Thursday, November 12, 2009
When I came to realize these things, I in some way promised myself and my future children that I would try to create them in the most mundane fashion that produced the least amount of possible back story. As fate should have it, the first addition to our loving family will one day be tortured with the terribly fabulous way in which they were conceived. I’ll spare you the details (mostly because I certainly remind you more of Tom Arnold than Tom Cruise) but it really all started because we just needed a vacation. Our most favorite place to go has always been Las Vegas, and this time we tried to keep our trip on the DL, a couple’s getaway if you will. We would actually get adult activities in; if you catch my meaning (previous trips prohibited such activity based on poor timing).
Las Vegas is a fabulous city with an exceptional marketing campaign that completely captures the frivolity and carefree attitude you are lead to believe exists. They promote an amnesia based vacation getaway that completely absolves one of any repercussions for the wild and crazy time they may have. They tell you it never happened. They are lying to us! I am here to tell you that on May 17th (or near that date anyway) there will be flesh and bone proof that What Happens in Vegas Doesn’t Stay There! And in about sixteen years that poor proof will hear all about it!
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
In desperation, I consulted the Dr. Oz Show (shut up!) for answers. Amazingly Dr. Oz explained that during fetal development, a certain chemical is released into the baby’s blood stream that actually slows the activity of the right brain, which houses much of the emotional sensitivity and communication skills. This chemical is predominantly found in highest quantities in roughly half of developing babies, and continues to dominate that population through their adult life. The chemical? Why TESTOSTERONE of course!! At this point, I would ask that the males in the room quickly run for cover…or assume your traditional position when you receive the “I told you so” moment from your estrogen rich partner. If you are gay men, you may simultaneously point the finger at each other. For our lesbian friends, clearly you have perfect communication skills; you may now leave the room.
So, it is clear that my affinity for my foot is not through any fault of my own. It is clearly my mother and father’s fault and God (non-denominational deity may be substituted here) had a part in it to. Testosterone was given to me, I never knowingly took it, nor was I aware of the effects it was having on me. Aside from the penis, the beard and the amazing amount of muscle, there were no indications that I was benefiting from these. I blame this all on my wi…mmm…warfle…wurble… wow, this foot tastes like strawberry cheesecake!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Ladies, if you ignored my warning and still happen to be reading this blog and it sounds amazingly familiar, take two deep breaths and step away from the knife set. He’s only doing what he is genetically compelled to do because in less civilized times, the man was the hunter and therefore was constantly needed in the society. There wasn’t a local grocery and a group wouldn’t outsource their hunting needs. In modern times, however, the only needs a man fulfills involve sex and upkeep. If he’s married, sex is a ritual performed once or twice a month simply to ward off any evil spirits lurking under the covers, which can also be accomplished by using a sanitizing detergent bath. Fortunately for our modern male homo-sapiens, upkeep seems a decent way for a man to remain dutifully needed and not totally replaced by a battery powered substitute. The difficulty lies in keeping enough things in disrepair that the female feels compelled to continue utilizing her husband, but he must be on guard not to let everything go awry for she may elect to replace him or phone a suitable substitute. While this vicious circle of repair is not consciously put into action by males, it does however preserve our place in the society. So when the toilet is on the fritz for several weeks, just remember it’s all societies fault and we husbands need to be needed, too!
Friday, August 28, 2009
If caffeine production must be preserved, think of what we would have to do for the pharmaceutical companies. Think about how many of the people you know are on some kind of mood altering substance, whether they are anti-depressants or anti-psychotics. Now I’m not saying that some people don’t need medication but I think the vast majority of us are just bored and frustrated and feel like rats trapped in a maze. It’s amazing how much our beloved technology has not increased our free time but rather trapped us in an inescapable never-ending circle of availability. When do any of us actually hang up, or tune out? When do we disconnect with the rest of the world and connect with the people under our roofs? When do we actually take time to listen to the silence? Take a minute to turn off every piece of communication device you have for one hour. If you don’t actually go crazy from withdrawal, you may actually get to a place called serenity and you might feel the inner peace and tranquility of…hang on, got a call from the pharmacy on the other line…Xanax must be ready…oooh, just got a fantasy football update…I could use a latte espresso bumbalala…
Thursday, August 6, 2009
A few weeks ago I placed a note on Facebook soliciting blog ideas, and a few of my concerned friends sent in rather creative ideas listed below (the names of been changed to protect the goofy):
Trachel: If snails could run...
Cho: I was also thinking about young kids with cellphones. I saw a 10 yr old kid at 9 this morning talking on a cell. WTF could he possibly have to talk about?
Blainie: ok.. we need your take on one of the biggest debates in history... Jeanie vs. Bewitched
I thank them for their bravery, as I’m sure they were aware they would end up in a blog. As an homage, I shall address their issues (no, just the ones listed above…Jerry Springer can handle the rest!)
Young kids with cell phones will prove to be an evolutionary necessity. Millennia from now the human race will no longer have opposable thumbs and their fingers will shrivel to nubs, due to the over usage of video game controllers. By having our children constantly place cell phones to their ears, eventually the equipment, much in the same fashion as the Borg, will become biomechanically integrated into their skull. Thus eliminating the need for key pads as messaging and dialing will be brain activated.
I Dream of Jeannie. Barbara Eden was hotter and wore less clothes. Really? There was a debate?
If snails could run, Nike would slap endorsement stickers on their shells and start an ad campaign: Nike….How fast could you run carrying your house?...Just Do It!!
You too, could make it to my blog!!
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
My wife loves me. To prove this, she spares me the torture of watching the root of all evil in a masculine world: the chick flick. Typically these films star Reese Witherspoon or Julia Stiles, and involve a sappy adaptation of a rip off of a Shakespearean play. The goal of said movie is to move the audience (predominantly estrogen dominated homo-sapiens or “FABULOUS!” individuals) to tears or uncontrollable giggling. Clearly this is not a safe environment for the typical male, for at some point in time the females in the audience will see the romantic short-comings of any male in the room. Expressed in the following generalities: “Why can’t he be more like Freddie Prinze, Jr?” or “Do you think I could be doing Matt Damon?”
Occasionally I risk certain death, and tolerate one of these time honored bits of cinema in order to spend some quality time with my better half. And so was the case a few days ago when I allotted space in the omniscient DVR (see Give Me TiVo or Give Me Death) to record a movie my wife had shown interest in months ago as it made its theatrical debut. The movie in question was particularly dangerous because it involved two words that are synonymous with death in the male dictionary and when combined are on the level of Armageddon: Broadway and Musical!!
This movie also involved another scary proposition: the seventies disco band ABBA. In one fell swoop, I ventured into the straight man’s Bermuda Triangle of movies, all for the sake of love. I vowed to enjoy this time spent with her and therefore looked to enjoy the film, but it all took a tragic turn for the worse when James Bond, right before my disbelieving eyes, began to sing and dance! He of the cool cars, hot women, dangerous weapons and Judo CHOP (I know, wrong dude)! That’s right, Pierce Brosnan, our beloved James, of the long line of Mr. Bonds, 007 turning in his MI6 rating (and Man-Card) to yodel some Scandinavian disco band tunes for a few bucks. This is an outrage, a disservice to all the hardcore tough guy movies that earned their metal by being manly men. If Pierce now, what’s next? Antonio Banderas singing Andrew Lloyd Weber show tunes? Clint Eastwood starring in a Western Comedy Musical? Or perhaps you’ll steal our favorite X-Men hero and turn him into a singing dancing sweetheart? If this is how the feminine side of the world is going to play, we demand compensation. Give us one of your Broadway Stars for us to turn into a manly man. Send out Nathan Lane this very second!!!
Resurrected Movie Trailer Guy: “They took his family!! They took his fame!! They even took his…Gucci Man Purse!! Now he’s very unhappy!! This Summer Nathan Lane is the Perminator!!
Nathan Lane: I’ll be….FABULOUS!!!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
While experiencing one of those bouts of “growing pains” that hovered somewhere between my knees and ankles, I decided to ease into my recliner…er…relaxation chair and watch some TV when what to my dismay, old people in makeup appeared on the screen. No, I wasn’t watching re-runs of the Golden Girls, or Six Feet Under. I was watching….KISS!!! You remember, Knights In Satan’s Service, the dudes in the Kabuki Faces. Paul Stanley, in his Kiss outfit was bare-chested and, believe it or not, doing some strange air humping maneuver. Kudos to his ability to be incredibly flexible in his eighties, or at least it seems he’s that old since Kiss’ music was big on 8-Track. I believe carbon dating has tracked that back to A.G. Bell’s first recording.
It’s clear that rockers no longer have the decency to die at an early age, or at least fake their own deaths and head to an undisclosed location getting fat and living off of the royalties. Maybe they should take their cues from legendary blues players at the end of their careers. These guys didn’t try to headline tours with names like “Backward in Time Tour” “We’re Still Alive Tour” and “We Spent All Our Money On Drugs, Enormous Mansions, and Cars, and This Has To Pay The Retirement Home Tour.” No, John Lee Hooker made guest appearances at benefit and festival concerts and people were in awe that he could still do what he did. Maybe they should take their cue from the Rolling Stones, who unbeknownst to many rock fans, actually died in a tragic group nicotine/tar overdose in their London, England studios in May of 1968 (Concert Promoter Bill Graham in fear of losing money, had the band resurrected by the Hells Angels in a secret voodoo ritual just in time for the Altamont Speedway Free Festival in 1969). They technically are on a limited 50 year engagement loan from Dark Angel Entertainment (Mick Jagger wrote Sympathy for the Devil as a tribute to the CEO).
Good news from Depends Undergarments: They’ve developed their latest line specifically for aging rockers, with streamlined edges guaranteed not to show through improperly fitting leather pants (sock pocket available for that “enhanced” rocker look).