Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Pontius Pilates

I've combined my love for history with my daily exercise routine to come up with a new and innovative way to learn and lose weight at the same time. I call it:

Pontius Pilates.

It's very simple to do. All you need are the following:

1. A hard, flat surface;
2. A Pilates cd, dvd, video, 8-track or personal Pilates instructor;
3. A device to play your cd, dvd, tape or video, or to record your Pilates instructor for future lessons;
4. Clothing like that worn by Roman procurators such as Pontius Pilate;
5. A book or book-on-tape of the canonical Christian Gospels, particularly relating to the events leading up to the Crucifixion (or another book of your choosing);
6. A burning desire to lose weight.

Okay, now that you have the basics, the rest is easy. Just put on your procurator's garb, turn on your Pilates dvd or cd, grab your reading materials and lay on the floor.

For starters, you can do what I call the basics of the Pontius Pilates techniques, such as learning the correct way to breathe, flapping your arms to and fro to get the blood flowing, and researching why the Roman Judaea Province's Sanhedrin was comprised of such bastards in the years of 26 to 36 A.D.

Once you get the hang of it, you can move on to more strenuous exercises, like the pelvic thrust and the toe spin. You can also move on to more thought-provoking topics of historical relevance, such as why Pontius Pilate was really powerful at all considering he could not command legionary forces and yielded to the legate of Syria in all military situations.

And remember, the Pontius Pilates method has been developed so you can go at your own pace. Just remember to "wash your hands" after getting up off the dirty floor.

Prime Time Oedipus Complex

I was watching American Idol and couldn't help but notice that contestant Jared Cotter dedicated "Let's Get It On" to his mother.

I'm from Louisiana, so the notion of dedicating a sexually charged song about making passionate love to one's mother isn't as uncommon as it may seem. In Arkansas they even sing that song to goats.

In fact, Cotter dedicated the song to his dad as well. Talk about totally Gaye.

Monday, February 26, 2007

Blowmont

On our way back from Houston we got stuck in construction traffic in Beaumont, or as I like to call it, Blowmont. It took us an hour to go from mile marker 848 (by the Cheddar's!) to mile 854. I knew the lack of construction on the way into Houston was too good to be true.

Once we got to mile 854, we exited and went to the bathroom at a gas station. The bathroom was actually out of order, but I wooed the people who worked there by telling them that it was either I go to their bathroom or I would whiz all over their candy section.

Once we got back on the road, we encountered the 1/10th of a mile's worth of construction that held us up for that whole hour. I'm sending the city of Blowmont a bill for an hour's worth of work from both me and my wife, and I'm using PE to the RT to calculate compound interest.

By the way, if you're ever in Blowmont and happen upon a run-down gas station with an out-of-order bathroom, avoid the candy section.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Gay Cowboys

On Saturday we went with my brother and his wife to pick out a baby carriage. My dad and I figured that we could help most by staying out of the way, so we kicked some kids out of these really cool chairs in the furniture store's play center and watched Finding Nemo. We didn't see if Nemo was found or not, but I did flush a "clown fish" down the furniture store's bathroom.

If you live in Houston then you probably know that you cannot actually pick up the furniture in the same store that you buy it. So we drove a couple of blocks down the road to the furniture warehouse. While we waited for our package to arrive, one of the warehouse workers turned to my brother and said, "You look like you work out."

Now I don't know about you, but to me that was totally homosexual. This guy was hitting on my brother! In front of the entire family! And he was bringing my brother a package!

See Mom, I knew it! The fact that he's having a baby doesn't mean anything!

I guess it's true what they say - only steers and queers live in Texas.

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Houston Is Growing On Me

I'm visiting my traitorous siblings in Houston this weekend, and I have to say, Houston is growing on me. Seriously, I've only been here about 14 hours but I can already feel my shoulder and neck aching, and it looks like a large, Harris County-shaped growth is rising out of my back.

Houston is literally growing on me.

I tried showering to wash it off, but I only infused Houston's water with my skin. Now I'm all tingly. This is why I don't shower more often.

After breathing in Houston's air this morning, I could feel my mustache grow two full inches and had a burning desire to hop a fence and cross a border. My tastes buds are making everything taste like it has jalapeƱos. The rest of my senses are baked as well.

On what I thought was a good note, this was my first trip into Houston where there wasn't 100+ miles of construction on I-10. But now I realize that they were just luring me in. I don't know how I will escape!

If you or someone you know has a remedy for Houstonitis, please leave me a comment! I need professional help!

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

YouTubular!

Here are some cool videos I found at YouTube. Even though millions of people have already seen these, I hereby claim them in the name of TanoryLand.

Tony vs. Paul - A stop-motion video of two friends turned enemies, as featured in this month's issue of 225, Baton Rouge's awesome and free magazine.




Beatboxing Flute Player - It's like Alt Country, Funk Fusion or Rap Metal - only with Beatboxing and the flute. This guy plays the Inspector Gadget theme song as well as the theme song to Beverly Hills Cop.




Slingshot - Rednecks + humongous slingshot + four-wheeler + small child = enough said.




Where the Hell is Matt? - Some guy, allegedly named Matt, videos himself dancing in various places around the globe. Great imagery, even greater dance moves.




10 Things I Hate About Commandments - The Ten Commandments (starring Charleston Heston) re-shot as a comedy. One bad word towards the end, in case you have chilluns milling about.

The Early Bird Gets Shafted

Who knew so much could depend on your work schedule?

My schedule is 7:30 am til 4:30 pm, and I am usually the 10th or so person to arrive at my office. The other 340 people usually show up between 8:30 and 9.

There are pros to showing up so early. For starters, I get to leave early, beat the worst of the traffic, and spend more time with my wife during the evening. I also get a good, quiet hour and a half to work in peace before the place starts buzzing.

The con: the custodians don't show up to fill the bathrooms with toilet paper until 9 am.

Needless to say, this is how I begin every day:

At 7:45 on the dot my body reaches the conclusion that whatever I ate last night has to come out right now. There are several bathrooms at my work but only two on my side of the building. To get to either one I must power-walk through a labyrinth of cubicles and hallways. If one bathroom is completely occupied or, more likely, devoid of TP at 7:45 in the morning, there is no time to sprint to the other bathroom. You only get one shot!

The bathroom has three stalls - one handicapped-accessible and two regular stalls. Every morning it's like the Price is Right: what's behind door Number One? Most likely, two empty rolls of TP and someone else's urine all over the toilet seat. I choose the middle stall - force of habit when you're the middle child.

Some people's jobs are stressful. For instance, we all read about Lisa Nowak, the female astronaut who drove 900 miles to try to kill another woman for allegedly having a relationship with a male astronaut that Nowak herself wasn't even having a relationship with. The media and NASA both attribute these actions to stress. But at least she was wearing a diaper on her 900 mile trip across the country. Plus, astronauts' spacesuits are designed so they can crap themselves, so it probably felt normal to her to sit in her own excrement all day.

So in a weird way I feel like my kind of stress exceeds "cross-country diapered attempted murder" stress.

And don't be fooled - there is an art to using the bathroom in such duress. Sometimes there is no time to unbuckle and unzip, in which case I just suck in my gut and push down on my pants and hope for the best. While I'm doing this, I survey the scene and make sure that someone else's lunch from yesterday is not still in the toilet while my hand blindly flails inside the TP receptacle to make sure there is at least some TP.

I should get hazard pay.

The point is, respect all of your coworkers, especially the custodians. It's one thing for you to call in sick, but if the janitors do, you're up Shit Creek without a paddle.

Monday, February 19, 2007

These Udders Ain't Gonna Flash Themselves!

From the Tulane business students selling $5 Bloody Marys and Vodka / Cranberry Juice to the guy grilling burgers on a burner on the back of his bike, this was a Mardi Gras to remember.

First, I should say that I feel like I've been hit by a float. I'm so tired! My arms and shoulders hurt from raising them to catch beads and/or flashing my cow udders to strangers. Seriously,it's like "Wii shoulder" on crack! I don't think I could have made it the full Mardi Gras season even if I didn't have to work. My back hurts, too. I dropped something today at home and had to try several times to kick it onto the couch so I could reach it.

Other than that, we lucked out this weekend. It was really cold during the nights but the days were great. The sky was that perfect blue - you know the kind, just right for flashing unsuspecting passerbys. A plane even wrote stuff in big Sky Chalk. And we saw a bunch of celebrities like James Gandolfini, Taylor Hicks, Journey, and Styx during Endymion and Bacchus.

As for the Flashing Cow, I had great success - I took my own advice and avoided flashing men, children and cops. Once again, Japanese tourists are the most likely person to approach you to take a picture when you flash them your juicy cow udders, although gay Spanish men on trucks come in second. ¡Vuelva para trabajar!

We usually stand on a certain corner where a school raises money by charging people to go to the bathroom. They have about 20 Pot-O-Golds that are $1 per ride. The newspaper had an article about this particular corner, so needless to say, the toilets were full by the end of the first day. But all in all, that corner smelled better than most of the rest of New Orleans usually smells.

Finally, a quick story that will make my momma proud. My wife's Aunt and Uncle have a shower with incredible water pressure. I'm telling you, you could point the faucet out the window and pressure wash your neighbor's siding. This shower is definitely in my top 3 reasons why I must go to Mardi Gras as well as make at least one other annual trip to New Orleans. I took two (2) showers while I was there, which means that I don't have to shower again until March 2nd.

Have a great rest of the Mardi Gras season!

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Show Your Teets!

I have a very hard decision to make, and I don't have a lot of time to make it:

Should I dress up as the Flashing Cow, the Burger King, or Nacho Libre for Mardi Gras?

With all of the violence in N.O. lately, this is a very important question. On the one hand, with all of the Mexican gangs infiltrating N.O. thanks to lax border security and the need for cheap labor, Nacho Libre has the possibility of either being revered or taken as an insult to Latino heritage. Then there's the question of whether I wear a shirt or not.

The Flashing Cow outfit has had its successes and its failures. On the one hand, I usually catch a lot of beads, and small children, old people and foreigners like to take pictures with me. On the other hand, redneck males between the ages of 18 and 30 don't take kindly to being flashed by a guy. But will there be enough small children, old people and foreigners there this year to make it worthwhile?

Finally, I was the Burger King last time around, and instead of almost being arrested and/or beaten up by a cop for wearing the Flashing Cow outfit (the cop, by being a redneck male between the age of 18 and 30, didn't like being flashed by a guy - even if what was underneath was MORE COW), I was made an honorary NOPD. Again, with all the Mexican gangs in N.O., being seen as an NOPD might be more dangerous than what it's worth.

Or I guess I could just go as plain old Bob, which might not be a bad idea. First, I have man-boobs, which I could flash if I so chose, although they might not help me get any beads or self-respect. Second, I would disappear in a large crowd if the Mexican gangs or regular gangs want to throw more than beads. Third, since everyone in Rex reads the Tanory Tantrum, I might be recognized, and even allowed to ride in the King's float.

Regardless of what I wear, you can find me on the corner of General Pershing and St. Charles. I'll be the one screaming, "Show your teets!"

Monday, February 12, 2007

Thank You, Home Depot!

Home Depot ex-CEO Bob Nardelli is getting a raw deal. Okay, sure, Home Depot gave him $210 million in severance pay even after Home Depot's customer service went down the toilet while he was CEO. But there is meaning to the madness.

Case in point:

My wife and I went to Home Depot yesterday to get some shades for a window. When we checked out, we were forced to use the self-checkout register, even though there were several Home Depot cashiers milling about and talking on their cell phones. Apparently their phone conversations were more important than their customers.

Now, it's been previously documented that I am not able to coexist with self-checkout registers. They don't like me, and I don't like them. We agree to disagree, except when I agree to put my already-chewed gum over their stupid red scanners.

But let's think about this for a minute. Should someone who is not capable of properly checking himself out of Home Depot really consider doing any kind of do-it-yourself home project?

I mean, even high school drop-outs getting paid minimum wage can run a barcode over a scanner. I shouldn't even be allowed inside Home Depot! They shouldn't sell me anything, and if I screw up my house because they enabled me to "do-it-myself," then they should be held liable.

So you see, Nardelli was just trying to get us non-handy types to think twice before attempting to put up our own window treatments or install that new attic door. He was doing us a favor.

Thanks, Mr. Nardelli, for helping me to see the light.

Truck Nerds Are People, Too

I was on the way to my "favorite ride" this morning when I walked past a group of Truck Nerds talking endlessly and maniacally about some truck they saw outside. As I lay my hands upon the handle to the bathroom, I had a revelation:

You Truck Nerds and us Computer Geeks aren't so different after all.

Case in point: I love megahertz; you love horsepower. I love the number of processors in my computer; you love the number of cylinders in your truck. I like how fast my computer boots up; you like how fast your truck goes from 0 - 60. You like pictures of women in bikinis crouched on or alongside trucks in various positions; I like the same thing, but in high-resolution image formats.

So you see, we have a lot in common.

It's taken me a long time to realize that Truck Nerds are people, too. I guess I've always been intimidated by Truck Nerds because, first, I know nothing about cars or trucks, and second, because mullets scare me.

If only us Computer Geeks and Truck Nerds could combine powers, we would be an unstoppable Voltron-like force of mullet-haired computer techs with a bad attitude and a penchant for heavy metal, and we wouldn't take crap from anybody, unless they have duo-core processors or 8 cylinders.

Tantrum T's

When I'm bored at night I Google myself. No, Mom, it's not what you think. Googling yourself means you go to Google.com and type in your name, and see if anyone else in the world has noticed you yet.

So far, I'm still just a smudge on a faint speck in the distant sky. But at least I still own the top spot for Arkansas Handshake. Rock on!

But anyway, while Googling myself, my Zazzle page came up in the search results. As I was going through my incredibly fashionable line of shirts on Zazzle.com, I noticed that two of my shirts won the prestigious "Today's Best" award.

I am proud to present the winners:

I Love Ground Chuck
Today’s Best - April 15, 2006

I Love Ground Chuck! t-shirt


Just FTP It!
Today’s Best - April 16, 2006

Just FTP it! t-shirt


All I can say is, the other shirts that were created on that day must have really, really sucked. Oh yeah, someone also bought this shirt, which makes my total shirt sales a whopping 4:


My shirt speaks for me because...


Just call me Tommy Hilfiger.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

Who Does Number Two Work For?

It's 1:51 AM on Sunday morning and I'm watching Van Wilder on Comedy Central. I can't sleep - the 7 Diet Cokes I had at Salsarita's has dumped enough caffeine into my bloodstream to light up the neighborhood for a week.

Watching any movie on Comedy Central is great when you can't sleep - they inject 8 minutes of commercials for every 2 minutes of actual movie. So you're sure to enjoy the 1.5 hour-long movie over the course of 5 hours.

And watching Van Wilder gave me a great idea. You see, there's this one scene towards the end of the movie where the antagonist, Richard, is given a protein shake with Super Colon Blow. Needless to say, he ends up blowing out his o-ring in a trash can in front of the interview team from the med school he wants to attend.

This is, of course, my favorite scene in the movie. So this got me thinking: what if there were an internet movie database that specialized in - no, dedicated to - poop scenes? I vowed to research this, and to start one if need be.

Fortunately for me, there exists the Movie Poop-Scene Database. And as expected, Van Wilder's scene is listed in detail.

Either bright minds think alike, or drinking too many Diet Cokes gives you delusions of grandeur involving movie poop scenes. You be the judge.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Space Time Continues

The Tanory Tantrum would like to make a correction to the previous post, where I proved that "the world revolves around me."

After careful research, double-checking my math, and obtaining several professional opinions on the matter, it turns out that the world does not in fact revolve around me.

Apparently the world actually revolves around my wife, and that it just feels like the world revolves around me since I'm usually standing right by her.

Bummer! :(

The Tanory Tantrum would also like to apologize to all of you out there who received a letter, plaque or Smell-o-gram congratulating you on having your existence revolve around me. That was truly unprofessional, and I do apologize.

(Siblings, you may keep your plaques, as Mom said the world has always revolved around me.)

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

As the World Turns

I will now prove that the world does, in fact, revolve around me. Actually, I will prove that the entire universe revolves around me.

Try not to blow your mind all over the newly shampooed carpet.

First and foremost, I need to prove that the earth is indeed revolving. I mean, it can't revolve around me if it's not revolving at all, can it? I won't bore you with the details, but basically you can use centripetal force, the Coriolis effect, Foucault pendulums and a really big lemon peel to determine that the earth does indeed revolve.

Next I have to prove that just because I'm on top of the earth doesn't mean that the earth can't revolve around me. Well, according to Galileo's Principle of Relativity (later expanded in Einstein's Theory of Relativity), observers, when in uniform motion relative to one another, have no way of determining whether one of them is "stationary." Since I'm on the earth, and the earth is moving, that means that I'm moving at the same speed as the earth. So we're both in uniform motion. So the earth has no way of knowing if I'm stationary.

So the earth rotates around the sun, and the sun is part of the our solar system, and our solar system is part of the Milky Way galaxy which rotates around a black hole. So technically, I'm moving at the same rate as all of those things, so they also can't tell whether or not I'm stationary.

Einstein said that if you can't explain it so a child can understand it then you don't understand it. He liked to draw pictures of what he was postulating. So let's draw a picture. Technically, everything is stationary so it should all fit on one page and not be expected to move all that much.

So now you have me in the center of the page, the earth on one side, the solar system drawn around the earth, then the universe at large beyond that. The frame of reference, as I've tried to point out, is on me. Now you just rotate the page, and you'll see that I stay in the center and everything else rotates around me.

Nobel Committee, feel free to email the Nobel prize to me.

So you see, I'm not self-centered... it's just the way the universe is ordered.

Click to see picture of Tanory's Theory of Relativity in Relation to Himself

Monday, February 05, 2007

The Gift of Joy

I wish I would have been in the room when the subliminal marketing geniuses at Sonic unveiled the name for their Valentine's Day dessert. It's called (drum roll please):

The Sweetheart Blast.

The name "Sweetheart Blast" is so subtle that most people don't see the hidden porn in it, but you can't fool ol' Bob. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's turning a yearly treat of ice cream, chocolate, whipped cream, cherries and romantic love into something dirty.

Sonic is calling the Sweetheart Blast "new" but it was definitely available last year. Actually, I'm pretty sure that the Sweetheart Blast has been around every Valentine's Day since the Middle Ages.

And if you were born anywhere from mid-November to early December, you can probably thank Valentine's Day for making your life possible. So go on down to Sonic this Valentine's Day and give your loved one a delicious and plentiful Sweetheart Blast.

Seriously, it's a drive-thru - nobody will notice. Just be subtle like Sonic and you won't have any problems. "If this car is rockin', don't skate on over and bring me my Diet Vanilla Dr. Peppah!" - that's my motto.

My thanks to Wild Wayne for remembering, after an entire year, how hilarious the Sweetheart Blast is. I'll give you the money for one, Waynekster, but as for getting one, you're on your own.

Sunday, February 04, 2007

Super Bowls and Science Fiction

When we asked my three-year old niece who would win the Super Bowl - the Bears or the Horsies - she knew it would be the Horsies.

In fact, all of the omens pointed to a Colts win. For instance, one of the sides at our Super Bowl dinner was coleslaw, which as we all know was originally translated from Latin as Colt's Slaw.

Then there was Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, which came on the telly yesterday. One of the last scenes takes place in a bear pit, where a mama bear and her cubs are tamed by a small but fearless dog named Baxter. Coincidence?

This year's Super Bowl was XLI, which in football terms means "41." That means next year the Super Bowl is going to be 42.

Now, I don't want to ruin it for any of you out there, but Douglas Adams has already explained to us in his great book (but crappy movie) The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy that "42" is the answer to "Life, the Universe, and Everything."

What is the question that produces the answer of 42? Hopefully, it's who will win: The Saints or the Patriots? That's who I predict will be in the Douglas Adams Super Bowl, anyway. Seriously, his estate should sponsor the game, and then I should get a piece of that sweet action for suggesting it.

Now if I can just get my niece to write down her picks for next Super Bowl's betting pool, I'll be in good shape.

Artsy Fartsy

Over the summer we visited the Museum of Modern Art in NYC. I stood in front of a couple of Jackson Pollock pieces and sneered. I thought out loud in big thought bubbles, "Is this really considered 'good?' Who the hell likes this crap?"

Three new Jackson Pollock pieces of 'art' were recently discovered. But now there is controversy - it seems like some of the paint that was used in these pieces wasn't available when Pollock was alive. So these paintings may be fakes. Not like it matters - they still suck.

But here's my beef: someone finds these paintings, thinks they are Pollocks' work, and loves them. They see something in these works that moves their souls. They are enhanced. They are enlightened.

Then they discover that the paintings are fake, and all of a sudden these paintings are not good enough to hang in the museum's walls.

It's like when I dress myself in the morning: I walk into the light and my wife says to me, "You can't wear that shirt with those pants. They don't match!" But after a moment of carefully reviewing each color in my threads, a single stitch in my shirt is found that is exactly the same color as my pants, and suddenly it's a perfectly wearable combination of shirt and pant.

Just like that, I've gone from "socially unacceptable" to "tolerable in well-lit rooms."

For all I know, women everywhere are looking at me out of the corners of their eyes and thinking in new-wave thought bubbles, "that shirt and those pants don't match. That guy is a LOSER and I should probably grab my mace from my fashionable purse in case he walks this way."

Of course, if I just wore shirts that had different colors splattered all over the place, my shirt would be sure to match everything else I wore and then I wouldn't have these problems with my fashion sense. Maybe that was Pollock's genius all along - he just wanted his work to match the paint on the wall.

Suddenly I have a new appreciation for Jackson Pollock. That guy was a genius!

Saturday, February 03, 2007

Eliding into the Diphthong

In one of my last posts I vowed to find out why we don't pronounce the first "R" in February. Wikipedia made this job easy for me. Here's what it has to say:

Many people pronounce "February" with a round 'u' instead of an open 'u' vowel, which forces the first 'r' to be eclipsed, viz. 'FEB-yoo-air-ee' instead of 'FEB-roo-air-ee.' That is, it elides into first half of the trailing diphthong. Otherwise, the flanking mid vowel ('e') and back vowel ('u'), combined with the final -ry syllable (front vowel 'ee') make the 'br' difficult for Anglophones to pronounce in the first place.


Clear as mud? Thought so. Etymologists shouldn't be allowed to update entries on Wikipedia.

I also don't know if it's appropriate to call people names like Anglophone during Black History Month. Can't we all just get along?

Apparently February was named after the Latin word februum, which means purification. That's right, we chose the shortest month of the year to symbolize our purity. Way to go, asshole Gregorians.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

The Crackberries Taste like Crackberries

Every once in a while I like to disassociate myself from technology. I love my computer, Wii, iPod, etc, so much that they've become an addiction.

It used to be funny to call BlackBerries "Crackberries" because they were so addictive. Even ABC News started calling them Crackberries - that's how you know that crap was for real.

In fact, ABC News was so afraid of becoming addicted to BlackBerries that they used a picture of a guy typing at a desktop computer - NOT a BlackBerry - in their news article about the addictiveness of BlackBerries. (I know, it's only funny to me.)

And of course, over BlackBerrying yourself can lead to "BlackBerry Thumb" as well as hairy palms.

I can't stay away too long, of course. I can hear The Legend of Zelda's sweet siren song calling out to me right now. But no! I must resist!

I'm going outside to play in the good ol' fashion dirt, like they used to do in the olden days, and I'm going to like it. Then I'll walk a couple of miles to the river and fill up a tub to bath in. It might be chilly outside, but at least I'll feel alive!

And of course I'll TiVo all my TV shows. I can't miss 30 Rock!

February!

Is it February already? There's so much to do, and so little time!

First, there's the Super Bowl this weekend. I'm going for whichever team's fans throw the best party. Chicago has pizza but I hate Rex Grossman, and Indy has Payton but also has mullets and an annual snowfall is 27.5 inches. So I'm still up in the air about this one.

Next, and most importantly, I have to get my strategery all set up for Valentine's Day. Last year I uh... well, I know I did something for Betty, but this year it's going to be awesome. I'm talking fireworks, an orchestra outside playing Angel by Jon Secada... maybe even a teddy bear holding a heart!

Afterwards I have to get ramped up for Mardi Gras. I don't think I'll make it down to New Orleans for Mardi Gras day, but I'll be there for the weekend. Mardi Gras is one of my favorite holidays, right after Halloween. I like both because I get to dress up and taunt people on the street.

Usually I dress up as the Flashing Cow: I put on a cow outfit, put on a shirt, then flash my udders to every passerby. But the last time I did that in New Orleans, I was called a Chubby Cow by a cop. He had a point. So last year I dressed up as the Burger King, and wouldn't you know it but the cops made me an honorary NOPD, which meant I got to call some other kids in cow suits "Chubby Cows."

Finally, my goal this month is to find out why we don't pronounce the first R in February, and to find anyone who does pronounce it and do an in-depth Q & A with them for the blog. Maybe they'll also have some good ideas on what to get the wife for Valentine's Day.