Thursday, November 27, 2014

Stop me if you've heard this one ...

Well here it is.  Thursday night.  Thanksgiving.  Everyone has left.  I'm just "Carol Burnettin' in the kitchen."

The dinner was nice.  Now that we're done having a laugh and singing a song, I'm sitting here waiting for 11PM.

11PM is special tonight.  For 3 reasons.

Reason number one.  It is the deadline to pre-register for frosty cross.  This has been up in the air for us all week.  So deciding by 11 tonight was the goal.  We did it.  We were able to squeeze in Saturday.  Jack and I are signed up for Saturday only.  We race at the same time.  Currently (90 minutes before registration closes) there are 4 people signed up for the cat 4 race.  I am predicted Limpach (last place).  Hang on, I have my reasons, but I have to post that to facebook right now.  I'll be back ...

Oh man, talk about cathartic.  Sometimes, I just let this stuff simmer, knowing my day will come.

Anyway, while Facebook beeps at me (as it is now doing) because of my status update, I will get to reason number 2.  Disclosure:  I don't remember what I was talking about so I have to go back and read this ...  Sorry. Hang on again ...

Oh yeah, 11PM.

The second reason 11PM is special is that if you are a Pearl Jam Fan club member, at 11PM you can buy a very limited edition 7" vinyl of Mother Love Bone something or other.

So I'm sitting here hoping I can nab one of those bad MoFos at 11PM.

I don't even like Mother Love Bone.  At all.  But the rhythm guitarist and bass player from Pearl Jam were in the group, so I have to buy it if I can.

I think it was pretty cool how I referred to Stone and Jeff in generic terms.

Anyway, before I started this compulsory rambling ... shit, sorry, please hang on one more time.  I'll explain in a minute, I've got to nerd-rock out for a few minutes ...

Whew.  That was worth it.  Where was I?  Oh yeah, before I started this post, I slapped in "Stop Making Sense."  I have been listening/watching while I post this.  Then the song (in the video) above came on.  So yeah, I had to nerd-rock out.  Seriously.  Watch this.  It is so effin' cool.  I know bikesnob constantly gives this guy shit, but c'mon. That's some cool shit there.  Nobody sing/jogs anymore.  Cryin' shame, it is.  This guy was Pee-wee Herman before Pee-wee Herman was cool (pretty sure Pee-wee patterned his persona after David Byrne).  Watch the clip.  Watch it.

Actually, it's ok if you don't watch it.  I will.

Did I finish reason number 2?  Buy vinyl of band I don't like?  Yeah? ok.

Reason number 3.  I'm releasing this post at 11PM!

I have a few minutes before this has to be submitted so I'll just fill in with some more rambling.

On Facebook, I will rarely, if ever, enter into any sort of political debate.  I don't think there's necessarily anything wrong with it, it's just not for me.  You can state your opinion on an issue and no matter how articulate you are, you will always influence zero people.

People post political shit for no reason other than to say "Look at me!  Look at me!"

Well don't look at me, but I have to say something about Ferguson.  I will not put this on Facebook because I'm afraid it will be taken the wrong way.

I am deeply saddened by the situation.  I have no idea who's right or wrong but this whole late night talk show war thing has got to stop.

Whenever "The Tonight Show"  gets a new host, somebody's feelings get hurt and a good show ends.  Well, I never liked Conan, but you know what I mean.

You know what Shim?  Don't ask because this time, I don't even know.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

The names were not changed. Nobody's innocent here.

"And in the death, as the last few corpses lay rotting on the slimy thoroughfare.  The shutters lifted in inch and temperance building high on poacher's hill.  And red mutant eyes gazed down on hunger city.  No more big wheels.  Fleas the size of rats sucked on rats the size of cats and 10,000 people-oids split into small tribes.  Coveting the highest of the sterile skyscrapers like packs of dogs assaulting the glass fronts of love-me avenue.  Ripping and re-wrapping mink and shiny silver frocks.  Now legwarmers.  Family badge of sapphire and cracked emerald ...

 any day now ...

The year of the diamond dogs."

Oh the glass fronts of love-me avenue.  That takes me back ...

When I was about 16 and a half, I was a little stressed out because I didn't have a job.  I hadn't worked since abandoning my cushy job at the Omaha World Herald.  I knew plenty of people who had carried papers well into their late teens, but I just couldn't stomach the idea.  I knew people who were working at gas stations.  I even knew a couple of guys who said they knew some people who had landed what was considered to be the ultimate job back then.  A post at Baker's grocery store.

The rumor was it was a 2 year waiting list to even get an interview at Baker's.  But if somehow you should get hired on, it was easy street, baby.

I actually put in an application at Baker's.  I went to Customer Service and asked the girl for an application.  She looked down at me (at least that's what I believed).  I mean, she was already "in".


Anyways, I applied at a couple dozen places where I really thought it would be cool to work.  After hearing absolutely nothing from any of them, I started applying everywhere else.

Wendy's called me.  Not too bad, I thought.  Wendy's was just about 4 blocks from my house.  Unfortunately, they needed me at the Wendy's on 72nd (3.5 miles from my house).

Looking back on it, I did not interview well.

I was asked questions about being able to handle school and work.  My basic strategy was to say that I never did any school work.  I always blew it off, so I'd have plenty of time for Wendy's.

The person interviewing me was named "Beth."

It is my sincere hope that nobody who knows Beth (or knew her) reads this, because it is about the most embarrassing thing I've ever written (if you know Beth).

During the interview, I thought she was kind of cute.

Looking back, it must have been her greasy position of authority.

I don't know, but it was probably my charm that got me the sweet minimum wage ($3.35) gig at Wendy's.

Back then, I thought I was going to be a famous comedian.  After a few months at Wendy's I hated Beth so much that I vowed to look her up some day and fire her.

I honestly don't know what I had against her.  If I think back, it is possibly because she was such a fucking relentlessly cruel bitch.  But that isn't even close to justifying how much I hated her.

Anyway, we had this thing we did at Wendy's.

Usually, if an order was held up, it was because the grill man was "burnt."

If you were running the grill and you ran out of cooked meat, they called it "burnt"

Wendy's burgers always came straight from the grill after somebody ordered it.  We kept several rows of burgers at various stages of cooked-ness all day long.  Too many patties and the meat would dry out and become "chili meat."  Too few and the customers were tapping their foot, arms crossed, face grimaced, etc.

If you were "burnt" or close to burnt, the sandwich maker would be waiting for you.  All the toppings (except mustard) would be on the bun.  The mustard was applied to the top of the patty after it was placed on the bun.

Why am I bringing all of this up?  Because I need to explain that when the sandwich maker was waiting on the "burnt" grillman, it was customary to sing to the grill man, "Any day now."

One time, I was sandwich maker while my brother was burnt on grill.  Thing is, I was a huge Bowie fan.  No way I was singing some lame-ass Carpenters song or whatever it was.

But tradition dictated I sing, "Any day now."

So I started in with the little poem at the top of this page.  Steve was pretty burnt.  I had the whole thing memorized.

"And in the death ..." I started.

Steve was not much of a Bowie fan, but he knew the song.  The recognition made him smile.  He listened with what I'd like to think is awe as I recited the entire verse, finishing up with "any day now - the year of the diamond dogs!  This ain't rock 'n roll!  THIS IS GENOCIDE!!!"

"That was excellent," he said as he delivered the single cheese to the waiting bun.  I slapped the mustard on, wrapped it up and sent it out.

Then I turned to Sue Winslow, the hottie who worked the front register, and sang in my best Bowie voice, "As they pulled you out of the oxygen tent, you asked for the latest party ..."

I totally did not have game.  At all.

Full disclosure: As I started this post, I put on "Diamond Dogs" by David Bowie.  I've been singing along the whole time.  I pretty much remember all the words, which kind of impresses me.  Probably still not Sue Winslow though.

and sc*ne


Thursday, November 13, 2014


Or maybe metascrooge.  Not sure.  I just know that I find myself being grumpy about what people get grumpy about.  I read the other day that Von Maur will not be opening up on Thanksgiving day.  For me personally, that was a huge relief.  It's nice to have at least one day a year where I am forced not to go to Von Maur.

I wasn't surprised that Von Maur would not open on Thanksgiving.  I was surprised there was an article about it.  Until I read the article.  Von Maur was responding to the news that Target would be opening at 6PM on Thanksgiving.  What!?!

Well I will tell you this, Target Stores.  I will never, ever, ever spend another dollar at one of your stores.  I'm sorry, but that's just Unmerican.  Thanksgiving is a time for people to spend time with their families (and the indigenous people of the land).

The only people who don't deserve to see their families on Thanksgiving are convenience store workers.  Oh, and people who work at movie theaters.  Hospitals stay open too, but you don't want to eat there.  Oh!  And anybody who plays professional football for either Detroit or Dallas.  Plus all their fans.  But everybody else, including Target employees, should be with their families until well after 6 PM.

There's nothing more Merican than sitting around watching a bunch of distant relatives lie around moaning from the pain of a day of advanced surfeiting, checking their parlay sheets, farting, etc..  

I should just back up a little and clarify my statement about never spending money at Target.  I will only change my mind about it if there's something I need to get at Target.  Or if Target is on my way.  Otherwise, I'm done.

After the "Von Maur vs Target" article was the comments.

I can't actually read all the comments on something as controversial as a department store opening up on Thanksgiving evening during the Dallas Cowboys or Detroit Lions football game or whatever.

But I like to skim them.

One guy advocated the return of "blue laws."  These are religion based laws about buying cars or liquor on Sunday.

Plenty of people vowed to never set foot in Target again.  Meanwhile, they praised The Von Maur decision.

They make the point that families should be together on Thanksgiving.  Like this:

"Where do you work, dear?"

"I'm still at Target."

"I told you you should have stayed in school.  Hopefully you'll go back some day"

"I'm fucking outta here!"

Yelling, "Yeah! Don't be late for your shift! It's almost 6 !"

But that's not really what I'm metagrumpy about.  I mean I'm a little grumpy that people care.

What I'm mostly metagrumpy about is all this stuff about the moment Thanksgiving season ends and Christmas season begins. 

People are pissed about it.  That's ok with me.  My problem is they talk about it.  They're all grumpy about it. 

Then I get grumpy.  I'm all "Why do you care?"

Lots of people have a surprisingly specific timeline for the events between November 1 and January 1.

There is a correct day to put up the tree.  To take it down.  To play Christmas music.  To decorate the halls with boughs of holly.  Fa-ra-ra-ra-ra Ra-ra-ra-ra (see what I did there?).

People are seething about seeing some Christmas related thing - literally weeks before Thanksgiving.

"Fuck,"  They'll say.  "That shit ain't right," they'll continue.

"Jesus, please shut up," I'll conclude.

But you know what?  I blame God for this.  That's right.  Go to the source.  When God started America, he should have realized that he put Thanksgiving too close to Christmas.

Surely he could have rigged it so Mary gave birth to Jesus sometime in April or something.

Ok, I'm just having a laugh.  I guess people who care about this stuff say Jesus was probably born in April.  April 7th actually.

But that wouldn't work at all.  The way Easter jumps around from like late February to sometime in June, how awkward would that be when Easter and X-mas are on the same day?  Then what would Target and Von Maur do?  Then who would the Detroit Lions play?  

These are the mysteries of the universe.

Final note:  I'd like to apologize for how horrible this post is, but screw it.  Bah Humbug and such.

Oh yeah, and Happy New Year.

Thursday, November 06, 2014

Wholesome Steelcut goodness.

FYI - this blog is still suspended.  At some point in the near future, all will be great.  I will resume normal cockbullery.  What's cockbullery?  How in the heck should I know?  I just made it up when the phrase "cock and bull" as in "cock and bull story" whispered into my brain as I was typing the sentence.

What's a "Cock and bull story?"  I think it's kind of like bullshit but with less shit and more cock.  But I don't really know.  Fine.  Hang on ...

Ok - this is what says.

Cock-and-bull story: noun, 1. (informal) an obviously improbable story, esp a boastful one or one used as an excuse.

So - yeah - it's informal.

But ok, back to the title of this post.  I was sitting here trying to decide what to write.  It wasn't easy.  I seriously don't want to write any more "boo hoo" posts.  I'd rather just do the "Off the air"  thing.

Or for you older folks:
Anywho's I know it would count and I'm totally within my right to do something like the "off the air" thing.  However, even though this post will once again be brief, I do have something to say.

As I was trying to decide what to write, I looked over to my oatmeal just sitting there.  I realized that the one thing in life that is so important is maintaining a healthy lifestyle. If you do what you can, you'll have no regrets.  Maybe you'll have a little more time to enjoy life and all of it's wonders.  Sniff.

But since this is the 2014's, you can't just "look" at your nourishment.  You have to take a photograph of it and post it to the world.  So here's that part.  My oatmeal:

So much goodness.
This is a bottle of Samuel Smith's  Wholesome Steelcut Oatmeal Stout. It was a gift from my sister, who is always cognizant of the fact that I treat my body as a drunken temple.  Hic!

After I took this photo, I sent it to my email account.  Then when the email came, I got excited because I had new email.  I was pretty sure it was my friend Matt, answering a question I had asked earlier that day.

It wasn't.  It was the photo I'd just sent myself.  I must be losing my mind.  I'd better get some more oatmeal ...