Thursday, August 30, 2007

Goduncle

I'm the Godfather to two very special babies - my nephew Joshua and my cousin's dog TJ.

Being a Godparent is a special privilege. You get to walk around talking in a husky voice, telling people to "fahgetabboudit," and then have people kiss your ring. Sometimes you get to move to New Jersey. It's really a great feeling.

Now TJ's momma is preggers with a baby boy. We've tried to tell TJ that her life is about to change, but her attention span is only like 5 seconds unless she can smell food. She has no idea what's coming.

This begs the question, is there such thing as a "Goduncle?" I'm the Godfather to TJ, so that makes me Goduncle to the new baby, right? Right?! My wife doesn't think so, and she usually knows these kinds of things, but maybe she's just jealous of my Goduncle status.

If Goduncle isn't a word, then I'm making it one. Beyonce made up "bootylicious" so that entitles me to make up my own word. My word is the bootylicious equivalent of the Godparent heirarchy.

To celebrate me being a new Goduncle, I got the first season of Sopranos through NetFlix. I'm not going to watch it - I'm going to have someone else watch it and then give me a brief summary overview. That's how us Goduncles run things around here.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Mike VI

LSU has been searching for a new tiger since the vet school unintentionally killed off Mike V. It looks like they've found one, in the form of a Bengal-Siberian mix tiger named Roscoe.

It's normal for a tiger to be renamed "Mike" once it is appointed to be LSU's mascot. The first Mike was originally named Sheik, and was dubbed "Mike" in honor of trainer Chellis Mike Chambers. Think about that - this tiger could be named Chellis VI if history had only worked out slightly different.

The renaming of LSU mascots is common, as is normal with any ruling entity. It's like when they elect a new Pope. Karol Józef Wojtyła became Pope John Paul II, Joseph Alois Ratzinger became Pope Benedict XVI, and now Roscoe will become Mike VI. This is also how kings in England, France and Spain have done it for centuries, except those people were mostly inbred, sort of like Alabama's offensive line.

Roscoe-mania has gripped Baton Rouge, which is not surprising as "Roscoe" is by far the manliest of tiger names we've seen so far. Roscoe is also supposed to grow to be the largest tiger LSU has ever had as a mascot. Baton Rouge residents are already capitalizing on the tiger's persona - for example, there are already several restaurants named "Roscoe's" in the LSU area.

Roscoe will also be eating very well Thursday night after LSU rips Mississippi State limb from limb. Michael Vick may be vilified for killing dogs, but Roscoe is going to be cheered. Go get'm, Tigah!

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Downtown

When you're alone and life is making you lonely you can always go downtown.

OR!

If your friends have traveled down from New York and New Jersey to explore the crap out of your city, then you can also go downtown, take them to eat at Capital City Grill, go up to Tsunami's, then head on over to the Kingfish at the Hilton and have a Ramos Gin Fizz.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Our friends Nina and Ralph, who we met up with on our trip to NYC last summer, came down to visit Nina's family. They were kind enough to show us around NYC, so we tried to return the favor by taking them to explore downtown BR.

To meet them downtown, we had to take I-10. Unfortunately, an 18-wheeler dropped its load at the split, after which everyone and their mom decided to get off the Interstate at the same time. This meant our 30-minute commute from P-ville ended up taking 1.5 hours. Although Ralph didn't get to witness Baton Rouge's terrible traffic congestion problem firsthand, he still felt the ramifications of it. Welcome to Baton Rouge!

We finally met up with Ralph and Nina at Capital City Grill and had a great meal. You just can't beat their Catfish Orleans, which is fried catfish with crawfish etouffee on it. Actually, I can't think of anything that doesn't taste better after pouring crawfish etouffee on it. Cap'n Crunch and crawfish etouffee? Delicious! Caesar salad with extra crawfish etouffee? I think I've just surpassed Emerile in the art of cooking.

Afterwards we went up to Tsunami's and pondered the Japanese rock garden. How do they make their rocks grow so tall? And how do they know that the rocks are Japanese?

Finally, we hit up the Hilton's Kingfish restaurant and bar. The Kingfish serves up Huey P. Long's favorite drink, the Ramos Gin Fizz. Since I had never had one and Ralph had never heard of it, we both decided to try it. Not too shabby for a drink made with egg whites and gin. We all agreed that it was similar to a White Russian, then debated whether or not there were any types of Russians other than White ones.

Ralph and Nina are great people, I'm happy we got to see them, and I sincerely hope they had a great time in Baton Rouge. I'll be even happier when we see them again in NYC after we arrive unexpectedly at their doorstep so they can show us around New York and New Jersey some more.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Thanks for the Mammaries

I'm not ashamed to say it: I like Fall Out Boy.

One of the things that I like about Fall Out Boy's music is that I can never understand what the frick the lead singer is saying. When I can't understand the words, I simply sing my own lyrics to the music. For example, instead of singing "Thanks for the Memories" for the song "Thnks fr th Mmrs," I sing "Thanks for the Mammaries."

Here's an example of combining Fall Out Boy, mammaries, and video editing in a style which I admire and strive to emulate:


Click here if you can't see the embedded video.

Now, I'm not a very good singer, but that doesn't stop me from rocking out in my car at full blast. Of course, it's probably not all that great to yell "Thanks for the Mammaries" at the top of your lungs with your windows down. Although I do appreciate all the flashes I've received lately.

So I guess what I'm saying is, thank you, Fall Out Boy, for making music that I can't understand, which makes me sing the wrong lyrics, and which ultimately gets me some free mammary action. I just wish the people flashing their breasts weren't sweaty overweight men and were instead young hot women.

Sunday, August 26, 2007

McLovin the Movie "Superbad"

This weekend we went to see the movie "Superbad," which was super AWESOME!

Check out the trailer:


Link to Trailer

Here's the synopsis of the movie. Two guys, Evan and Seth, are best friends but are going to be going to different colleges after high school. They are both unpopular and haven't had much luck with the ladies, and a graduation party gives them the best hopes of getting some sweet action before college starts. In order to woo these ladies, Evan and Seth set out to buy alcohol for the party, and as they're both underage, they'll need the help of their friend Fogell and his fake ID, which just has the name "McLovin" on it.

You know what? This video tells it better than I can.


Superbad Synopsis

If you liked "The 40 Year Old Virgin," "Talladega Nights," "Anchorman" or "Steel Magnolias," you need to check out SUPERBAD.

Saturday, August 25, 2007

One Leg at a Time

There's a saying that goes something like, "I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like you."

That statement is supposed to say that we're all alike; that even if someone is famous, has a lot of money and four houses around the world, he or she is still just like us.

It also implies that we all wear pants.

Well, I'm writing today to tell you that I am not like you. I put my pants on both legs at the same time.

You see, everything I do is condensed and consolidated into the smallest unit of work. This is a side effect of being a compulsive procrastinator. I cram as much lounging as I can into my day until something absolutely has to get done, then work savant-like until my job is done. Then it's back to lounging and procrastinating.

So how do I put my pants on both legs at the same time? Easy. I get a pair of pants, sit down, put both legs into the pants at the same time, then lean back and throw my legs into the air and simultaneously pull my pants up onto my body. Watching me put on my pants is like watching a work of art being created, or like watching Gigli while high on barbiturates.

There's another saying that goes something like, "He's flying by the seat of his pants." Well, sorry to disappoint you again, but I only wear assless chaps, which have no seat. Thus, I must be flying by some other means of locomotion. That may also explain why it's so much fun to put my pants on both legs at the same time.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Squeezing Water from a Stone

Nature is capable of creating some really beautiful things out of almost nothing. Take a pearl, for instance. A tiny speck of dust gets trapped in an oyster, then the oyster rolls the dirt around for a while until a pearl is created. From a speck of dirt to a pearl... simply beautiful. It's even more beautiful when you can rip it out of the clutches of the oyster, string it on something with a bunch of other pearls and give it to your loved one.

Yet there's a darker side of nature, even when creating similar objects.

Take a kidney stone for example. There's nothing beautiful about trying to pee out a stone. There's also nothing beautiful about your kidney betraying you in an effort to turn your body into a crystal factory.

Someone I know, who I'll call "My Father-in-Law" (not his real name), has a kidney stone. Actually, he has two. When he first started complaining about severe pains in his side, we thought it was from laughing so hard at the Tantrum. But then we realized that most pain associated with reading the Tantrum is caused by blunt trauma of the hand slapping the thigh. (Second place was hitting one's head and saying, "Doh!" and third place was the loss of brain cells associated with reading the Tantrum.)

"My Father-in-Law" will have to have his kidney stones broken up before he can dispense of the stones safely, painlessly and urinely. To break the stone apart, doctors will blast sound waves at the stones. I've recommended Metallica's "...And Justice for All" album cranked up to 11 in order to get maximum acoustical vibrations.

So how can you prevent getting kidney stones? Some "doctors" might tell you to drink a lot of water, avoid excess Vitamin C supplements, have a diet low in protein, nitrogen and sodium intake, and to avoid excess calcium. But I'll tell you the real secret to avoiding kidney stones:

Stay away from Math.

A kidney stone is known in the medical field as a "calculus." In fact, "calculus" means "little stone" or "pebble." So you see, the more you learn about calculus, the more likely your body will generate calculi. And since calculus is just an advanced way of doing geometry, and geometry relies on algebra, and algebra is just advanced math, your best defense against kidney stones is to stay away from math completely.

So good luck getting those stones out, "My Father-in-Law" (again, not his real name). We'll all breathe easier when you can pee easier.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Cold, Fat and Football

It's common knowledge that we Americans take no personal responsibility in anything we do. Did I just say that? If I did, I blame society.

New research shows that a strain of the cold virus can transform adult stem cells into fat cells. To put this another way: scientists say the cold virus may be contributing to the obesity epidemic in America.

So if you are on that healthy Sonoma diet, or maybe you've been jogging around the block a couple times a week, stop trying to improve yourself: there is no cure for the common cold, and therefore there is no cure for being fat. At least that's what the news tells me.

Sure, you could say that the cold's been around for a long time and yet prior generations, such as our parents', were not full of incredibly fat kids with high blood pressure who only eat fast food. But remember, our parents' generations was full of hippies who did drugs, had a lot of promiscuous sex and danced naked in the mud at concerts. For all we know, this obesity-laden strain of the cold was born and bred in one of these festering hippie mosh pits. Maybe some hippie caught this cold while hugging a tree. Trees aren't very sanitary, you know.

But there was one very promising piece of information that I gleaned from these news articles about how viruses make us fat: the scientists who discovered this were from LSU. So hopefully Nikhil Dhurandhar, Magdalena Pasarica and their colleagues at LSU are planning on unleashing the fattening cold virus into the water supply at the athletic departments of the schools that the LSU football team will be playing this year, in order to fatten up the opposing team.

Gotta love LSU football. You're not just messing with the football team... you're messing with everyone, even those nerds down at the biology lab.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Tigers vs. Gamecocks: The Shirt

Just in time for the LSU Tigers vs. the South Carolina Gamecocks football game on September 22, the Tanory Tantrum is proud to announce "Tigers vs. Gamecocks: the Shirt."


Tigers vs. Gamecocks shirt


Go Tigers! Beat the Gamecocks!


A couple of years ago I made a similar shirt for a website I was trying out called Spurrier is a Gamecock.net. But Zazzle, the company I go through to make my T-shirts, said it was copyright infringement to use the word "Spurrier," as Steve Spurrier apparently owns the rights to his own name. I previous thought "Spurrier" was just an insult that everyone used when talking about the head coach of South Carolina, but thanks to Zazzle, I now know that Spurrier is the coach of the South Carolina Lamecocks.

Either way, buy my shirt, spread the word, and save some of the ripped shards of Gamecock appendages for the after-game tailgate party.

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Putting on the Ritz

Through a charity event put on by my employer, I got "good deal" on a hotel room at the Ritz-Carlton in New Orleans over the weekend. Boozing, flashing, charity - it all goes hand in hand.

We decided that we would make our trip exciting by only doing things in New Orleans that we had never done before. This limited us in many ways. For instance, we couldn't go to Antoine's, one of our favorite restaurants. We also couldn't flash our genitals on Bourbon for beads, albeit we could still conceivably flash for other objects, like Krystal burgers. (Did you know there was a Krystal burger on Bourbon? Right across from Hustler's by Canal - that Krystal's is hardcore!) We also couldn't hit up any transvestite strip clubs. What to do?

First, we had to check into our hotel at the Ritz. The Ritz is doing some construction in front of where you'd drive to check in, so a white valet - who we dubbed the Ritz Cracker - had to wave people into the driveway. Other cars were cutting in front of us because they thought we were just idling on the side of the street, so I finally had to play chicken with another car in order to get into the Ritz. When in New Orleans, drive like the New Orleanians.

Friday night we ate dinner at the Napoleon House. Supposedly, the Napoleon House is where Napoleon was going to live after he was exiled from France. He never made it - he died while trying to write the perfect computer code that would simulate armies doing battle (aka, the Napoleonic Code) - so they turned his house into a restaurant. Honestly, I'm thankful Napoleon died in exile, because my Roast Beef Poboy, Betty's Eggplant and Goat Cheese Panini, and the bread pudding dessert were incredible!

Saturday we tried to go to the Wax Museam. Not Madam Tussaud's wax museum - I heard that one was just a museum on the history of wax - but the Wax Museum on Conti. Betty's great-grandfather was Emile "Stalebread" Lacoume, who was one of the first white dudes to play Jazz, and he's got a wax figure replica in the Conti Wax Museum. Unfortunately, the wax museum was closed, and we could picture ourselves melting like wax in a fire because it was so hot, so we went to eat the crap out of some muffelattas in the air-conditioned goodness that is Central Grocery.

Some of you may be saying that we broke our pact to do new things by going to Central Grocery and eating a muffelatta. But Betty had never eaten inside, so we had to do it. So there!

Afterwards we went to the aquarium. I think the last time I went to the N.O. aquarium was on a field trip in the 4th grade. It was a lot of fun! The first thing I did was go to the bathroom - that involves water, right? The aquarium also has a whole section on the rain forest, and had all kinds of rain forest animals - parrots, piranhas, the penis fish, etc. Then we went to an IMAX show about sharks in 3D.

At the aquarium I also learned that the sap of the Coaifera langsdorfia, a tree found in the Amazon, is so much like diesel that it can actually power truck engines. I think I've found your alternate source of energy, Al Gore. I expect a check in the mail. Not only can this be a source for fuel, but we can grow more of these trees, which will use up more carbon dioxide in the air (b/c trees eat carbon dioxide like I eat pizza), thereby reducing the greenhouse effect. Who knew that the aquarium had all of the answers to life's problems?

Saturday night we went to NOLA, one of Emeril's restaurants, where I planned on eating an animal that I saw at the aquarium. Hey fish, evolve or be eaten! This is New Orleans! But I got the duck, and Betty got the red fish. Afterwards we chilled out at Pat O's piano bar until our food digested - everyone knows piano and Hurricanes make your body process vitamins faster.

Sunday we went to Brennan's for brunch, where I ruined my entire diet. Up to this point I had lost 19 pounds on the Sonoma Diet, going from 188 to 169. But after Betty and I shared our three course meal at Brennan's - I got the strawberries in double cream, poached eggs over fried trout, and Crepes Fitzgerald, and Betty got the Southern Baked Apples, Eggs Sardou and Bananas Foster - I gained all my weight back and more. It was so worth it.

So now I'm back home, blogging away, naked from the waist down until my pants fit again. So really, it's just like I'm blogging on any normal night.

Who knew charity could be so much fun? Thanks, Employer, for hooking us up with a cheap room at the Ritz. Next time I think we'll mix old and new, going to Antoine's and maybe trying someplace new. And maybe next time I'll flash for fries as well as Krystal burgers.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Paris Hilton Creates Clothing Line

Socialite and porn star Paris Hilton has unveiled her new clothing line at a boutique in LA.

When asked to describe her new clothing line, Hilton said, "These clothes are really hot. They are durable enough to withstand a really windy day at the beach, light enough that you can shop with them all day long and they won't feel heavy, yet can still be easily ripped apart while filming sex videos with one or more of your multiple boyfriends."

Also, Hilton tells the Tantrum, some articles of clothing have a special dye which allows them to glow in the dark - all the better to make your night-vision porn video more fashionable.

Hilton also describes her clothing line as being "from my closet to [yours]." So stock up on crab lice treatment and make sure to wash the clothes multiple times before wearing them. (Crabs are sooo in right now in Hollywood.)

Skank perfume sold separately.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Back to School

If you are a parent and have a small child that is starting school this week, and if you are concerned with your child having a good year with his or her teacher, let me give you some advice:

You probably can't bribe your teacher, but you can definitely bribe your teacher's spouse.

My wife is a Kindergarten teacher at a private school, and in preparation for the new school year she had to go to all of her students' houses and see them in their natural environment. Think of a primatologist spying on some chimpanzees out in the Gombe.

One of her students lives out in the boonies, and since my wife's visit with this family was going to be during the evening, the student's parents were kind enough to invite her over for dinner. Better still, they invited ME over for dinner.

Mrs. Tanory doesn't have favorites... but Mr. Bobby does!

So thanks again, Mr. and Mrs. Student's Parents, for inviting me over for dinner! I'll make sure that your kid passes Kindergarten with flying colors.

(I guess I should put a legal note here or something...

Legal note: your child will not receive extra credit or attention if you attempt to bribe me or my wife. But don't let this deter you from trying. I really enjoy pizza, hint hint.)

Have a great school year!

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Sun Allergies

I think I'm allergic to sunlight.

Here are the facts:

When I stay out in the sun for too long, my skin turns red, and afterwards it hurts my skin when it is touched. It feels like my skin is on fire. It's almost as if the sun were a swarm of bees that sting me all at the same time, except for where my Speedo covers. Some scientists have been trying to call this phenomenon sunburn, but I'm sure that's because their research was funded by those bastard sunblock companies.

Another thing is that I sneeze any time I look at the sun. Any bright light will do, but I seem to be most allergic to sunlight.

The reflex to sneeze when you look at a bright light is called the Photic Sneeze Reflex. And as you probably guessed from the name "Photic Sneeze Reflex," this reflex is probably caused by a congenital malfunction in nerve signals in the trigeminal nerve nuclei. Duh.

But the worst part about being allergic to sunlight is how people react when they see me in the sun. I guess my face and body become horribly distorted. When I'm partly hidden in the shadows, people seem to be very nice and reasonable. But once they see me in the sunlight, they scream and run away in terror. Maybe they think being allergic to the sun is contagious?

Monday, August 13, 2007

Smash My Guitar

If you are in an awesome rock band, know someone in a band, or are not in a band but can riff some righteous air guitar, then you've probably had the urge to smash a guitar in front of a live audience but have been too chicken-shit to use your own guitar.

You now have the opportunity. The Tanory Tantrum has your back.

Hulk smash!

A couple of years ago I bought a $20 acoustic guitar off of eBay. Let me tell you, it was worth every penny. Remember, kids: you get what you pay for.

Every single day that I've had this guitar at my house, I've had the urge to pick it up, strum a few chords, then smash the crap out of it. But I can't see to end its harmonically-pathetic life without an audience.

I've tried to give the guitar away to other people, but it always makes its way back into my hands. Even those who can't play the guitar know that no amount of practice is going to sound great on this thing. It's got to die.

So if you or someone you know wants to smash the guitar, leave a comment or email bobby at tanoryland.com (replace " at " with "@"). I'll mail you the damn thing, and all I ask in return is that you do the following:

1. Smash the guitar while an audience is present, preferably at a concert;
2. Invite me to the guitar smashing OR
2a. Video and/or take pictures of the smashing and email them to me
3. Tell everyone you know, even your 6th grade social studies teacher, about the Tantrum.

And remember, only you can prevent forest fires, unless you set this guitar on fire before smashing it in the woods.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

Hot Rod the Movie

Sunday we went to see Hot Rod, a movie starring my current favorite SNL cast member, Andy Samberg. If you don't watch SNL, you probably still caught a glimpse of Samberg from when he did the Dick in the Box sketch with Justin Timberlake, or from the Lazy Sunday video.

Betty and I arrived at the theater about 10 minutes before the movie started, and we were the only two people in the theater. Betty thought this was a good sign that the movie sucked, but I was happy to have the whole place to myself. Then people started to trickle in right before the previews started, and of course, several hairy pre-teens sat right in front of us 10 minutes after the show started and talked half the movie. Fortunately for us, we couldn't hear them over my hysterical laughing.

I didn't know what to expect from Hot Rod. I basically just went because of Samberg. But let me sum up Hot Rod in two words: It was totally frickin' awesome!

Here's the synopsis of Hot Rod:

Andy Samberg plays Rod Kimble, an amateur stuntman, whose dad was supposedly Evil Knievel's test rider. Rod wants to grow up to be just like his dad, and spends his days doing stunts on his moped. Unfortunately, Rod's real dad is dead, and his step-dad doesn't respect Rod. So Rod sets out to earn Frank's respect. How he does that, well, you'll have to see the movie, because if I tell you any more then I'm giving the movie away.


Watch the trailer for Hot Rod

On the way out of the movie theater, Betty offered to drive because I was laughing so hard that I was crying. If you are in need of a good laugh, go see Hot Rod.

In conclusion, I previously stated that my Halloween costume this year would be Will Ferrell's character Chazz Michael Michaels from Blades of Glory. But I think I've just found the stuntman inside of me, and his name is Rod Kimble.

Saturday, August 11, 2007

The Tanory Tantrum Potty Book

A couple of day ago I finished my potty book, "The Hacker Crackdown: Law and Disorder on the Electronic Frontier" by Bruce Sterling. You may remember this book from my post about how, back in April, I ate an entire pack of sugar-free Twizzlers, which ended up having a laxative effect on my body, sidelining me for an entire night, and forcing me to ride my favorite ride for at least 8 hours.

Yesterday, bereft of potty book, I started thinking about what my next potty book would be. This is a difficult choice - endless hours are going to be spent, just me and this book, sharing a lot of embarrassing moments together. I can't just use any book! It's got to have a lot of stopping points, be able to be picked up and read in and/or out of sequence without a loss of consistency, and be entertaining to the point where I'll want to read it while I've got nothing else to do but grunt, but not so captivating that I'll want to take it out of the bathroom and continue reading it once I've done my bidness.

I'm thinking that I'll probably just compile my own potty book based on previous Tanory Tantrum blog posts, as I write about the bathroom so much. There are several sites that I could use to publish my own book, such as Lulu.com. I just really need to think of a good title. Something like: "The Tanory Tantrum Potty Book: Crap for When You Need to Crap," or "The Tanory Tantrum Toilet Omnibus: A Compilation of Short Stories by one of America's Most Respected Toilet Authorities," or, my personal favorite, "The Tanory Tantrum Potty Book: Making You Dumber While You Dump."

If you have any suggestions for names for my potty book, or a suggestion for a good interim potty book, please leave a comment.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Alien Nation

Editor's Note: It's been a long week of work, and I'm mentally exhausted. So instead of putting actual thought into my blogs - as if that ever happened anyway - I'm going to write about why aliens abduct ignorant male rednecks instead of smoking hot supermodels.

A lot of people think that aliens exist. Some of these people believe that aliens are flying around Earth, creating crop circles and abducting people. Some, like John Greenewald Jr., who has created The Black Vault website, have dedicated their lives to finding and documenting UFO information for the good of humanity.

It's completely plausible to me that a technologically-advanced civilization would hover around an alien world and observe another society, capture a creature or two, do some experiments and then release them back into the wild. Humans have been doing this to all of the other creatures on Earth since at least 1972. We've put animals in zoos, bred white mice in captivity for the purposes of lab tests, and have tagged, released and tracked wild animals. And I don't even want to think about what happens to those poor donkeys down in Mexico.

As far as the crop circles, I assume that aliens are trying to get us to run a maze. Maybe we should go exploring the next crop circle that pops up in a nearby farm - there might be a nice chunk of cheese at the end for us.

I also understand why everyone who claims to have been abducted are ignorant male rednecks. When we catch a beautiful fish, we throw it back. When we see a majestic tree, we cut down another one to use for firewood. Likewise, when aliens abduct supermodels, they just make clones, then put the originals back, then go abduct some smelly hillbilly. If aliens were attracted to humans, they would abduct all the hot women and leave us with feminazis. But they're not - they're either not anthropomorphic, or just really gay. Thus, ignorant male rednecks are usually the ones caught in the tractor beams.

If aliens do exist, it will probably come to the point where we'll go to war with them. If that happens, I want to be on the side of the aliens. (I've always wanted my own tractor beam.) Instead of abducting supermodels, I'd abduct some of the best chefs in the world and have them create for me the perfect pizza. Then I'd have them fight to the death on an alien landscape. Okay, you got me, then I'd probably abduct some supermodels - but only so they could be workers on my spacecraft and I wouldn't have to pay to feed them, b/c they barely eat. I'm all about having the most cost-effective alien spacecraft.

Thursday, August 09, 2007

80's TV Rotted My Brain

I read this week that children's videos like Baby Einstein may do more harm than good. Who knows what the end result of these programs will do to our children, but I can tell you this much from personal experience: watching certain television programs for endless hours has certainly rotted my brain.

In fact, looking back on my childhood, I think I can pretty much pinpoint the culprit television programming that screwed so many people of my generation up the creek: the 80's children's programming.

Sure, we had great TV shows like Thundercats, Transformers, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, all which taught us moral lessons at the end of each show and showed us how to defend ourselves in case of an alien / radioactive / mutant attack. Those were great life lessons.

But on the other hand, we had shows like Sesame Street, Full House, "Reading Rainbow" and reruns of The Brady Bunch, which were really hazardous to one's health. No wonder I am so screwed up.

Let's start with Sesame Street. Bert and Ernie were obviously perverts. Who do you think filmed Ernie in the bathtub every night while he played with his "rubber ducky?" No wonder we have so many sex offenders in this country. Sure, Bert shares the blame because he was filming, and for all we know, fluffing, but Ernie allowed it to happen. Ernie is the enabler.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DiaKtHSAy7U

Then there was the Cookie Monster, who only recently changed his diet from cookies to vegetables. The Cookie Monster taught me that eating cookies was not only fun, but it was educational. This layer of fat is sponsored by the letter C.

And apparently it was hilarious in the 80's to make fun of the homeless, as in the case of Oscar the Grouch. No, I won't give Oscar a dollar so he can save up money to buy gas so he can drive to Beaumont. He's already used that excuse on me! He'll just buy beer with it, or whatever Muppets drink when they're not filming their "roommates" naked in the bathtub.

There's lots of other examples of Sesame Street shenanigans, but I'll leave them to your imagination. Let's move on to the Brady Bunch.

Ever since the Brady Bunch debuted, the divorce rate of this country has skyrocketed. That's because the Brady Bunch made it OK to divorce and remarry. What ever happened to Carol and Mike's original spouses? Nobody knows, except for maybe Alice, who is able to be employed by the Brady family although there are 8, count them, EIGHT Brady mouths to feed besides having to room and feed Alice's lazy butt. Sounds like somebody got a nice Life Insurance settlement to me, and it sounds like someone is getting paid to keep their trap shut.

Full House, well, what can I say about Full House except that only in San Francisco would three grown men be allowed to raise two underage daughters.

Finally, and most dastardly of all, is Reading Rainbow. I've always doubted that rainbows were sentient, much less had the capabilities to read, much less would even want to read if they could, considering that they are hording piles of gold at each end. This raises the question: why are rainbows so greedy? Why won't they help to end poverty in Africa by donating some of that Pot o' Gold? Instead they just hire leprechaun bodyguards.

Reading rainbows? Greedy mythological creatures coveting hypothetical gold? What more could we expect from Geordi La Forge?

All I can say is, thank God for 90's television, where we learned about how to protect the environment via Captain Planet and learned how to prepare for High School via "Saved by the Bell." This is why the environment and our children's education are two main issues amongst young voters.

How will our children react to their childhood programming? Since most of the good stuff from the 80's, like Transformers, TMNT, etc, is coming back, we can only hope that the bad stuff stays away, and that our children know that the only way to defeat the evil in this world is to come together, like Voltron, to fight the good fight together. Oh, and stay away from Big Bird, I think he has Bird Flu.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Happy Unbirthday!

Eight months ago I wrote a blog about my birthday. In this particular blog I wished happy birthday to a couple of friends and family who also had December birthdays.

But there was one person that I left out of my well-wishing, and I told her that I would write a special post just for her. So here it is, and it's only eight months late - and you thought I was a procrastinator!

Happy Unbirthday to my cousin Jamie in Minnesooooota!

My cousin Jamie is, to say the least, everything that I wish I could be and more. Well, she's female, and I don't want to be female. So I guess she's more like 99.999% of what I wish I could be. And more!

I love my cousin's accent. I've learned from studying my cousins' language patterns that, in order to speak Minnosotan, all you have to do is elongate all of your vowels. Here are a few examples:

1. When ordering a soft drink, you'd want to say, "I'd like a sooooooodaaaah." (Down south we don't say soda - Coke is synonymous with soft drinks. So learn your vernacular if you want to sound like a native!)

2. "Minnesota" would be Meeeenaaahsoooooodaaaah.

Well, you'll probably learn more from reading the book, "How to Talk Minnesotan" by Howard Mohr than by reading this blog. I'm much better at giving instructions on how to talk like a Texan, which really just requires you to talk to other people like they're idiots.

So Happy Unbirthday, Jamie! Thanks for being incredibly talented, beautiful and a blood relative. I really appreciate it.

PS, you're my favorite cousin. Don't tell your sister.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Barry Bonds Breaks the Record, Soils Pants and History

I was trying to write a blog about changing my favorite hobby from "reading" to "being totally awesome" - which didn't pan out - when I saw on the telly that Barry Bonds broke the home run record.

I don't really care about baseball too much, yet I still have a deep dislike for Barry Bonds. I was really hoping that pitchers around the league would either walk or bean Bonds at every at bat. We even went to a Giants game on our trip to San Francisco this summer in expectation of seeing Bonds knocked in the head with a 95 mph fast ball. But alas, some a-hole pitched to him. I want my money back.

The steroids don't bother me so much. Mark McGuire was on steroids, Jose Conseco was on steroids - everyone in sports is on steroids. Even the Tour de France cyclists are on steroids.

It's just the fact that Bonds is such an unlikable person.

Baseball used to be America's Pastime, and the simplest things used to seem so grandiose. Ever watched Bobby Cox in his prime yell at an ump and kick dirt on his shoes? It was like watching a work of art. I could look up to Bobby Cox. Any enemy of an umpire is a friend of mine.

But Bonds, well... in his quest to be the best of the best, he lost the passion for the game, or maybe he and people like him made me lose my passion for baseball. So maybe I'll just keep my hobby as "reading," because it seems to me that "being totally awesome" doesn't mean what it used to mean.

Monday, August 06, 2007

A Cat's Ninth Life

"Is that a cat under your hood, or are you just happy to see me?" So begins an awkward conversation that I had with my wife Monday at the RaceTrac on Essen Lane.

Well... let me start at the beginning.

Monday morning, as Betty was packing her car for work, she saw a cat sitting on the hood of her car. When it was finally time for her to leave, the cat was nowhere to be seen.

But Betty heard the cat again - as she was driving on I-10.

The cat, maybe in an effort to seek a cold place of solace, or maybe to explore the inner workings of a Honda engine, crawled up into Betty's car's hood somehow. Betty didn't see it, and didn't notice it, until it was too late. She heard it scratching around, meowing and trying to escape, but Honda's are built well, and there was nowhere else for the cat to go.

Now let's flash over to Ol' Bob, making his daily pilgrimage to the restroom, aka, his "favorite ride." Every day I have my coffee and granola bar, and every morning around 8 am, my body confuses these two items for Colon Blow.

Just as I was making my nest on the toilet - you know, covering the toilet seat with toilet paper, because you can never be too safe when it comes to your ass - my cellphone rang. I had my pants down and was in mid-descent to the toilet when it happened. Now, when Betty calls me at work, and especially in the morning, I know something is wrong.

"What's wrong?" I ask, hoping that nothing really is wrong because I'VE GOT TO GO.

In between frantic yelps and sobs, I get the details - the cat on the hood, the cat in the hood. I sigh, stand up, and pull up my pants. My favorite ride will have to wait.

Like a bolt of lightning, I blow out of the bathroom stall, out the hall, and drop-kick the door to the outside world. Soon my inner-Atlas is working on the fastest way through frickin Baton Rouge traffic to the RaceTrac on Essen.

I pull alongside Betty's car. "Is that a cat under your hood, or are you just happy to see me?" Betty is not amused.

The hood is popped, and from what I can tell, the cat is obviously dead. But what do I know about cats? Don't cats have nine lives? If so, this cat must have been on its ninth.

I switch cars with Betty and drive down to Tire Kingdom to have someone pull the cat from the car. Or so I thought. The guy at Tire Kingdom wouldn't do it. I yell at him, "This can't be a rare event - a cat being caught in an engine. It's not like I'm asking you to put your arm up a bull's ass or anything, just pull the cat out! You've got grease, you've got strong men, and you've got crowbars - you've got everything you need, dammit!"

No go. But I didn't have time to wait - for all I knew, the cat could still be alive. Doubtful, but you never know. And keep in mind, my bowels are still angry with me - time is running out. So I drove down to the Animal Hospital on Highland to see if they could yank the cat out. They tried, God bless'm, but the cat was caught in some tubes and wires.

So I sped down to Gordon and Sandifer auto mechanics, where some guy there offered to help. The cat was finally pulled out from the engine, but it didn't have a collar so I don't know whose cat it was. I also didn't know what to pay the guy - "Cat Pulling" isn't on their price list - so I paid him $25 as a good down-payment for the therapy that he'll probably need after this experience.

What a way to start the week.

Lessons learned from today's blog post?

1. Watch for pets and small children around your car.

2. Make sure your pets and/or small children have collars. This helps in case someone needs to contact you for any reason, and to let others know that your pet has had its shots.

3. Never answer the phone until you've finished your business.

Saturday, August 04, 2007

Thunder Pat

Betty and I met an XM Satellite Radio personality over the weekend. His name is Patrick, and he's dating our good friend Shelly, aka, Shelliqua. Patrick and I had two very interesting conversations:

1. What does he think about the XM / Sirius satellite radio merger deal; and

2. What is his name on XM?

As for the first question, Patrick thinks an XM / Sirius combo will be awesome. He gets free XM right now, and soon he'll have free XM and Sirius. Hey Patty, can you get me a job there once the merger is approved?

As for the name, well, you can't just go on the radio and give out your full name to the entire world. You have to make up a cool name, sort of like when you create a username for your email, then try to make everyone call you that.

I don't know if Patrick is a weatherman or not, but I know that his job on XM is to do the weather for several cities. In light of this information, he said that he was thinking of calling himself "Stormy McCloud."

So then we started asking him about whether or not he plays any music when he does the weather. You know, like, "Singing in the Rain," "Thunder Rolls," "Lightning Crashes," "I'm Only Happy When it Rains," "Steal My Sunshine" or "Stormy Weather."

Right about this time, Betty started singing the themesong to that awesome 80's cartoon, Thunder Cats. It goes something like this: Thunder, thunder, thunder, thunder cats!!! Hooooo!

Then Shelliqua suggested he should be "Thunder Pat!" Thunder thunder, thunder thunder Pat!

Thunder Pat it is. If you have XM, listen to the weather report for any big city and try to catch Patrick the Weather Dude, aka Thunder Pat. Call XM and ask for special requests from Thunder Pat, like you'd "like it to be sunny in Chicago on Thursday." Thunder Pat can do that for you - Thunder Pat can do anything!

Nice to meet you, Thunder Pat. I won't be listening to you until the XM / Sirius satellite merger goes through - and if the merger doesn't go through then I'm sticking with Sirius unless you can get me XM for free - but I hope all of your future weather reports are bright and sunny with a cool breeze coming in from the south.

Oh yeah, and take care of Shelly or we'll kill you. Siriusly.

Thursday, August 02, 2007

Rain Drops Keep Falling on my Head

The sky was blue when I left work, but as I was walking to my car it started to drizzle on my head. The first few drops hit me right as I walked out the door. Then I noticed that the ground in front of me was completely dry. I took another step forward and more rain hit me.

Was a raincloud moving at the same rate that I was moving, and in the same direction? Was this a coincidence? Or could the rain be following me?!

Every step I took, more kamikaze rain drops splashed onto me, and only me. Some cloud had singled me out to bombard with water bombs.

I stopped in my tracks to observe the ground around me. Sure enough, the ground directly before me was dry. In fact, the ground all around me was dry, except for where I had walked. And, of course, the ground under me was soaked.

I took a step to the left and the rain followed. I stepped backwards and still rain continued to fall on me. It was like I was being followed by a cartoon cloud.

I zig-zagged through the parking lot, hoping to lose the cloud, but it was no use - this cloud really had it out for me. It was probably angry about some other Tantrum I wrote a couple of days ago - who knows what pisses clouds off? But knowing now that some sentient rain cloud was following me, I took off running towards my car. Just as the cloud unleashed its full precipitated fury at me, I was able to get inside, lock my doors and turn up my Sirius Satellite Radio to shut out the sound of rain drops pelting my car.

You may be thinking that I was now free of this bastard cloud, but no, it rained on my car - and only on my car - the entire way back to my house. I noticed other drivers looking at me as they passed me. Soon all of the cars on the road seemed to know that I was cursed and stayed clear of me, and the evil cloud and I had the road all to ourselves.

As I made my way into my driveway, I yelled over the blaring radio, "What did I do to you, Atmosphere?! I've stopped using aerosol cans, I don't smoke, and we know I don't shower regularly enough for you to be angry at me for water consumption! Just tell me what I did so my days will be sunny again!"

Running from my car to the house, the rain was as furious as I've ever seen it. It nearly knocked me down. The wind blew our trash can in front of me, temporarily halting my progress to the door and putting me off balance. My clothes were soaked, my shoes were brimming with water, and I was freezing.

I finally got under the carport, and although the rain couldn't hit me from directly above, it whooshed at me from the sides of the house. The wind pushed the rain viciously towards its target, and it was all that I could do to put the key into the lock and turn the knob into my house. Just as the wind and rain seemed to know that it would lose its victim, and seemed to scream at me, I burst into my house...

And into the sunshine of my wife's presence! Sanctuary!

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Spring Cleaning

I'm an incredibly gifted procrastinator, and this past year I used my demi-god-like powers of procrastination to push "Spring Cleaning" all the way back to August 1st.

In fact, my wife still thinks I'm cleaning... I'm only blogging at the moment because she thinks I'm thoroughly cleaning the computer room. I think I'm going to be grounded from the blog after she reads this. I'm such a rebel!

Shh, I just heard a noise. Everyone be quiet for a moment while I turn the monitor off and get back to scrubbing the bookcase.

...

Okay, she's gone. It's just you and me now. Whew, that was close!

I bet mailmen feel the way that I do now. No matter how hard I work today, and let's face it, I'm obviously not working all that hard, there will be more work to do tomorrow. Because dirt, like the mail, never stops accumulating. You could just sit on your sofa for an entire week, not moving anything or opening any doors to the outside world, not even eating - and your house would slowly turn 10 shades of gray darker.

Cleaning wasn't a problem for me when I was in college. I just wouldn't clean - no problem! For example, I would throw my clothes into a pile in the corner, which later grew into a Clothes Pyramid. The soiled shirts at the bottom would congeal and harden, then everything else would just mesh together. It was awesome!

I bet that's how the Egyptians made their pyramids. They probably just threw some old rocks that they didn't need into a corner, then after a while they had a big pyramid. Then some joker carved a face into one of them. Now their piles are collectively known as one of the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World, and my pile was just 14 loads of laundry waiting to die a slow and painful death by washing machine.

Of course, this is the only day out of the year that I help my wife clean, so I shouldn't be complaining. Come to think of it, most of the crap I threw out today was my own stuff that I just didn't put in the proper place to begin with.

I think there's a moral in there somewhere. But I'm too tired from pretending to be cleaning to ponder its significance.