Things have been so crazy here I don’t even know where to begin. A great example is my quest to find the perfect thing to give up for lent. It turns out that Easter is this weekend so that leaves me five days without beer.
I promise that this next post will be worth reading. I have an interesting experiment that I have been wanting to do for sometime now. And I finally found a willing participant. So, for now I will leave you with two great music videos that really touched me. It was a bad touch.
This guy’s name is Itzhak. If I’m not mistaken, that rhymes with ball sack. I’m just saying. “I hope I’ll land on youuuu.”
All I can say is, what a power stance! I think this guy helped me work the fax machine at Staples last week.
You know, I have always had a hard time deciphering the difference between influential people and inspirational people. I guess it was only recently that I figured out inspirational people make you want to do something and the influential just make you the way you are; good or bad. So that has me thinking. Who is to blame for me? I’ll tell you who…
Linda Blair. I know what you are thinking but she has had a big influence on my life. This lady set a new standard for things that go bump in the night. I’ll never forget sleeping in a sleeping bag in the parents bedroom at age 12 because I was sure Reagan was hiding in my closet giving me that creepy grin. You know the grin.
So thanks, Linda. Because of you I will always jump to the conclusion that I am possessed if I hear strange noises at night. Even as a 31 year old.
Joe Strummer. It’s weird to realize your influences so much later in life. When Joe died of congested heart failure in 2002 I had been a Clash fan going on 12 years. I was saddened but like many other people I figured a rock star life was one that circles the drain anyway and it was only a matter of time. The other day when I was thinking about this post it really hit me that Joe set the standard for my musical taste and messages the artists bring to the table. Was he the greatest singer? Compared to many, no. Was he the greatest guitarist with the cleanest live performance? No way. But when you read the lyrics and see the raw artistic talent, it will make you involuntarily sit down. The Clash set te bar high for me and Joe’s death really affected me more than I thought.
Peter Benchley. I guess it would be easy to put the blame on Steven Spielberg but I am going right to the source. I saw the movie, Jaws when I was younger, and it’s true that after seeing that I was deathly afraid of the ocean, harbors, ponds, lakes, pools, bathtubs, toilets and anything else that held water, the life-force of great whites. But I feel that blaming Steve is like shooting the messenger. no, I think the mastermind of Jaws deserves a bit of the blame for my inability to tread water in a lake without visions of teeth and dorsal fins.
I read Peter Benchley’s book, Jaws, one summer in high school. It kind of hit me that this guy is the real reason that it’s never going to be safe to go back in the water. I held the same resentment for Peter that I held for my grandfather when he would make me walk down the center of the aisle because he was positive that I would poke out my eye on the hanging hooks. To this day I walk dead center in the aisle for fear of loosing an eye on a sock hook. But I have to let go and forgive them. Besides, they’re both dead and wouldn’t care anyway.
You know, I have been accused many times of being emotionally disconnected or cold when it comes to sad situations and even thought to have never shed a tear. But those who claim such a fact never asked me about Jim Henson. Then I may just ball like an eight year old girl.
I can’t under state how this guy with his socks, strings and foam shaped my childhood and gave me so many precious memories. Memories like renting Muppets Take Manhattan for the fifth time and watching it on the couch with my Dad. Spending the summer in Elk Grove, California with my then 19 year old Uncle as a young child and how he skipped a party to take me to see TheLabyrinth. I even remember the countless summer days watching Sesame Street, never quite sure what was going on with Bert, Ernie and the Yellow Ducky but certain that Grover was the greatest character to ever bless the Public Broadcasting Station. But I’ll never forget on May 16, 1990 when my Dad told me Jim passed away and said in a shaky voice, “Jim Henson died today. He’s been your buddy since you were a baby.” I think many children of the 70’s and 80’s sat alone for a while that day.
I don’t think you can pull off a life like Jim Henson had without being destined to do so. I guess what really got to me was the thought that all the characters I grew up with passed with him. He really did put a soul into what ever he touched. Thanks Jim. Your influence shaped me to be a reflective adult. I hope when I have kids they can have memories like the ones you gave me.
See? I can’t even hear this song without tearing up.
So, that’s just a few of the influences I am under. Maybe they are just puzzle pieces to why I am like this? Who knows? I guess inside I’m just a possessed, punk rock, muppet shark.
I trust everyone had a happy and safe Halloween? I hope so because I did. Actually it was the best one yet. Anyway I am going to post a blog that I have been giving great thought about over the years. You see, I am the type of person to really beat a nonsensical notion to death. One of notion is this odd idea I have of the afterlife. I don’t believe that we will be living on clouds with wings and halos because, to be honest, I am far from deserving a halo. But what I am hoping for is an abundance of the Earthly pleasures we enjoy here and now, without the consequences. Here is an example.
I die. Let’s say I am pissing and drying my hair at the same time because I really want to go out in style. Regardless, I cease to live and I find myself on an escalator to the great beyond. (I do believe there is an escalator of some sort) Once I get to where I am going there will be a door. That door will have a sliding eye-hole and behind it is a guy who asks for the password. (I hope it’s a cartoon ape, I hope it’s a cartoon ape) And some how I know it. I don’t know how I know it, but I do.
Now this idea I have is so wacky that I think many religions are started this way so if you watch CNN in a few years and see me in a compound, you can say you knew me when. Ok, where was I? Oh yeah, so the password will determine whether you get in or go to Hell. In my world, Hell is standing for an eternity on the waiting list for IHOP on a Sunday morning. So be good for goodness sake!
Of course I will say the right one. And beyond the door will be a smoke free English pub with every TV on VH1 Classic, ESPN Classic Bowling 1979-’84, Alf, DOG The Bounty Hunter, and To Catch A Predator (We can poke fun of the people that will be waiting at IHOP forever). I will have a seat at the bar and the seat to my right will be vacant. When I ask the bartender (who is Ernie Pantusso from Cheers) what is new, he will know my name and my drink and say, “Will, it hasn’t been the same without you”. Then he will hand me a menu.
The menu is a list of everyone I have ever wanted to meet and have a drink with. All I have to do is pick a name and they will stroll up, have a seat next to me and order a drink. And then I can strike up a conversation and ask all the questions I have ever wanted to know and listen to the stories that I have always wanted to hear. That would be Heaven for me. Good drink, good conversation and Coach as my bartender. These are my picks for my first day in heaven.
“Romell, you magnificent bastard, I read your BOOOOOK!” God, I would love to hang out with George C. Scott. That guy was one of the greatest actors of our time. Can you imagine the stories this guy had? The parties of Hollywood elite when it was good to be elite. Today the Hollywood elite is equivalent to a dump in a Smucker’s jar but back then, that was acting. And I think our conversation would be quite intriguing.
I wonder what his drink of choice would be? I peg him for a Dwars and a splash guy. In his later years he wasn’t the pillar of health so I imagine that Dwars to be accompanied by a fine cigar and a plate of cream cheese finger sandwiches. I know that my Heaven pub is smoke free but it’s freakin’ George C. Scott, man! Even in the afterlife there are exceptions.
Keith Moon! Can this guy party or what? If you are unfamiliar with Keith, he was the late drummer of The Who, who set the standard on how to be a reckless partying rock star. If there was alcohol, he drank it. If there was something to be snorted, he sniffed it. If there was a hotel room to be destroyed, he not only destroyed the room but the entire hotel. In fact the Holiday Inn still has a ban on The Who today.
He and I would drink a few shots and I would ask him about diving into an empty swimming pool as we have a laugh. To be in the presence of the guy who named Led Zeppelin, inspired Beatle songs, the first to use on stage pyrotechnics, and beyond all else his work with The Who would be fascinating. Now that is a slice of fried gold! Oh yeah, did you know Keith died in the same room Mama Cass from The Mamas and the Papas died in? She didn’t really die choking on a ham sandwich, did she?
As for Keith’s drink I bet that he would drink……everything. And chase it with a bar mat strained shot. For those unfamiliar with that it’s all the spilled alcohol that is collected at the end of the night. I call it a “OH MY FUCKING HELL WHY WOULD YOU DRINK THAT” shot.
“Well in the words of Harry S. Truman, if it’s too hot in the kitchen, stay away from the cook.” I would love to hang out for a few hours Archie Bunker. Not Carroll O’Connor but the character Archie. Hey, when I’m dead and gone I believe this will be possible. I also believe I will drink with Hobbes too so go with me on this one.
The real reason I want to rock out with Archie is so he can call me a Meathead. Is that so wrong to want to be called a Meathead from an American icon? I don’t think so and if I’m good all year, put out cookies and leave a thank you note by the chimney, I think it is only fair that I can be accosted by Archie Bunker. Wait…I think I am confused.
This guy! Who wouldn’t like to tip a few back with Ted Knight? Especially when he does his “Pigs In Space” voice which I am sure would come out right after our third Bullshot. Oh! And ol’ Billy Barool! “Oh Billy Billy Billy Billy Billy.” I say this to myself every time I’m in an odd predicament.
John Candy. Oh geeze. If there is one person I would want to hang around for a while it would be John Candy. I was so sad when he passed away and even today I have a hard time watching certain scenes in his movies. Especially this one:
Ho man! Every time that part of the movie comes, depending on the company, I have to go to the kitchen or do push ups. Something! It’s pathetic to see a grown man whimper over a John Hughes movie.
Well, I bet we would have a blast! He’d reenact that classic scene in Uncle Buck when he flips a quarter to that principal and told her to have a rat chew that thing off her face. Uncle Melanoma head. We’d finish a bottle or two and toss some darts. Oh yeah, that aint purgatory!
The man, the legend. Bernie Mac is definition of cool for me. God, I still can’t believe he is not here with us. But I have faith I will be able to shake his hand someday. And you know what? This is one dude I don’t mind hogging the Holy Jukebox.
I imagine he would be sipping a snifter of VSO and chewing on a Cuban. Me? I would be chugging a Pabst Blue and catching Goldfish crackers in my mouth. And we could be completely happy with that. Damn, I miss Bernie Mac.
I know I am not alone on this one. Who wouldn’t want to spend some quality time with George Carlin? Who? I bet it would be a one sided conversation because I wouldn’t even know where to begin. He seemed like the type that could carry on without much of topic. I doubt he would get old but I could see myself wondering, “I wonder if Gallagher is dead?”
So that is my list. But don’t get me wrong, when I kick the bucket my first priority will still be spending eternity with loved ones. Like how I presume I will be going to Heaven?
Don’t worry! I won’t be buying the big dirt box condo yet. You are stuck with me and my gibberish for your reading-at-work pleasure. Hey! Why are you reading this at work anyway? 😉
So, I have been gone for a while. So much has happened I don’t really no where to start. Actually, nothing exciting but between work, traveling and course study, there hasn’t been very much time for yacking on the blog. And I am sorry. BUT, I did manage to find some winning apparel that only you would appreciate. I found it at the Value Village.
A blog friend of mine made me aware of the infamous Value Village but I believed it only to be of myth. However, on a hunt to find the perfect tacky Christmas sweater for an upcoming party I drove by the sign and it really does exist! I made an illegal u-turn and only killed one person. It’s cool, she was old.
Value Village was everything I had imagined and more. Like any discount clothing stores, the presentation is not the important part. I find that the 3rd grade organization is both endearing and, well, easy for me. I hit my head a few years ago and ever since then I have been a fan of straight forward signage like “Pants” or “Shirts”. Don’t tell me name brands, just tell me what they are. Corn. Unicorn. Unicorn on the cob.
Unfortunately, I didn’t find a sweater worthy enough to rock the Christmas party. The tacky level must be at least a 10 out 10 on the “Nice sweater; Who shot the couch?” scale. But check out the loot I did find!
T-shirts! Oh I am a sucker for odd t-shirts and I found the mother load! Here is the first one. It’s a peanut. Like I have to explain…
Looking closer we see this particular peanut is from Spokane. I live about 25 miles from Spokane so I feel I should represent. Plus, the peanut has “nut” tattooed on both arms. If I ever get the balls to have a sleeve done, I will include “nut” somewhere in the mix.
I guess it’s pretty chick to exploit Jesus for comedic relief nowadays, and to me it gets pretty old. Even if you don’t have a religion, the guy wasn’t that bad. He cured people’s diseases, preached peace and tolerance and oh yeah, he was tortured to death for mankind’s salvation. The jokes on him fall a little short with me. UNLESS, it is done by the religious right themselves. Here we see Jesus Christ advertised like Coke. Really, this shirt makes no sense but it doesn’t have to. It’s Jesus.
I don’t know how I feel about wearing K. Kraut’s shirt but for $0.99, why not?
I don’t think you can find a shirt like this on purpose. You would probably have to go to a print shop and face the embarrassment of saying you want a shirt reading “it’s all good”. Luckily for me, there is Value Village.
I am a little nervous to wear this. My life is full of ironic events and I am pretty sure that if a die in a catostrophic way like a plane crash or explosion, it will be in a shirt like this. Moving on…
Holy Hell! A tribute to Dimebag Darrell, the late guitarist from Pantera! Who would ever part ways with such a shirt? Who ever they are, may they get a rash every time “Cowboys From Hell” is on the radio. Regardless, I own it and I am a little saddened that I already met Phil and Rex a few weeks ago and missed the opportunity to rub Darrell in their face. Kittymao knows what I am talking about.
I had to get this one. One of my best friends is named Vicki. There is no stronger gesture of affection that says you care like wearing your friends name around.
Yeah, I know it’s tacky but I appreciate the humor. I think I may wear this to work for, you know, the irony of it all. That’s a stretch.
Yes I bought a Garth Brooks shirt. And yes, I made small talk with the cashier and claimed that I own everyone of his albums. I even turned the bullshit nob up one notch by saying we went fishing ’93. I gave her some made up FYI stuff like he only drinks warm beer and smokes cloves. She was mesmerized.
It has a back too! The question is where would one wear this? I know I live in North Idaho and I could walk into a grocery and people would compliment me but I make statements. Perhaps I should wear this and no pants? It’s not like I am trying to make Garth Brooks fan friends. Look at this guy! Awkward…
Now here is my favorite shirt. It speaks volumes of what Idaho is to me.
Animal art shirt! I don’t think there are words to express my feeling when I found this. I think I blurted out a word that infused fuck, God, Oreo, dolphin, and bike. Regardless, I scared a lady in a wheelchair and she made a skid mark trying to clear the aisle. I love this shirt and tonight I wasted no time in donning it. Is it as cool as I think it is?
Sad: Food that doesn’t come in anything. Like the chick that works at the PitaPit that handed me a pita sandwich. When I repeated “to go” in the form of a question she said the PitaPit stopped bagging to be more green. I dropped turkey and sprouts on my lap in the name of the environment.
Happy: Having a beer in the shower after a long run.
Sad: Having a beer before a long run. It’s more like a short, limping walk with a possibility of puking. I am not as tough as I used to be.
Happy: Gourmet spicy mustard.
Sad: Honey dijion mustard. I used to like it but one time I swallowed it down the wrong tube and coughed up honey dijion for the rest of the day. Now I fart in it’s general direction.
Happy: My iPhone. It is pretty cool.
Sad: It’s really hard to text and drive at the same time. I usually try not to but the other day I accidentally responded to this girl, “Can I come on you?” Stupid auto-text.
Happy: Chinese food
Sad: Chinese food in a town with a population under 2,000 people. And no Chinese people. It’s funny to think that John and Bethany McMillan named their own restaurant, “Happy Lucky Dragon”.
Happy: Falling asleep to Nick at Nite
Sad: Waking up to Nickelodeon. Especially when Dora The Explorer invades the dream.
Happy: Dropping a line from your favorite movie in an applicable situation.
Sad: Dropping a line from your favorite movie in an applicable situation….and no one has seen it. It’s too bad my favorite movie is the The Burbs’. Only the keepers get those lines.
Happy: Bud Lite commercials. Genius.
Sad: Those mother fucking CreditReport.com commercials. Every time they are on (400x a day) I scream at the TV. I screamed so loud on Saturday that I scared the dog causing him to sprint to the end of the driveway on his hind legs. I don’t know what I dislike more; those commercials or Al Qaeda?
Happy: My morning routine. I get up, put on coffee and turn to the news. Then I go into the bathroom and put a towel in the dryer and get in the shower. After the shower I reach out and can pull the warm towel out of the dryer. Then I dry off and walk over to the fire place and stay warm while I drink coffee and watch the news. Great start.
Sad: It all happens at 5am and it’s 20 degrees outside.
Happy: Everything about Randy Quaid.
Sad: Everything about Diane Keaton.
Happy:
Sad:
Is this a new thing? Do shitheads like this really post videos of themselves watching videos? We have reached a new low in entertainment, folks. And this chick looks about as much fun as wet underwear.
Happy:
Who’s the moosiest moose we know? Marty Moose! Who’s the star of our favorite show? Marty Moose! M is for Merry, we’re merry you see; O is for Oh gosh, Oh golly, Oh gee; S is for Super Swell family glee; E is for Everything you want to be. M – A – R – T – Y; M – O – O – S – E. What’s that spell? Marty Moose! Marty Moose! Marty Moose! (Hyuk), that’s me!
Linda Blair. I know what you are thinking but she has had a big influence on my life. This lady set a new standard for things that go bump in the night. I’ll never forget sleeping in a sleeping bag in the parents bedroom at age 12 because I was sure Reagan was hiding in my closet giving me that creepy grin. You know the 
Joe Strummer. It’s weird to realize your influences so much later in life. When Joe died of congested heart failure in 2002 I had been a Clash fan going on 12 years. I was saddened but like many other people I figured a rock star life was one that circles the drain anyway and it was only a matter of time. The other day when I was thinking about this post it really hit me that Joe set the standard for my musical taste and messages the artists bring to the table. Was he the greatest singer? Compared to many, no. Was he the greatest guitarist with the cleanest live performance? No way. But when you read the lyrics and see the raw artistic talent, it will make you involuntarily sit down. The Clash set te bar high for me and Joe’s death really affected me more than I thought.
Peter Benchley. I guess it would be easy to put the blame on Steven Spielberg but I am going right to the source. I saw the movie, Jaws when I was younger, and it’s true that after seeing that I was deathly afraid of the ocean, harbors, ponds, lakes, pools, bathtubs, toilets and anything else that held water, the life-force of great whites. But I feel that blaming Steve is like shooting the messenger. no, I think the mastermind of Jaws deserves a bit of the blame for my inability to tread water in a lake without visions of teeth and dorsal fins.
The man, the legend. Bernie Mac is definition of cool for me. God, I still can’t believe he is not here with us. But I have faith I will be able to shake his hand someday. And you know what? This is one dude I don’t mind hogging the Holy Jukebox.
I know I am not alone on this one. Who wouldn’t want to spend some quality time with George Carlin? Who? I bet it would be a one sided conversation because I wouldn’t even know where to begin. He seemed like the type that could carry on without much of topic. I doubt he would get old but I could see myself wondering, “I wonder if Gallagher is dead?”
Casserole of Disaster 