That’s right
Today is my 47th Birthday
Come on…
leave some love.
EDIT: Thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes. I’ve just read the single most humbling thing I’ve ever read in my life: http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=boofshavik Thank you son. I’m honored more than you could ever know.
Musicals based on the songs of folks with lots of DWI’s
On Saturday, my wife and I went to go see the musical “Moving Out” which is comprised entirely of the music of Billy Joel and is based on characters from his song “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant”.
It was a spectacular show. The musicians were great and the dancing was unbelievable. To my knowledge this now makes three musicals based on the catalogues of Rock/Pop musicians. In addition to the Billy Joel musical there is a Queen musical, and also one based on the music of ABBA (shudder).
I’m a little disturbed by this trend. While it opens up a plethora of possible musicals for Broadway, I’m not sure that very many of them would be a good idea.
Can you imagine a show based on the music of the Sex Pistols? I can, but it’s a scary thought. What about Alanis Morissette? The music could be interspersed with readings from Sylvia Plath poems and the show could end with mass suicide counseling.
I also suppose that any number of country artists could have their songs developed into a musical. It wouldn’t matter which artist because they would all have the same plot; lose your wife, lose your house, lose your dog, etc. etc. ad nauseam.
I would like to see someone try a musical based on the songs of Alice Cooper. Not because I’m particularly fond of his music, I’d just like to see how they would choreograph the song “Cold Ethyl.”
There was one small hiccup with “Moving Out.” There is supposed to be a nude scene in the show, but the arts council here in the oil capital of Oklahoma knew that we Tulsa residents would all be mortified and disgusted by such a decadent display of depravity, so the dancer was covered for that particular number. Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to drag out my dog-eared copies of National Geographic.
My wife did point out that we had only heard there was going to be a nude scene and that I simply assumed it was going to be a woman. It could just have easily been one of the male dancers, which brings up…
T and A please…not T and HA
…the whole issue of the MPAA and television rating systems. It used to be that when you saw either NC-17 or TV-MA, you knew that there was going to be nudity and that it was going to be female nudity like God intended. There has been a very disturbing trend in the last ten years of the nudity actually being male. I truly believe that our founding fathers intended for all movie and television nudity to be female. I’m certain, though, that this trend isn’t going to end and that it will only get worse in the years ahead. Therefore I suggest an addition to the ratings systems so that unsuspecting male viewers like me are not caught unaware. I propose the ratings NC-17-HA and TV-MA-HA with “HA” standing for “hairy ass.” Speaking of disturbing trends in male nudity…
Boy Toy Fever
…the “older woman” with her “boy toy” social phenomenon is getting a great deal of press with the announcement of the marriage of Ashton Kutcher to Demi Moore. Apparently Demi is following in a long line of women celebrities who like their men on the “fresher” side. Other couples mentioned in the press include, Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins, Madonna and Guy Ritchie, and Sheryl Crow and Lance Armstrong.
This begs the question; “Why would these younger men want to be in relationships with women that much older than they are?” Duh…have you seen Demi Moore, Susan Sarandon, and Sheryl Crow? It actually makes perfect sense. Older women, as a rule, tend to be a lot more interesting. The real question is why beautiful, intelligent, talented women such as these would want to date someone like Ashton Kutcher? I mean, come on, Ashton Kutcher?!?!? Does Demi want their honeymoon to show up on an episode of “Punked?”
I suppose there is the issue of the disparity of when the two genders reach their sexual peak. This is actually one of life’s cruelest jokes, because if we were to follow it to the letter, women in their 40’s could only date 18 year old guys.
I think I’ve figured it out, though. Since men tend to take such lousy care of themselves and have a tendency to drop dead about 10 years earlier than women, this is the female species’ way of not having to spend the last years of their life alone. However, if the trend continues, that shouldn’t be a problem because those feisty widows can just go pick them up a hot 20-something boy toy.
TUFFY THE TIGER
(part duex)
I promised a part 2 regarding a “loving response” to the victims of Katrina, so here goes. When I did my post about compassionate conservatism being an oxymoron I got some replies that echo a type of rhetoric I often hear. It goes something like this (cue violin music): “When I was young my family was so poor that we ate dirt three meals a day. If we were lucky and it rained, we had mud for dessert. When it was a good week at the sewage plant, my dad would bring home pieces of broken bottles he dug out of the muck for us to play with. But I overcame my humble beginnings. I walked 500 miles a week collecting empty beer cans and in my spare time I was a mule for the Columbian drug cartels. I raised enough money to send myself to college. Now I’m the CEO of a multi-national corporation who’s about to be sent to prison for securities fraud. I realized the American dream and so can anyone else. So I’ll be damned if I’m going to give a cent to people who are in circumstances just like mine when I was a kid.”
To those folks I say: “You think you have a sad story?!?!?! Well here’s mine, and mine is actually true!!!” I was an only child and when I was 7 my mother was diagnosed with schizophrenia. My dad traveled so I was left at home by myself to take care of my mother. During my senior year in high school my father lost his job. That loss combined with the astronomical medical bills incurred by my mother being in and out of mental hospitals meant there was no money for me to go to college. So, I worked three jobs simultaneously so I could go to school. I got up every morning at
What I don’t understand is why that bit of personal history should make me resentful of others who don’t have to do what I had to do. I wouldn’t wish my college life on ANYONE, so I’m thrilled when someone gets a scholarship, even one they might not deserve, because it gives them an extra chance to succeed. And if they piss away that opportunity? well, I’m sorry they did, but I’m not sorry they got the chance.
For those of you who want to look at this from a religious/biblical perspective, I give you Matthew 25:35-40. “For I was hungry, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me. Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee hungry, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
Ok…I’m not a theologian, but I do have a seminary degree and I don’t see anywhere in there where Jesus said feed me if I’m appropriately grateful, or clothe me as long I’m not standing with my hand out.
For those who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about a religious perspective then give to the less fortunate because it’s what a mature, decent, caring person does. If you’re giving because you want to be the hero, or if you’re giving because you want people to weep in gratitude for your incredible generosity then you’re doing it for the wrong reason.
Are there people who are abusing the system? Of course. Are there people who get angry because they got Jason’s Deli instead of McDonalds? Yes, that’s been documented. But I’d rather err on the side of providing a hand up to people who are ungrateful and who are abusing the system than to miss people who genuinely need help.
Being resentful because someone got something you didn’t is actually kind of childish. So let’s get past this phase of not wanting to share our kindergarten toys and be decent human beings.
At least that’s what Tuffy says.
I don’t sleep with him..I swear to God I don’t.
I BLAME MY
(Part 1)
I’ve been in extensive psychotherapy for many years now and just yesterday we finally had a major break through: everything that has ever gone wrong in my life is the fault of Tuffy the Tiger.
The year was 1963 and I was five years old. A local television station produced its own children’s show called “Mr. Zing and Tuffy”. Tuffy was a six foot tall talking tiger and I worshipped him. On each episode of the show, about 30 local children sat on bleachers in the studio to watch the antics of Mr. Zing and Tuffy in person. For my birthday, my parents arranged for me to be on the show. During that show Tuffy was greeting all the children and when he got to me I noticed that he had screen mesh where his eyes were supposed to be. I could see inside the eyes enough to tell that Tuffy was actually just a person inside a costume. I was crushed. I was so crushed, in fact, that when he asked my name, I was unable to respond and just sat there starring into his damn screen-eyes.
The next day at school all of my friends who saw me on TV teased me because I was unable to say my name. Apparently, they already knew that Tuffy wasn’t real…those uppity kindergarten bastards! My self esteem was crushed beyond repair.
This, of course, led to every future failure in my life. It was Tuffy’s fault that I didn’t get the girl. It was Tuffy’s fault that I dropped the ball in the big game. It was Tuffy’s fault that I didn’t get the promotion. And that embarrassing incident involving erectile dysfunction?…you guessed it, it was all Tuffy’s fault.
Now that I’ve been able to assign blame for all of life’s difficulties, I will finally be able to function as a productive citizen.
We appear to have a national obsession with laying blame. I certainly understand this because it’s human nature. If something bad happens we want to be able to point the finger at someone. I think this is why so many people subscribe to the “everything happens for a reason” philosophy. The idea that random horrible things can happen to good people is just too frightening a concept; there has to be a higher purpose for what seems like indiscriminate suffering.
I personally don’t subscribe to that philosophy, because in my mind that would make God one sick, twisted fuck; but I do understand the need to lay blame.
The problem I see is not in the laying of blame. If someone screws up and they are clearly at fault, they should be blamed and they should take responsibility for their actions. The problem is that assigning blame often seems to be the only point. We seem satisfied once blame is assigned and we don’t push for any real change beyond that point. Once we can point a finger, our moral outrage has been satiated and we simply go on our merry way.
My favorite so far is the group that said they mapped out the locations of clinics in
I will have to admit that I was impressed that Bush took responsibility for the poor governmental response to Katrina. Does this mean that anything will actually change? Will we a do a better job in the future? Will our response tomorrow be different when it’s million dollar homes that are destroyed rather than clapboard shotgun houses? Or are we just happy that that blame has been assigned so that now we can go back to business as usual? Time will tell.
Many will take the argument I just laid out to point to the poor victims of Katrina and say they should take responsibility for themselves and that the government has no responsibility to give them a thing. I’ve heard lots of “I worked my way up from the dirt and made something out of myself, so I’ll be damned if I’m going to give a thing to those lazy welfare cheats” kind of statements. I’ll address that loving attitude in part 2.
In the meantime, I still have a small stuffed version of Tuffy and he sits on a shelf in my closet. I’ll bet he’s really to blame for Katrina.
TV – SHMEEVEE
The news has been incredibly depressing lately. You can’t turn on the TV without seeing images of the devastated gulf coast, images of casualties in
But there is hope on the horizon. A monumental event is happening this week. An event so important that million upon millions of Americans will stop everything they are doing to witness it: The fall television season premiers.
I like to think that I’m above television. I like to think that I typically turn off the tube in favor of spending an evening absorbed in the works of Dostoevsky. I like to think that, but it’s not true. I get sucked into the swirling vortex of mindless programming just like everyone else, and I lap it up like the pablum it is.
So here are my feelings about a few shows that are gracing our airways:
Rock Star/INXS. It’s not a new show. It’s already been on 10 weeks, but I’m completely hooked. Think of it as American Idol with actual talent. The show is really an excuse for Brooke Burke to practice posing for her next Maxim cover and for Dave Navarro to act as a poster child for eyebrow waxing. The finale is tonight. My bet is on Mig. (edit: The finale is over and JD won. Oh well, shows you what the hell I know)
The Biggest Loser. Why would I want to watch a show that exploits overweight people and is done in incredibly poor taste? It could be because I find it inspiring in a callous, cruel, and manipulative sort of way. Actually I’m hoping that one of the guys will sit on Jillian; that shrieking harpy of a coach, and crush her skinny little ass.
Survivor –
Medium. I like the idea of a suburban housewife who sees dead people. If only one of them would help her fix her hair.
Nip/Tuck. Violence, adultery, necrophilia, child molestation, divorce, suicide: your basic family show. I watch it for the uplifting social commentary.
Actually, when it comes to TV, I can take it or leave it. So this evening I’m going to go home and brush off my copy of Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov in the original Russian…
The TV remote is lying underneath it.
“So this is working out very well for them” – Barbara Bush
or
Why Compassionate Conservatism is an oxymoron.
Those of us who are white, middle aged, middle class, middle Americans should pat ourselves on the back. Why? Because it’s 2005, the Civil Rights Movement is a distance memory, and racism has been abolished.
Bullshit.
Do you know how I know this isn’t true? Because I’m a white, middle aged, middle class, middle American and I’m a racist.
Oh, I certainly don’t mean to be. After all, I’m a
Racism use to be blatant. Now, more often, it tends to be subtle and therefore much more insidious. The more blatant type often raises its ugly head in places you wouldn’t normally expect it. A case in point from my personal history:
As I’ve mentioned in earlier posts, I used to be a full time minister. My first church out of college was the
Step forward 25 years. Barbara Bush, while touring hurricane relief centers in
Personally, when it comes to being a racist, I have my bad moments and my good moments. A recent bad moment:
My wife and I were driving across
The prognosis isn’t all bad though. About two months ago my company held its annual sales training meeting. Part of the curriculum involved some of the new sales recruits doing “selling simulations” while us old-timers rated their performances. One particular recruit (Reggie) really stood out. Later someone ask me, “so what did you think of the company’s first black salesman?” The question actually startled me because I had thought about Reggie as a talented salesperson. I had thought about Reggie as a friendly and outgoing person. I had also been thinking that Reggie was a great catch for our company, but up until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to me that he was black. I don’t mean to say he didn’t look African-American, he did. My mind had just never categorized him in that way. In that moment I felt a glimmer of hope that I might one day evolve into a person who completely embodies the sentiments I so fervently espouse.
Racism will continue to exist until we can celebrate the riches of ethnic heritage while, at the same time, be completely blind to that heritage as it relates to our attitudes about the value of our fellow travelers on planet earth.
Barbara Bush (and the rest of the Bush clan) may call themselves “Compassionate Conservatives” but her attitude reveals she’s still a racist, even if it is a subtle one.
CASPER AND HIS DAMN RADIO
Apparently, our house is haunted.
A couple of weeks ago, my wife woke up in the middle of the night, nudged me and ask if I could hear a radio playing. Being old and deaf, I informed her that I most certainly could not hear a radio playing. I said this in a manner that clearly conveyed that I thought she was crazy (I’m a very sensitive husband). This continued for several nights without me being able to hear any “out of place” noise at all. I was getting ready to see if a psychiatrist friend of mine might be able to prescribe some medication for her when, at last…
I heard it too. The night before last, we switched off the light and were laying there in the darkness. I nudged her and told her to turn her clock radio off. She responded with the glee of a person unjustly accused of murder who’s just been acquitted; “my clock radio isn’t on, slime ball.” So, I checked my clock radio. It wasn’t on. I made sure the TV downstairs wasn’t on. I then tried to systematically rule out every possible source for the sound. After doing so, I laid back down, and very quietly in the background… the sound of a radio was clearly evident. It eventually faded out and I drifted back to sleep.
This morning, at about
Creepsville.
I am actually somewhat enamored by the idea of having a radio playing ghost. My wife, however, does not share this view. I keep playing around with what kind of mythology I could create for this ghost. Perhaps someone from beyond is trying to reach us through cryptic radio messages. Perhaps the ghost just really likes top 40 radio. The possibilities are endless.
So…I propose a contest. I’d like to hear your thoughts about what the back story could be for our radio playing ghost. You could even name our ghost if you’d like. The winner gets an all expense paid trip to our home to perform the exorcism.
EDIT: We have a spectacular entry! Head on over to my friend Novemberreins’s site and read the harrowing tale of Rebekah and her beau Mark. http://www.xanga.com/novemberrein
WHAT I DID ON MY SUMMER VACATION
OR…
HOW TO BE A WINE SNOB IN THREE EASY LESSONS
It’s been 11 days since I updated. If you thought I might have fallen off the face of the earth; quite the contrary. As those wacky Brits say, I’ve been on holiday.
This year my wife and I decided to head north to the land of the Moose, the Maple leaf, and millions of people who pepper every conversation with “eh” for no apparent reason. (Okay…for everyone who saw
We decided to take a bicycling tour of the wine country on the
I’ve been troubled for some time by my lack of knowledge about wine. I always hate it when I go to a restaurant and order a bottle of wine and the waiter stands by the table waiting for me to perform the “sacred wine ceremony”. I tell people I hate it because it seems really pretentious to go through those motions for a bottle of wine I just spent $30.00 on when I know good and well I can buy the same bottle at Joe’s Liquor Emporium and Bait Shop for $6.99 on special. The real reason I hate it, though, is because I’m embarrassed about the fact that I don’t really know what to do, or why I’m doing it. So…I set out to become, at least, slightly less ignorant.
After several days of peddling from winery to winery, I’ve become convinced that it is the perfect vacation. You’re outdoors in beautiful weather, you’re peddling through breathtaking scenery, you’re getting some exercise, and most importantly, no one seems concerned that you’ve got a really good wine buzz going by
We stayed in a Bed and Breakfast in a quaint little Victorian styled town called
My bicycle had a special seat designed by the Acme Bicycle Seat and Anal Probe Company. My wife suggested I might be more comfortable wearing those padded bicycle shorts. I want everyone to try and imagine the enormous ass in this picture crammed in a pair of bicycle shorts. Are you nauseous? I thought so.
I can hear you asking; “Were you worried that you’d be able to ride for miles and miles every day?” The answer is no, because I’m a seasoned athlete in top physical condition.
Besides, after getting lots of great exercise, we sustained ourselves by partaking in nutritious chocolate fondue.
We attended a seminar at one of the wineries which explained the “sacred wine ceremony”, how to pair wine with food, why different types of wine go in different bottles, why you drink different types of wines out of different glasses, and how to drink the wine samples out of every glass on this table when no one was looking.
On several tours we were told not to go into the vineyards and touch the grapes. How can they expect us to follow the rules when we’ve just sampled 14 of their different varieties?
We did take some time to pause and rest. Here I am taking a moment to think. During this moment of contemplation, I was able to develop a cure for cancer, plot a course for world peace, and discover the meaning of life. Unfortunately, I forgot to write it all down.
Finally, we did decide to go south to
It was a great trip. Look for me in your local restaurant, I’ll be the one checking the color, feeling the cork, sticking my nose in the glass, and twirling and slurping the wine. After all you can’t be too careful with a premium bottle of Strawberry Hill.
