Saturday, September 15, 2007

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night!

I know at least two of my regular readers are Notre Dame fans.  I also know it’s not nice to make fun of their sad-sack football team during this time of crisis, and I’d like to think I’m better than that...BUT I’M NOT!!!  I fucking cherished watching those 0-2 Michigan Wolverines demolish the Failing Irish 38-0 today!  It was damn near as fun as a wet dream involving Pat Benatar or Belinda Carlisle!  Automatic Good Day number three and counting, this season…

Last week, the New England Patriots did the equivalent of farting in a spacesuit (i.e., creating a big stink that won’t go away anytime soon), and head coach Bill Belichick got fined half a million bucks after his team was caught videotaping the New York Jets coaches on the sideline at last week’s game to try and steal their defensive signals.  I’m surprised that none of the talking heads on ESPN have posed the following question—why does an elite team like the Patriots need to cheat anyway?  It would make more sense if bottom-feeders like the Browns, Raiders or Lions were busted for doing this, but the Patriots?  While it's true that Sir Belichick has all the people skills of Mike Tyson with a Migraine, I’ve always respected his body of work—until now, that is…

That “little faggot with the earring and the make-up” (Prince) says he’s suing YouTube and other major Web sites for unauthorized use of his music in a bid to "reclaim his art on the Internet".  All I gotta say is:  Get over it already, you pretentious pussy!

Motley Crue is suing drummer/tattoo addict Tommy Lee’s manager for persuading him to pursue being a “reality” TV star instead of focusing on the band, and Lee has threatened to quit the group.  What the hell difference does it make, anyway?  These guys are has-beens and haven’t put out a decent record in 18 years, and by most accounts, their most recent tour in ‘05 was a flop.  Much ado about nothing…

“Down On Me”—JANIS JOPLIN/BIG BROTHER & THE HOLDING CO. (1967)  “I said it looks like everybody in this whole round world, they’re down on me.”  Has anyone else besides me thought Janis was singing, “There’s lipstick on my body” instead of "It looks like everybody" there?

STEALING MY ACTIf you want more of the above, go to  No, it’s not a gay porn site, but rather a collection of misheard lyrics (as in “’Scuse me, while I kiss this guy”) submitted by folks like me who demand better enunciation from our favorite singers.  The ones I post on here are all my originals, although some are common to lots of folks.

Someone also asked me where I got the info on the passing of Outlaws guitarist Hughie Thomasson, and I referred him to the poorly-named, yet highly-informative Dead Rock Stars Club website.  This Doc Rock character is about as thorough (borderline anal, actually) as anyone I’ve ever seen, as he posts info on the deaths of virtually anyone even remotely connected to Rock ’N’ Roll, as well as Country and Jazz musicians.  Hell, he even considers people like Milton Berle, Anna Nicole Smith, Tammy Faye Bakker and even that crazy Rocker himself, Luciano Pavarotti to be Rock Stars!  I haven’t a clue why, but if a Rock star dies, you can rest assured he or she will be listed on this comprehensive site.

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I’ve had encounters at the grocery store similar to these myself a few times…

There was an interesting piece in this week’s Entertainment Weekly about the upcoming 30th anniversary “Love Boat” TV special in which Gavin MacLeod related a story about a fan who came up to him and said how much she misses shows like this because today’s TV “reality” show fare doesn’t give the viewer anything to “dream about” anymore.  Granted, a schlocky show like “Love Boat” isn’t the best analogy to use here, but I think this gal nailed it right on the head—sadly, there’s nothing inspiring about today’s TV offerings at all.

All you get anymore are these “reality” shows where basically the producers round up a bunch of nobodies and/or marginal has-been down-and-out celebrities (i.e., people who’ll work cheap—think Leif Garrett or Corey Feldman), create some set of parameters or contest and bring along a couple video cameras to capture whatever happens.  This was also the basic premise behind The Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour film, and unfortunately for the Fab Four, nothing happened, and so it goes for “reality” TV shows, and they are so bloody boring to me!  Also, the viewer is often fed these forced and contrived mini-dramas within these crappy shows, like with these bickering skanks vying to doink Bret Michaels of Poison, or those conniving bastards on “Survivor”, and for no particular reason, we make celebrities out of weasels like that “evil” Amarosa person on “The Apprentice”, et al.  Sorry folks, but to me, the only “reality” show that’s actually real is “Cops”.

Call me sentimental all you want, but I’d much rather have something to dream about, like driving the Batmobile, hanging (literally?) with Grandpa Munster in the dungeon or even saying cool shit like The Fonz used to ("I would let him go—unless you wanna make medical history…”).  Even hanging out with Fred Sanford and Grady and Bubba while watching roller derby on TV is a step in the right direction, and I’d certainly much rather aspire to living in a deee-luxe apartment in the sky like The Jeffersons, or even better, Frasier Crane’s pad in Seattle.  And yes, I had dreams when I was 13 about cruising on the “Love Boat” with the likes of Loni Anderson, Bernadette Peters or Marilu Henner, and in more recent years, visions of threesomes with Monica and Rachel from “Friends” and/or Daphne and Roz from “Frasier” have danced through my dirty little mind a time or two.  And let me tell you, my friends, they’re a tad more exciting than worrying and fretting about who’s going to date Scott Baio next…

Back on the throne again!

Well folks, my long national nightmare is finally over!  I now have indoor plumbing once again, as I finished repairs on my sewer drain last night.  I'm relieved to be able to relieve myself in my own toilet again for one rather obvious reason, but also because this little operation was beginning to turn into a sideshow of sorts, with too many nosy (if not well-intentioned) neighbors sticking their noses in it.  Total cost of the project was about 12 cumulative hours of my time and $47 in parts and supplies, or $65 if you count the new shovel I bought.

Contrast that with the 2,500 semolians that Benjamin Franklin Plumbing tried to con me into paying to replace my alleged "collapsed" sewer drain.  Thus, dear friends, whenever any plumbing or heating and cooling outfit, et al, tries to tell you that you need some four-figure major repair done, I urge you to seek a second and third opinion before you let them take advantage of you.  If I wasn't so bull-headed about fixing this damn thing myself, I might've gotten royally screwed.  Or in this case, royally reamed...

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Anatomy Of A Clog

"This was no boat accident!"—Oceanographer Matt Hooper, Jaws (1975)

As young master Hooper was misled by Amity Island authorities, I appear to have been misled by my plumber, who told me almost a month ago that I had a collapsed sewer drain somewhere out in my front yard.  After spending hours and hours of somewhat unnecessary digging up of my beloved front yard, imagine my surprise at the discovery of the true cause of my recent drainage woes...a wad of caca about the size of Homey The Clown's sock!

During a rest break while digging tonight, I noted some hairline cracks in the sewer pipe just above the area that I'd already cracked open over the weekend.  Just for shits and hoots, I took Molly T. Hatchet and pounded away at the clay edifice and knocked it loose from the original joint that I dug up last Saturday.  After pulling out a small tree root that was tangled up in a rubber bushing in the joint, I then pulled out the aforementioned wad of caca (the brown thing in this photo).  At this point, I'm finding it hard to believe that Mr. Benjamin Franklin Plumber Man couldn't pierce through this rather innocuous hunk of crap, and that he was merely trying to drum up a little bidness on behalf of the company, to the tune of $2,500 semolians out of my wallet, over an alleged "collapsed drain pipe".  Part of me ain't too happy about this, but part of me is rather delighted over knowing the true cause of my drain clog...

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Good news and humor

Not much time to blog tonight, but I have two quickies to share...

First the good—actually excellent—news:  It appears there's a damn good chance that Buffalo Bills tight end Kevin Everett might just walk again after all.  According to ESPN, his doctor says he has voluntary movement in his legs and arms, and is optimistic about Everett's chances of at least regaining his ability to walk and having a fairly normal life.  He's not likely to ever play football again, but fuck that—this made my day, and it's great to hear a happy ending (potentially, anyway) in all this.

And now for the humor part.  Special thanks to Margaret for e-mailing it to me...

Monday, September 10, 2007

The Saga Continues...

Not that I really give a rat's tuckus (sp?) about this no-talent bimbo, but evidently all three of Britney Spears' remaining fans are distraught over her phoned-in performance at this weekend's MTV Video Music Awards crapfest.  I don't have a problem with her gaining a little weight—she actually looks better to me this way—but I do have issues with someone who gives a half-assed performance, especially a career lip-syncher like Ms. B.S.  Dumb question, but if she ain't really singing anyway, then why did she need that microphone battery pack thing sticking out of the crack of her ass?

Meantime, apart from NFL preseason games and Enron stock, is there anything more utterly worthless today than MTV?  Twenty years ago I'd never have believed I'd be saying this, but if my cable provider, Compost (oops—Comcast) dropped MTV from their channel lineup, I wouldn't miss it one bit.  They can take VH-1 and their "Celebreality" caca with it, too.  It seems a tad pointless to me to have a video awards program on eMptTV when they rarely (if ever) show videos on their airwave in the first place.  Makes me long for the good ol' days of MTV with Martha Quinn in her mini-skirt and red tights and redhead news cutie Tabitha Soren.  I actually even miss Randee Of The Redwoods and Kevin Seal—two of the biggest dorks this side of Jack Osbourne.  Hell, even Downtown Julie Brown and her incessant "Wubba Wubba Wubba" mantra would be a step in the right direction as opposed to all this "Cribs"/"Pimp My Ride"/"Road Rules"/"Real World" crappola...

On a more somber note, best wishes go out to Buffalo Bills tight end Kevin Everett, who suffered a spinal cord injury in yesterday's game against Denver, and he may well never walk again.  The play where Everett was injured looked innocuous enough, but evidently he got hit in just the right spot to cause major damage to his cervical spine.  What sucks is if he'd tilted his head half-an-inch one way or the other, he'd be fine right now.  It always amazes me how some players practically get maimed on some plays and bounce right back up, and others are paralyzed during relatively non-vicious hits.  Let's hope Kevin Everett makes the best possible recovery...

Sadly, yet another passing to report on in the Southern Rock world, as former Outlaws/Lynyrd Skynyrd guitarist Hughie Thomasson died yesterday of a heart attack in Brooksville, FL.  Hughie wrote and sang The Outlaws' two major classics "There's Goes Another Love Song" and "Green Grass And High Tides", as well as singing on one of my favorite cover versions songs ever, the venerable "(Ghost) Riders In The Sky" in 1980.  Hughie left Skynyrd a couple years ago after touring with them for many years, and there was an Outlaws reunion in the works at the time of his death.  R.I.P., Hughie...

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I love T. Tomorrow's This Modern World strip.  I'm not a full-blown liberal, but I do tend to lean to the left, much to the chagrin of certain close friends of mine (you know who you are!), and this guy's comics are usually dead-solid on target.

As for this Larry Craig character, there was an interesting article in Newsleak—sorry—Newsweek this week about his encounter with the undercover cop in the can at the Minneapolis aeroport.  Evidently Mr. Anti-Gay Republican Politician has been accused of pitching for both teams for over 25 years now, too.  Can't have it both ways, buddy...

Just uttered by ESPN's Ron Jaworski on "Monday Night Football":  "And do you know who the biggest Johnson of all is?"

In the words of ZZ Top:  "I wouldn't touch it with a Ten Foot Pole..."

"Baby Hold On"--EDDIE MONEY (1978)  "Rich man, poor man--really don't mean all that much."  Sounded to me like Ed sang "Pinch me, pull me..."  The Money Man will never be known as the "Great Enunciator"...

In the spirit of fair play, I won't just pick on John Mellencamp on my blog for going over to the Dark Side by selling his songs to corporate monsters for personal gain.  While watching the "Monday Night Football" games tonight, I've heard the music of no less than three different "prog Rock" bands—Genesis, Electric Light Orchestra and Emerson Lake & Palmer—on TV commercials for various and sundry products.  Best grab that paycheck while you can, eh, fellas?