all out verbally.  “Don’t be homely; use our stuff and be dazzling.”

“We Hate Women-Part 4.”  Subaru has made quite the turnaround in ad philosophy, didn't they?  They went from crushing women’s spirits to the car of choice for lesbians.

At least this one is better than the Thorazine “Eye Surgery/Torture” ad from the last post.  I actually like this one.  I’m sending a case of Thorazine to my parents, immediately.  You know, just in case Walgreen’s is all out.  I’m sure the guy in the picture is agitated because even with arthritis, they still made him tie his own tie.

“We Hate Women-Part 5.”  Is it wrong that the first thing that hit me was “Why is that dude wearing a shirt and tie to bed?”  Can’t be a “50 Shades of Grey” thing...  I’m sure the lady is only on her knees out of gratitude for being let out of the basement pit for a couple hours.

“We Hate Women-Part 6.”  This one is partially true.  Men may not be the number one reason for women taking Midol, but I bet they’re a close 2nd.

I’m sure the gays would provide much better entertainment on a cruise, than THAT.  The dude with the puppets doesn't say “gay,” he says “child molester.”  The people circled around him have obviously never made it past Romper Room.  Next time, book the cruise that Lenny Bruce is playing.

If Santa gives you a gun, you can skip the background check.  After all, he’s the top authority on if you’re naughty or nice.

“We Hate Women-Part 7.”  If the carpet is that dirty, why is she laying on it?  Maybe they could do an Endust tie-in, spray her down, and make her roll around.  Also, if I ever gave my wife a Hoover vacuum cleaner for Christmas, she’d never be able to use it.  It would be hard for the vacuum bag to expand, after she stuffed it up my ass.

Hey look!  They had Fox News on TV way back in the 50s!

The Best Damned Band in the Land

I don’t usually go nuts over college football, but I do follow Ohio State.  Any OSU fan knows that besides the football team, the marching band is also a huge draw.  They may not be as flamboyant as other bands, in that they don’t do a lot of dancing around, but their creativity and precision is off the charts.

My dad sent me a clip of the band from last week’s game, and it just knocked my socks off.  The band does a Tribute to Movies, featuring the themes from Superman, Harry Potter, Titanic, Jurassic Park, and others, but with applicable choreography.  You have to see it to believe it.

I just wonder what it takes to come up with an intricate routine like this?  Who thinks it up, and how long does it take to practice?  I mean, they have to do something every week, don’t they?

I only have a short post for you today… I have another day planned to spend at the sports bar.  The Steelers game against the Patriots isn’t on local TV; both they and the Ratbirds game against the Brownies are on at 4:25.  (Every market in the country is getting the Steelers/Patriots, except Baltimore and Cleveland.)

Because I don’t want to risk not getting my preferred seating, I usually show up around noon, and sit through all the 1:00 games.  So pity me, as I’m forced to endure giant hamburgers, wings and cold beer for seven hours today.  Alas…