Turning a Page

I’m not much for New Year’s resolutions. I know they’re popular and all. I also know that 93% of all New Year’s resolutions never see Groundhog Day. All in all, I think New Year’s resolutions are a good thing, what with people trying to quit things that aren’t good for them; smoking, or drinking, or huffing Draino.

The problem is that we’re creatures of habit. It’s a lot easier for us to get into a habit than to get out of it. How else do you explain Tyra Banks still having a TV show, or sales of pornographic material being through the roof in a “down” economy. So, every January 1st - New Years Day - we resolve to stop doing something we really enjoy doing. Our collective hearts are in the right place, centered securely in our mid-section, protected by a bunch of ribs.

But, did you know that New Year’s Day is celebrated on different dates by different cultures? The Chinese New Year, for example, is in February. And there’s a tribe in Borneo that celebrates the New Year on December 28th - just to get a jump on the rest of us. New Year’s Creep, I call it.

My point is that your odds of succeeding in quitting whatever it is you’re trying to quit aren’t increased one sliver of a percentage point because you choose January 1st to stop. You can stop on March 18th, or October 29th, or August 3rd. It really doesn’t matter. You can stop anytime you want. Or, you can’t. Either way, the day you pick to start trying is pretty insignificant.

So, what good is New Year’s Day then, you may be asking yourself. Simple. There are a lot of football games on, and most people don’t have to work that day.

More importantly, it’s a date which we use to demarcate our lives. You probably don’t remember the exact day you got your first bicycle, or had your first taco, or got served with your first restraining order. But, you probably remember the year. (In my case, it’s 1964, 1973, and - never mind.)

If you can see your life as a book, then each year is a page of that book. And every year, you turn a page. Until you get to the end. At which point you either start over at page one and read it again, or you loan the book to a friend, or you sell it on eBay.

But, we can’t do that with our lives. Once the book is finished, it’s finished. No reset button, no “do-overs”, no stuffing the toothpaste back into the tube. It’s done, finito.

So, that’s what a new year means to me. It’s the turning of a page. Of a book with an indeterminate number of pages. And, it’s one book in which you can’t cheat by reading the last page first. The page you just read is gone, committed to memory - if only for a time. The page you are about to read is a mystery. It is uncharted territory, a canvas on which we paint our hopes and dreams. Until it too becomes but a memory.

So, here’s hoping your next page is a masterpiece; a manifestation of your most coveted desires, your strongest yearnings, your most sought-after dreams. Here’s hoping your next page is better than your last.

What I Believe

I believe that 99.7% of all politicians would kick their Grandmother in the crotch for 25 votes.

I believe that you should be allowed to go one mile over the speed limit for every year you have driven without crashing into a tree, or a telephone pole or another car.

Conversely, I believe that you should be required to have big roof topper that says “I’M AN IDIOT - PLEASE GET OUT OF MY WAY” if you’ve ever plowed into a telephone pole, another car, or a Baskin-Robbins.

I believe that 73% of Americans would buy horse manure if it were in a brightly-colored blister package and had the inscription “As Seen On TV” on the front.

I believe that Faith, Hope, and Charity are great names for girls who don’t plan to start dating until they’re in their late twenties.

I believe that three-quarters of all “talk show” hosts could be replaced by chimpanzees and no one would notice for weeks.

I believe that tiny space aliens have infested my sock drawer.

I believe that there is someone for everyone, if you don’t mind being with some self-absorbed, passive \ aggressive psycho who will suck every last drop of humanity out of you.

I believe that I specifically requested no mustard on my Super-Splendo Burger.

I believe that in America, we have the absolute highest quality consumer items that China can produce.

I believe that my across-the-street, two-doors-down neighbor wants people to watch her riding her exercise cycle in the back corner bedroom with the blinds opened slightly while wearing a skimpy, skin-tight outfit every morning between 9:30 and 10:15.

I believe that no child wants to grow up to be a meteorologist; it just kind of happens that way.

I believe that I have about 25 “Buy Ten Get One Free” Subway punch cards, none of which have more than one punch on them.

And finally, I believe that the enduring spirit and tenacious determination of the human race will one day lead us into utter chaos, destruction and eventual oblivion.

Obama Wins Nobel Peace Prize, Ascends Into Heaven, and Has Sainthood Bestowed Upon Him, All in One Afternoon

Washington, D.C. - On a day which will go down in history, President Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, and then, after delivering his acceptance speech, raised his arms and was drawn into the heavenly aura, ringed by 10,000 angels. No sooner had the first-term President, and relative unknown until that one speech he gave at that one Democratic circle-jerk, cleared the stratosphere when Pope Benedict XVI announced via Twitter that he was bestowing sainthood on Saint Barack.

“We’ve been waiting for this for like, forever”, gushed Amilie Trucant, president of the N.A.O.P.A.E.E.O., (National Association of People Against Everything Except Obama). Then paused, and added, “well - since January, anyway”.

Equally giddy was former Vice President, now President Joe Biden. “I just want everyone to know”, he said, choking back tears, “that I intend to carry on the legacy of this great man. Well, except for maybe that health care thing. And all the incentives. I mean, come on, somebody’s gonna have to pay for this, right?”

In related news, with Saint Barack’s ascension, Oprah officially became the Most Important Human Being Alive. She celebrated by sending everyone in the world a coupon for 25 cents off an 11 ounce or larger bag of Kit Kat Fun-Sized candy bars.

Things That Really Bug Me: Volume Two

Extra-wide shopping carts:
I gotta believe some guy was strolling down the frozen foods aisle at his local supermarket when the thought occured to him: "You know, what this country needs is an even WIDER shopping cart. It only took me 17 minutes to navigate that obstacle course. I need more of a challenge."

When the waitress doesn't tell you Happy Hour is over:
I'm sorry, but when a beer goes from $2 to $3.75 in the blink of an eye, that first "full-price" baby should come with a flashing neon light or something.

People who let their kids answer their cell phone:
If I wanted to talk to your kid, I'd have called your kid.

Separate shipping and handling charges:
If I'm buying two of the EXACT SAME item, from the EXACT SAME company that will ship from the EXACT SAME warehouse, I am not going to pay separate shipping and handling. Just throw them in the same box, will ya?

Internet posters with the grammar skills of a third grader:
Your or you're? Their or they're? Whose or who's. Nothing says "I'm an uneducated, blathering idiot" like misusing common four and five letter words. Yeah, I know your spell-checker doesn't catch them. Do a little proofreading, huh?

People that try to sing along with the radio when they don't know the lyrics:
You know who you are.

Getting expired coupons in the mail:
It's bad enough that 87% of the mail goes into the trash unopened, but to get something I could actually use, only to find out it expired a week ago Thursday is maddening.

People who use leaf-blowers to clear grass clippings from the sidewalk:
Grab a broom. Chances are, you could use the exercise.

Celebrity endorsements:
Yeah, I'm sure Tony Stewart hits up the Check-N-Go when he's a little short on cash. And Jaclyn Smith wouldn't walk into a Kmart if you had a twelve-gauge shotgun leveled at her spleen.

Things of Yours I Don't Care to See

I was having dinner the other night. More precisely, I was trying to have dinner the other night. Just as my food arrived, a lady at the next table with a bandage on her knee (hereafter referred to as Bandage Lady) sees someone across the room she apparantly knows.

"Heyyyyyy", Bandage Lady yells," you've got to see this". And sure enough, Bandage Lady gets up, hobbles over to her friend and proceeds to take off her bandage and show her friend her scar. While I'm trying to eat. Having suddenly lost my appetite, all I could think of at that point was - you guessed it - Things of Yours I Don't Care to See:

Your scar
Okay, they ripped open your flesh, took something out (or put something in), or just moved stuff around. Then they sewed you back up with cat gut, or fishing line or whatever they use these days. I'm sorry. But, I really don't want to see it. Especially when I'm trying to eat.

Your bowling trophy
You seen one, you've seen them all.

Your Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition collection
I've seen Marissa Miller in a bikini. Everyone over the age of seven has seen Marissa Miller in a bikini.

Yet another photo of your cat
Yes, I know you really like your cat. But - you have far too many photos of him.

That indistinguishable green thing you just pulled from between your teeth
No, I don't know what it is. Lettuce? Spinich? I give up. What did you have for lunch?

Your high school yearbook photo
You look like a total dork in your high school yearbook photo. Everyone does.

Your fantasy football roster
So you got Phillip Rivers and Adrian Peterson? Impressive.

That half a buffalo chicken wrap you found in your desk drawer
Got two words for you: air freshener.

Your horoscope
The thing that just slays me about people who read their horoscopes religiously is that they all claim they "don't really believe in that stuff".

Your tatoo
That's the third lower back tribal I've seen this week.

That corn flakes box with your favorite athlete on it
Yep, that's him.

Your child's report card
Got a "needs improvement" on Following Directions, huh?

That thing you can do with your toes
I'm sorry, but toes were simply not meant to bend that way.

Your wedding video
I'm sure it was beautiful beyond words.

Dumbing Down the House

My coffee maker died the other day. It had been making these peculiar spitting and hissing noises for awhile, but the other morning it erupted in a geyser of steam and coffee grounds which spewed out of the top like Old Faithful while making a sound which was a cross between a supersonic jet throwing it's thrusters in reverse, and a gazelle being taken to the ground by a 600 pound lion. Then, it's poor LEDs slowly faded and that was that. So, I set out to purchase a new one. Knowing next to nothing about coffee makers, I did what most people in this situation do; I purchased the one with the glossiest photo on the box. Which turned out to the the Itchy-Scratchy model 3500 XLE Super Turbo Charged Coffee Processing and Brewing Station. And - it was on sale. For only $129.95. Had I taken a few minutes to check the consumer reviews for this model, I would have known that it got one-eighth of a star (out of five) in the "ease of use" category. But, no, I had to have my coffee.

This thing has a "bean processor" mode. You pour coffee beans into the top and a little mechical arm skewers each bean lengthwise, and holds it up to a little window so you can see three tiny micro-drills lower from each side and the back and slowly pulverize the bean into "fine", "extra-fine", or "microscopic" coffee. It has an "audio alert" feature which plays one of nine different tunes when your coffee is done; from On Top of Old Smokey to Baby Got Back. My first clue that I'd made an unwise purchase was when I attempted to set the clock. It had four options: standard time, military time, Greenwich Mean Time, or Swatch Beats. And the program mode. According to the manual, in order to set the Coffee Processing and Brewing Station to brew a pot of coffee at some point in the future, you had to "press and hold the PROGRAM button, while quickly tapping the PRESET button and gently pushing the MODE slider to the right". I thought I had successfully set this thing to brew a pot of coffee at seven am, but it's been three days, and so far - nothing. I take that back - it did play Stayin' Alive at some point yesterday afternoon.

These new household appliances have just gotten too complicated. Take my stereo for example. It has an "auto-pre-scan-select" mode, which will - allegedly - scan for all the radio stations the unit is able to receive and number them one to 65,536. I didn't think there were 65,636 radio stations in the entire world. But, in order to use the "auto-pre-scan-select" mode, one has to press and hold eleven buttons for a minimum of 3.8 seconds. So, whenever our power goes out, we have to have the neighbors come over and help us get it re-programmed.

And remotes. Don't get me started on the remotes. At last count, we had 23, of which some don't seem to work with anything in the house. One for example, has the inscription "Goldofenwicz" across the bottom. It has a whopping 93 buttons on it, some of which are labeled "comp", "sinewave", "sawtooth", "sync" and "N-SYNC".

Even our floor-standing, oscillating fan has a remote control, with which one can turn it on and off, select the speed, and direction, and toggle the oscillation on or off. Oh, it also has a sleep timer. A fan. With a remote control. To be precise, I should say I used to have such a fan. But, in one of those moments that only appear incredibly stupid upon reflection, I wanted to see what would happen if I pressed and held all the buttons at the same time. All I can say is: don't do it. This one took flight, flew around the room for a minute or so, (buzzing the bed twice in the process), began gyrating wildly like a helicopter with a broken anti-torque rotor, then slammed into the wall.

So if, like me, you actually believed that one day you'd live in a "home of the future" with all those one-touch, set-it-and-forget-it appliances like in the Jetsons, all I can tell you is I'm still waiting. In the meantime, I think I'll run down to the Quik-E-Mart. For a cup of coffee.

Phrases That Have No Meaning

You ever hear someone utter a phrase and wonder: What the hell is that supposed to mean? Then you'll hear someone else utter the same phrase, and it dawns on you: This is another one of those things that have become popular, but has no meaning whatsoever. Like Samantha Ronson's blog, or the latest fad diet, or the "Who's Searching For You?" ads. I don't know about you, but every time I hear someone say something that has no meaning I want to come back with something like "gummy bear tent stake", or "eye-twitch loofa", just to see if it'll catch on. So far, no luck. But, following are several phrases I say we just retire until someone figures out what exactly they're supposed to mean:

You need to own that
Popularized during the spate of so-called reality TV shows that have become the scourge of American "culture" over the past few years, this particular nonsensical phrase was likely first uttered during a competition of some kind; cooking or runway modeling, or elbow macaroni art. Likely as not, one of the "judges" from this particular competition didn't feel that the contestant used enough glitter paint on their elbow macaroni sailboat. Had they used the correct amount of glitter paint, they would, in the judge's eyes, have come to "own" the art of creating an elbow macaroni sailboat, or so one assumes.

"This" is the new "that"
As in, pink is the new black, sixty is the new forty, vodka is the new champagne. Well, I have a news flash for you: Pink is pink and black is black; sixty is sixty and forty is forty; vodka is vodka and champagne is champagne. Deal with it.

Old school
Purportedly means something that was done differently at some point in the past. Okay, I get that part. But, why old school? Why not old street corner, old shopping mall, Old Yeller? It just makes no sense.

Back in the day
Back in what day? Yesterday was a day. And so was Thursday before last, and so was November 23rd, 1973. Exactly what day does this absurd phrase refer to?

No-brainer
Supposedly meaning something that is so simple even a person without a brain could figure it out. And, this phrase would almost make sense, except that the opposite of a no-brainer would have to be a brainer, which I assume means something that requires a person with a brain to figure out... You see where I'm going with this?

Save the date
Quick! Somebody, save the date! The date is in trouble! Oh, won't somebody please help that poor date?

My bad
Your bad what? Your bad grammar? Your bad teeth? Your bad choice of words?

Value-added
Supposedly, if I am in the business of selling, let's say, popsicle-stick birdhouses, and before I package these birdhouses for shipment I hold each one up to my ear and listen for a few seconds as if it were a conch and I could hear the chirping of tiny, yet-unborn sparrows, I have added value to the product. Supposedly. In reality, I have done nothing but waste time. That's the best analogy for this shop-worn cliche I could come up with. Value-added is a phrase the business community has invented to justify charging more for a product or service. In reality, it should be called cost-added, but the marketing department shot that one down.

Comfort foods
Ask ten people the definition of comfort food, and you'll get ten different answers. Why? That's right - the term has no meaning! Your comfort food is whatever you like. Personally, I think comfort food should mean the most comfortable food to sleep on, if for whatever reason you didn't have a bed. In that case, I'd have to go with Twinkies.

Your call is very important to us
This, of course, is what you hear when you've been on hold for 47 mintues trying to get through to a "customer service" person. The sad fact is, your call is not at all important to these "customer service" people, as they wish more than anything that you would just hurry up and have a massive coronary and die.

The Five Worst Things About Getting Older

Well, it's July again. And, if this were an even-numbered year, I'd be getting ready to celebrate my birthday. But, since I only celebrate every other year (see previous post, 2008: A Blurry Retrospective), it's just another hot mid-July day. Which is fine with me, as I'm noticing that lately people are starting to treat me like an "old person". Just the other day, I asked a neighbor to borrow his ladder. "Sure" he says. A few minutes later he arrives with the ladder. And a chainsaw. See, he knew why I wanted to borrow the ladder, as there was a branch I had mentioned wanting to cut from a tree in my backyard. I set the ladder up, and reach for the chainsaw. "Uh", he says, "why don't I just climb up and lop it off for you?" And, before I could say anything, he's up the ladder, fired up the chainsaw and cut down the branch. "Thanks", I say, then - under my breath - "I could have done it".

Don't get me wrong - getting older is certainly preferable to the alternative. But, I find myself wanting to just scream, "Hey, I'm not that old! I'm fine. I do not need help getting up out of the chair, I can still cut my own meat, and I am fully capable of climbing the stairs myself! And - stop yelling. I'm not deaf!"

It's just as well I'm not celebrating a birthday this year, as I can just imagine the "gifts" I'd receive: a bottle of Geritol, a subscription to AARP the Magazine, and a "Magic Ear". Oh, and a pair of fire engine red suspenders, because as everyone knows, once you reach a certain age your pants mysteriously fall down around your ankles every time you stand up.

Which brings me to the Five Worst Things About Getting Older:

5 - No one will let you do anything for yourself anymore, for fear that you'll "strain your back", or "break something", or "cut your arm off".
4 - Cashiers and waitresses constantly ask if you want the "Senior Discount", except you're not old enough to actually qualify for their #@^*&! senior discount.
3 - Other drivers cut you a wide berth when they see you coming.
2 - You start getting coupons in the mail for Depends.

And the absolute worst thing about getting older:

1 - Every time you pass a young child, you hear them tell their Mother that "Santa Claus has really let himself go".

Well, enough rambling for one day. I've already missed the first five minutes of Barnaby Jones.

Summer Replacement Shows Are Here!

It's that time of year, television viewers! No, not Sweeps Week - that was last month. It's time for Summer Replacement Shows! Of course, Summer doesn't officially start for another few weeks, but - well, I'm sure the networks know what they're doing. In any event, I have the inside slant on this Summer's offerings:

So You Think You Can Churn Butter? (CBS)
Set in the Pennsylvania Amish country, teams are put to the test raising barns, shoeing horses, and shopping for frumpy aprons and Billy Jack hats. In the inaugural episode, tempers flare as Abigail accuses Constance of using a corked churn. Also, Bartholomew utters an expletive.

Let's Blow Something Up! (NBC)
Teams race against the clock - and each other - looking for the biggest, shiniest, most expensive thing to blow up. Controversy erupts when the judges rule that the Lexus, which was blown to bits by Team Kragen, was impressive, but not quite as expensive as the Starbucks which was disintegrated by Team Hostedler.

America's Got Balls! (ABC)
Teams compete in a game which is basically volleyball, but also borrows from rugby, tether-ball, and the children's game one-two-three-redlight. In the pilot episode, the US Women's Olympic Volleyball team take on a bunch of balding, alcoholic, has-been, former child stars. David Hasselhoff referees.

Medium Rare (FOX)
A man has a near-fatal accident which allows him to communicate with the dead. And, he likes his steaks medium rare. And, he has a rare blood type - AB positive or something.

CSI Tulsa (CBS)
America's heartland - seemingly tranquil and mind-numbingly boring on the surface - hides much more sinister deeds. Episode 1 finds Lieutenant Bradwurst hot on the tail of an ethanol-smuggling ring.

Pimp My Pimp (Bravo)
Roosevelt "Sugar Bear" Jackson - purveyor of pleasure in the Bedford-Sty section of New York City - gets a long overdue make-over, trading in his velvet overcoat and ostrich-skin shoes for some "really fly gear". LaWanda, Jackson's top-grossing lady of leisure croons: "He lookin' some kinda fine now".

Zup? (MTV)
A team of twenty-something wanna-be filmmakers, musicians and performance artists take to the streets of New York to find out zup?

Medium Well (ABC)
A man has a near-fatal accident which allows him to communicate with the dead. And, he likes his steaks medium well. And, he pauses and says "well" a lot.

Splat! (FOX)
Teams race against the clock - and each other - looking for the biggest, shiniest, most expensive thing to throw off the roof of a skyscraper. Controversy erupts when the judges rule that the 118 watermelons, which was thrown off the New York Times Tower by Team Miller, was impressive (and colorful), but not quite as expensive as the home gym which was tossed over the side of the Conde Nast Building by Team Riddengleck.

Dumpster-Diving With My Congressman (NBC)
Ordinary citizens team up with their congressmen to see who can find the most interesting object in a dumpster behind the White Stag Mall just outside Arlington, Virginia. Controversy erupts when - oh, just watch the show. It's on Mondays at nine. What else you going to do Mondays at nine?

Battle of the 80's Sitcom Stars (ABC)
People you thought were long dead compete in incredibly trite and unfathomably tedious pursuits. The pilot episode finds Tina Yothers (Family Ties) vs. Greg Evigan (My Two Dads) in a spirited tiddly-winks competition; Alan Thicke (Growing Pains) challenges Rhea Perlman (Cheers) to a game of shuffleboard.

10 or 11 Ways to Drive Your Man Wild in Bed

I was in a doctor's office waiting room the other day. Or, maybe I was getting my oil changed; I don't remember exactly. Anyway, there was one of those so-called "women's" magazines on the table there, and emblazoned across the cover was the caption 101 Ways to Drive Your Man Wild in Bed. So, I flipped over to page 238, and there in between an ad for laundry detergent and a scratch and sniff thingy for perfume was the article. I admit, I didn't read all the items, but I read enough to know that none - and I emphatically mean none of these suggestions would drive any man "wild" - unless he'd been marooned on a deserted island or something and hadn't actually seen, smelled, or touched a woman in several years. There were things like strip poker and making a bra out of Fruit Roll-ups and such. I checked the by-line, and sure enough - the article was written by a woman. Which is kind of like having a large-mouth bass write an article on the best fishing lures to use. I mean, the bass knows the best lures to use, but do you think he's going to tell anyone?

I hope the analogy isn't lost on the reader.

In any event, no one can stick with anything long enough to do 101 of anything, so following are 10 or 11 sure-fire, slam-dunk, lead-cinch-lock ways to Drive Your Man Wild in Bed:

* Wait until the night before he leaves town on a business trip. Tell him you're having your girlfriend over the following evening, you're staying in, and getting really, really drunk.
*Tell him you've been thinking about doing that thing he really wants you to do. And, you're going to have to think about it some more. A lot more.
*Tell him your girlfriend told you she did that thing he really wants you to do with her boyfriend, and she didn't like it.
*Eat corn chips. Loudly.
*Wear the sexiest lingerie you have to bed. When he notices, bolt upright and say "I feel like such a tramp".
*Practice the kazoo.
*Come to bed in a pair of frumpy flannel pajamas with your face covered in cold cream. Ask him if he's "up for it".
*Wear the sexiest lingerie you have to bed. When he notices, bolt upright and tell him you think your yeast infection is back.
*Wait until he's almost asleep and start humming Don't Worry, Be Happy under your breath.
*Tell him you've been thinking about doing that thing he really wants you to do, and you've decided you'll do it. But, before he can touch you, you burst into tears, run to the bathroom, slam the door loudly and sob uncontrollably until he's asleep.
*Wait until he's almost asleep and whisper in his ear that you've been having an affair with his boss, or brother, or best friend. When he bolts upright in bed, remind him he still hasn't fixed that leaky faucet.

Well ladies, there it is. No need to thank me; your satisfaction is my reward.

Things That Really Bug Me: Volume One

"Easy-open" packaging:
Is there a more Orwellian misnomer? "Easy open"? If you consider requiring the use of a blow torch, a jackhammer and the "jaws of life" to get into these things easy, then I guess it is. Personally, I miss the days when things were so poorly packaged the bag would come open before you could get it home from the store. Just the other day, I stopped in at a convenience store to gas up, and picked up a bag of salted peanuts. After several minutes of unsuccessfully trying to rip the bag open (and chipping a tooth in the process), I threw it on the ground, ran over it with my car six or seven times until it was mashed into a finely granulated peanut dust, popped my hood and snagged the corner of the bag on my radiator cap. Of course, it was totally inedible at that point, but hey - it's the principle...

Four-way stop signs:
Question: If four cars meet at a four-way stop sign at the exact same instant, which one has the right-of-way? Most Popular Answer: The one in the biggest hurry. Actual Answer: No one knows! All four drivers just sit there looking at each other with that far-away, doe-in-the-headlight hypnotic gaze trying to telepathically play rock, paper, scissors to determine who goes first. I have an idea to deal with this quandary: the newest car goes first. In case of a tie, the most expensive newest car goes first. Of course, all drivers would have to keep their sales receipts and registration cards over the sun visor, so they could quickly snag and wave them out the window should the situation arise.

Carrot cake:
I'm a firm believer that it should be illegal to make a cake, pie, or any other pastry out of vegetables. Don't get me wrong, vegetables have their place. And it's waaaaaaay over on the corner of the plate where their repulsive vegetable juices can't touch, and thereby adulterate tasty foods. Vegetables certainly do not belong in cakes. Of course, carrot cake apologists always say (in a very whiny, nasally voice) "but you can't taste the carrots". Which begs the question: then why put them in there? So, here is my recipe for carrotless cake:

1. Make a cake
2. Don't put carrots in it

Cutesy cell phone ring tones:
Seriously. If I have to hear Redneck Woman, Bartender, or that drunken "rannng, rannnnnng" one more time, someone is going to the emergency room.

Instant "celebrities":
The term celebrity is generally taken to mean a person of distinction or renown. Not anymore. These days, anyone who manages to get their mug on any of the estimated 1,037 "reality" TV shows, or smashes their Mercedes-Benz into a fire hydrant on Hollywood Boulevard is deemed to be a celebrity. They can't sing, dance, juggle or engage in a coherent debate on any subject other than the hottest new shades of lip gloss, but we - in our insatiable thirst for chuckleheads to admire and emulate - are creating them by the thousands.

Bugs:
Yeah, I know they have their place in the food chain or whatever, but I say let's get rid of 'em all and see how it goes.

This Blog For Rent

Face it - just about everyone has been affected by the recession (except maybe liquor distilleries and Las Vegas call girls). New Mothers are selling their breast milk on the internet, retirees are making birdhouses in their garages and selling them at flea markets, and unemployed investment bankers are doing double duty working the drive-through at Burgeriffic and preparing tax forms for five bucks a throw. Well, I'm not immune to the "economic downturn" either, so I've been forced to resort to drastic measures. That's right - starting immediately, I will be selling ad space on my blogs.

I know what you're thinking. I can hear the catcalls and venomous cries of "sell out". Well, it's not like that. First and foremost, I'm not selling space to just anybody. I mean, it goes without saying you'll never see an ad for one of those trashy "hook-up" outfits posing as a dating service. And, you can rest assured I won't be doing business with those so-called "payday lenders", and you can absolutely rule out-

Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Tired of the cramping, constipation, and diarrhea? That uncomfortable bloated sensation, and the difficulty in going regularly? Well, no more! Now there's Colo-Purge!!! A tasty powder available in orange, raspberry, and mint flavors, when mixed with water, Colo-Purge will blow your IBS symptoms away in seconds! Don't suffer with that gassy, backed-up feeling when you can Colo-Purge it!!!

-those ambulance-chasing personal injury lawyers. I mean, how do those guys sleep anyway? Lots of Xanax, I'm thinking. You know, I'm going to stick with honest, legitimate businesses. I'd like to pull in some local ads, you know, like maybe a dog grooming service, or some of the more established businesses. I mean, I do still have my integrity. And, how would it look if you were to open my blog and see an ad for-

Do you have $5,000, $10,000, or even $25,000 in credit card debt? Tired of the harassing phone calls, the overdue notices, and the dreaded feeling you're just never going to get out from under that growing mountain of debt? Well, you don't have to take it anymore! Call Ben Dover Credit Counseling Service today! We'll work with your creditors to reduce your monthly payments, stop the collection calls and the wage garnishments! Don't delay - call Ben Dover today!!!

-some shady, fly-by-night snake-oil peddling cretin trying to separate you from your hard-earned cash? It would look bad for me, that's how. And I'm simply not going to stoop to that. No sir!

When you think about it - there's nothing wrong with advertising. I mean, how else are you going to know about the various products and services available if no one advertises? And, I don't have to tell you, ads are everywhere these days. We're bombarded with them! Just the other day I passed a guy on the street wearing a baseball cap with a "Your Ad Here" placard taped over the Braves logo. And you know what? His rates were very reasonable. So, if anyone knows of a business looking for some affordable ad space, have them ping me. But, please - don't send me just anybody. Like I said - I do have my standards, and I'm not going to lower them just to make a quick buck. The good news is that I've already gotten a couple of nibbles. I'm negotiating with that guy running the fruit stand down by the railroad tracks, and a nice elderly lady that has-

Dry, itchy skin? Embarrassed by those rough, scaley patches? Fed up with over-the-counter skin care products that just don't work? Then you need Baby Seal Oil Skin Care Products! Thanks to the efforts of environmentalists and those pesky, bleeding-heart, do-gooder protesters, baby seals are no longer an endangered species. Our scientists and lab technicians have learned the secret of extracting just the right amount of baby seal oil for our full line of skin care products. So, do your skin a favor and get it Baby Seal Oil Skin Care Products. Remember - they're not endangered anymore!

-converted a spare bedroom into a craft shop, where she makes little ceramic figurines and butter dish cozies and such. I know there's really not much of a market for those things these days, but hey - allow an old woman her dreams, huh? I see the so-called "cottage industry" making a comeback soon! And we should all make a point to try and keep the money here at home, instead of sending it to some-

College Girls Gone Nutz!!! You've NEVER seen young, nubile nymphets like this! We've combed the hottest beaches for Spring Break and captured the most outlandish moments on video - just for you! See college girls really getting loose and letting it all hang out! You'll see the most outrageous behavior ever! Guaranteed to steam up your screen! Call 888-CGG-NUTZ! That's 888-CGG-NUTZ!! Call NOW!!!

-overseas conglomerate. In the long run, it'll benefit us all.

Well, I guess that's it. Just do me a favor and keep your eyes and ears open for anyone looking for a real deal on advertising.

Oh, and one more thing. Have you taken a good hard look at your wireless bill lately?

Six Billion Degrees of Separation

Most everyone has heard of Six Degrees of Separation. So had I, but - I couldn't tell you exactly what it was. So I wik'd it. And - I still can't tell you exactly what it is. But I now know that it is or was 1. a play, 2. a Facebook application, and 3. a game of some sort involving actor Kevin Bacon. I still don't get that part of it, but I digress.

Six Degrees of Separation is also a theory which basically postulates that if Person A knows Person B, and Person B knows Person C, and Person C knows Person D, and Person D knows Person E, then Person A must know Person E. (You can substitute colors or General Motors car models for the letters - it works out the same.) Of course like any theory, this one had to be tested. And tested it was. And - is still being tested. Theorists, mathematicians, and psychologists chose up sides to argue either for or against the validity of the theory. And, while interesting enough, the point of the theory is in my opinion, moot.

Growing up in a small city in Southwest Virginia, we had three radio stations: rock, country and what they used to call easy listening (Tony Bennett and Henry Mancini and the like). There were three TV channels. So, at any given time I could usually tell with some degree of certainty what TV show my neighbors were watching, or to what radio station the car going down the street was tuned. There was one newspaper, so everybody got the same slant on everything. And, since it was such a small city, the six degrees theory would absolutely have proven true there; it was probably closer to three or four degrees.

In other words, we were connected by the sameness, the sheer banality of our existence.

But that is not my point.

Today there are thousands of TV and radio stations. There's the internet. There are billions of hexadecimal bits of voice, data, and images pinging off satellites every second of every day. People located on three different continents can engage in a web meeting, each seeing and hearing the other as if they were in the next room. Today, when you take photos of your vacation, you do not have to wait until you're back home and the photos are developed so you can have everyone over to watch "slides". Thanks to cell phone cameras, your friends and co-workers can see them in real-time. As it's happening. Today I could not begin to tell you what TV station my neighbors are watching, or if they're listening to their iPod, or playing online Scrabble with 1,500 other people. Today, there are dozens of social networking sites where people can catch up on every minute detail of what you are thinking, feeling and doing at any moment. They even give you emoticons to communicate your mood, if you don't feel like typing it out.

But that is also not my point.

Several years back I was driving home from somewhere or another. It was late at night and there was nothing much on the radio. I happened upon a person talking about the unequal relationship between society and technology. He noted that society was foolishly embracing technology as some kind of ethereal, benevolent savior. Foolishly because, as he noted, society needs technology, whereas technology does not need society. Technology is decidedly not human, and we of course are 100% human. Technology does not need food, water, or an HMO. It does not care if the power grid on the East coast of the United States goes down, or if a computer virus infects tens of thousands of users. Technology will not shed the first tear if every satellite, receiver, transponder, router and iPhone simultaneously burst into flames. Yet we cling to the belief that technology has somehow brought us - the roughly six billion inhabitants of planet Earth - closer together.

Whereas I believe the exact opposite is true.

It is specifically because we have so many options that we are now more engaged with the technology than we are each other. Because of the aforementioned social networking sites, I know that this or that acquaintance had a "bad day", but often I do not have the opportunity to look into that person's eyes and relate - one human being to another - to their angst. Or that another downloaded a song from their favorite artist, but we will not sit on opposite ends of a sofa and listen, with one or the other (or both) breaking into an air guitar solo.

Don't get me wrong - I think it's great that we have the technology. We can post photos and videos, and send little messages to each other. We can engage in general silliness or send heartfelt best wishes or condolences. But what's missing here is the human touch, and we humans like physical contact. We are a touchy-feely species.

So here we are, the roughly six billion inhabitants of planet Earth, enveloped within a virtual blizzard of electromagnetic waves, but in many ways further apart than at any other time in history. But, there are things we can do. Look up that friend that lives across town and invite them to lunch. Have your parents or in-laws over for dinner. Take a batch of fresh-baked cookies (or a pitcher of margaritas) to that neighbor you occasionally nod to over the backyard fence. Turn off the TV, log off the computer, turn off the cell phone. Get out. Go for a walk, and smile at anyone you may encounter along the way. Go to a park. Give your spouse or child or significant other a hug and a kiss the next time you see them. Tell them what they mean to you. Help a child with their homework, or an elderly neighbor with their yardwork. Do volunteer work at a retirement home, or hospital or hospice. And know that although you are but one of six billion, every day you have an opportunity to enrich other's lives, to connect on a personal level, to become more human.

And then - then you'll know that the number of degrees which separates us has been reduced by one.

Read This Blog or a Kitten Dies

The other day, I accidently saw a TV commercial. I say accidently because I almost always change the channel (or at least mute the sound) when a TV commercial comes on, but this one slipped through the net somehow. Anyway, this particular commercial started out informing me - the intended consumer - about some disease I'd never heard of which affects this or that percent of people in some country I'd never heard of. But - hope abounds - because the company pitching this particular product went on to inform me that they would donate this or that percentage from the sales of this particular product for research to find a cure for this disease, the name of which somehow escaped me. The unmistakable message here: Buy our product or someone will die.

It reminded me of another TV commercial for life insurance which was in "heavy rotation" a few months back. The spokesman for this commercial wanted to talk about a man we'll call Fred, and about how Fred just knew he should buy life insurance; he just knew it. Like a caterpillar knows to become a butterfly, like a man with rheumatoid arthritis knows when it's going to rain, like Tiger Woods knows to lay up short when facing a crosswind into a sloping green protected by bunkers on three sides. But sadly, Fred never bought life insurance. And now he's dead. Dead like Sheboygan, Wisconsin at midnight, like the Susan B. Anthony dollar, like the WNBA. Stone cold, in-the-ground dead. Stupid, irresponsible Fred. His poor widow is probably living in a refrigerator box down by the interstate and rummaging through Walmart dumpsters for food and end-of-season clothing. Dumb, dumb Fred. Don't be like Fred. Buy life insurance. Buy lots and lots of life insurance. Now. Before it's too late.

Among the more annoying TV commercials are the ones which attempt to appeal to me - the intended consumer - in a folksy, we're-all-the-same manner. Like the restaurant chain which implies that once you cross their threshold, you somehow, magically become related by blood to them. Well, I went down there once, and not one of them recognized me. Furthermore, none of them remembered the Christmas that uncle Edgar got drunk and knocked the tree over and threw up in the green bean casserole, or the time cousin Daryl had to go to reform school for doing that thing with the cow. They were certainly not my family. And - the breadsticks were greasy.

But, with the economy so far down the toilet even a pipe snake can't get to it, many companies are resorting to fear tactics to sell their products. Don't get me wrong - they're not coming right out and saying you'll contract some mysterious illness which causes your skin to turn green and fall off in brick-sized chunks if you don't use their moisturizer, but why take chances? They understand how frustrated you are that you've lost 75% of your retirement nest egg, but won't you feel like a total doofus if the stock market does claw itself out of the grave and make a come-back? And you having dumped all your money into Euros and male enhancement products. Stupid, stupid investor. Dumb, dumb consumer.

In related news, The Cash You Could Be Saving With That Unnamed Auto Insurance Company was mugged at a bus stop in San Luis Obispo, California earlier today. Said one witness: "I knew it was going to happen. You can't walk around flashing green like that long before somebody gonna knock you in your head".

Finally, can you say with absolute certainty that you do have enough life insurance?

A Beginner's Guide to DWS (Driving While Stupid)

I've been driving for about 37 years now, and if there's two things I can tell you it's: (1) the average driver gets a little dumber every year, and (2) the average driver gets a little less considerate every year. I know, I know. Everybody says that, right? It's always the other guy that's stupid, or lazy or drives like a maniac. Well, I'm going to wrap this thing up and slap a big ole tear-off sticky-pad bow on it. Following is a step-by-step guide to determine if you are guilty of DWS, or Driving While Stupid.

Cat-nappers: We've all been there. It's rush hour, you're several cars back waiting at a "fast green" light. Finally, the light turns green, and- nothing. The other lanes are moving, but not yours - which if you think about it, is the only important one to you at the time. After several agonizing seconds the lead car hunkers down and blasts under the light - just as it turns red again. You've just been the victim of a Cat-napper. And, you'll probably see him again. At the next light.

Dinosaurs: You gotta love our senior citizens. Really. I mean, without them how would we know how much better things were in the "good ole days", and how to pay for EVERY purchase with exact change? But the sad fact is, as we get older our reaction time increases, our hearing and eyesight deteriorate and as a result, it's not only possible, but common for an individual that cannot navigate a shopping cart down the ethnic foods aisle at the Safeway without leaving a trail of matzah and garbanzo beans in their wake commandeering a 3,500 pound, 400 horse power vehicle. Shudder.

Distractobots: Cannot just drive the car. Oh, no, they have to be talking on the phone, text-messaging, fishing around under the seat for a CD, or doing needlepoint while they drive. Once, I saw a man actually clipping his toenails while gliding down I-295 at speeds approaching 80 m.p.h. You see, Distractobots get bored easily. I mean these newer cars practically drive themselves! Why waste valuable time concentrating on things like road signs, merging traffic, and- WHOA, that was close...

B.H.L.s (Blue-haired Ladies): Drive automobiles that are inversely proportional to themselves, in terms of things like weight and mass. These tiny, frail ladies want all the car they can barely get their hands on, and since they can't possibly climb up into an SUV, have pretty much cornered the market on Lincoln Continentals and Ford Crown Victorias. And there they go - white-knuckled and peering through that little space between the steering wheel and the dashboard. With little satin pillows on the rear deck.

Slo-bees: Drive r-e-a-l-l-y, r-e-a-l-l-y s-l-o-w. Like, really slow. The needle on the average Slo-bee's speedometer has never seen 45. Many Slo-bees learned to drive when things moved at a more relaxed pace and everyone wasn't in such a confounded hurry to get somewhere or another. And they miss those days. So much, they want to bring them back. Slowly. The most maddening thing about a Slo-bee is that it only takes one to clog traffic like a grease-filled drain.

Fast-lane Nazis: This may come as a shock to many drivers but the left (or leftmost) lane on any road, highway, or turnpike with more than one lane going in either direction is known as the fast lane. Anyone want to guess why it's called the fast lane? Anyone? That's right! Because the traffic is supposed to move faster over there. Supposed to, but often doesn't because of Fast-lane Nazis. After I'd been driving for, say, a day and a half, I had a idea: Put signs up on the side of the road that say "Slower Traffic Keep Right". And, you know what? They did! Do you think Fast-lane Nazis care? Nooooo, they don't. There they go, always three to five miles an hour slower than the traffic in the right lane, head thrown back, pretending not to glance into their rear-view mirror to see if anyone's pointing a rocket-propelled grenade at them. The thing is, Fast-lane Nazis know they're supposed to move over. But - they pay their taxes just like you and, by golly, if they want to drive over there then that's where they'll drive.

Zippers: Zip in and out of traffic, often barely missing other vehicles. You've heard the expression "the other lane always moves faster"? Well, it doesn't. But you'll never convince a Zipper of that. You leave one micron of space between you and the car in front of you and, poof - there's a Zipper. No wait, he's back over- no, he's over here ag- no, no, he's back. Zippers are comprised mostly of our younger drivers, and they seem to prefer sporty imports. And long, wide highways.

Drifters: Are not a 60's beach music group. Rather, Drifters are drivers that cannot seem to stay between the lines. At any given point, they'll be 78% in the right lane, and 22% in the left. Or, 87% in the right lane and 13% on the shoulder. If there's a slight turn in the road, the Drifter's brain will convince him that it's not worth having to flex that pinkie muscle and pull the wheel 1/128th of an inch to the right to negotiate it. At some point the road will cut back the other way. Could be a mile or so up the road, but eventually they'll be in the vicinty of middle of the lane. Pure, unadulterated laziness. Check out the side mirrors on the Drifter's car. Odds are, there are three or four different colors of paint on them.

Now What?
I'm convinced that fining people for driving while stupid is kind of like taking money out of a one-year-old's college fund when they go poopie in their diapers; they just don't get the connection. They'll whine and snort (the ticketed driver, not the one-year-old) about getting the ticket, and they'll go get the money order and pay it. And, they'll be right back on the road, driving while stupid again. If you really want to change their behavior, if you really want to cure the stupid driver, there are two things you must do:

1. Get rid of these dumb driving tests and make people prove they can actually drive. There are these things called driving simulators, which - as the name implies - allow a person to simulate driving under various conditions. There are night-time modes, thunderstorm modes, 24-lane highway rush hour modes. You name it, they can simulate it. So what you do is, you tailor the test to the locale of the prospective driver. If they pull out in front of another car, poot along at speeds well under the posted limit, close their eyes when traffic merges onto their lane, or exhibit any of the other bad driving habits listed here, you fail them. Period. They may try again in two weeks, or a month. Whatever. Just do not give that person a drivers license.

2. If you do get a ticket (and plead or are found guilty), you go back in and take the simulation test again. If you fail - on top of having just gotten the ticket - then you have pretty much proven that you're either too stupid to drive, or you just don't care enough to do it right. In either case, you lose your license for three to six months, depending on the severity of the stupidness.

Why You Care
Although automobile fatalities per mile travelled are down over the past few years, they still exceed 40,000 annually. This is insane. Because many, if not most of these accidents could be prevented if drivers would just stop driving stupid.

Finally
All cars have turn signals. Find yours and learn to operate it.

25 Things You Absolutely Don't Need To Know About Me

As I'm sure all of you have heard by now, the latest Facebook flavor-of-the-week rage is a viral, chain-letter type list that members post of 25 random things about themselves. Which tells me two things: One, these people have way too much time on their hands, and two, as of last Thursday an estimated 5 million people have demonstrated that they sure do love themselves some themselves. I mean, seriously, can you think of 25 things about yourself that anyone other than your closest family and friends would give two hoots about? Unless you were a famous movie star, or the president of France or something? But, the thing that really grates my grits is that I haven't been "tagged" yet. And - I'm not about to sit around and wait for it to happen. So, without further ado, here are 25 things you absolutely don't need to know about me:

25. I have a subscription to the "Mayonnaise of the Month Club".
24. I like to go to Civil War re-enactments. Whenever there's a lull in the action I jump out from behind a tree and yell "Missed me, missed me, now you gotta KISS me".
23. I cried during Titanic. The opening credits.
22. Growing up, I would never eat Girl Scout cookies because I thought they had actual Girl Scouts in them.
21. I have a third nipple under my left arm. No wait, it's just a zit.
20. My 8th favorite Chinese food is Moo Goo Gui Pan.
19. Sometimes, I like to pretend I'm an undercover CIA agent, code-named Chainsaw. I go to the mall and furtively "tail" people at random until accosted by mall security.
18. I have a pair of silky black speedo-like underwear with a red devil on the front, which says "You devil!"
17. I couldn't pronounce Massachusetts until I was 11.
16. I still can't pronounce aluminuminuminum.
15. I can sometimes pick up AM radio stations with a filling in a molar.
14. I put ketchup on pancakes.
13. My head is 7% larger than it needs to be.
12. I run over squirrels with my car every chance I get.
11. I never cared who shot J.R. The bastard deserved it.
10. I sometimes gaze up at all the stars in the sky and wonder if NASA is just screwing with us.
9. I once owned a mutt named Peabody.
8. I like to do Jager shots from a squirt gun.
7. I collect 18th century Spanish coins. So far I have one.
6. I put the bomp in the bomp-she-bomp, but I didn't put the ding in the rama-lama ding-dong.
5. As of this moment, I have $11.58 in my pocket.
4. Once, I laughed so hard that beer came out of my nose.
3. I was once denied entry to a ritzy, beachfront bar in Boca Raton, Florida.
2. I just don't get this new math.

And the number one thing you absolutely don't need to know about me:

1. I pee sitting down.

New TV Channels for 2009

Think there's nothing to watch on TV? Well, now there is! Here's a small sampling of the newest channels to grace the air - cable - satellite waves:


The Philodendron Network:
Featuring "Split-leaf vs. Heart-leafed" wherein panalists debate the particulars of the two varieties; "Potting With Pat", and the award-winning "The Philodendron Whisperer".


The Alcrapistan Network:
Now, millions of Alcrapistani-Americans can enjoy the sights and sounds of their far-off, pestilence-ridden homeland! Offerings include "Where's My Yak?", a game-show which gives contestants five minutes to find their yak, which has been hidden by the show's crew. If they're successful, they win big prizes! If not, they'll be stealing their neighbor's yak, for sure! Young, forbidden love between the son of a wealthy land baron and a destitute, prematurely arthritic turnip farmer who long for the day they are allowed to make eye-contact in public is featured in the pulse-pounding drama "I Have Not Bathed Since the Harvest". Finally, there's "Alcrapistan Tonight", a variety show featuring a re-cap of the days events, a stirring patriotic message from the Most Blessed Supreme Benevolent Ruler, and a stock market report on yak futures. Quality programming? You betcha!


The Dane Cook Network:
All Dane, all the time.


The PMS Network:
The network's editors have combed the archives of The Lifetime Network, We and Oxygen and found 137 movies which all feature a man being castrated by rusty garden shears. New this month: "Escape From Terror: The Ellen Elongovich Story", "Don't Look In The Utility Shed", and "Now, Where Did I Put Those Rusty Garden Shears?". Advertisers include Midol, Carefree, Haagan Dazs, and Home Depot.


The Mime Network:







The Insomniac Network:
Re-runs of "The Golden Girls", "Three's Company" and "Barney Miller" interspersed with infomercials for sleep aids. And lawyer ads. Lots and lots of lawyer ads.


The Crimean War Network:
Computer-aided reenactments and what if scenarios highlight the offerings on this much-maligned conflict. Programming is interrupted every hour, on the hour, for a reading of "The Charge of the Light Brigade" by Charlie Sheen.


The Remedial Math Network:
Shows include "Mr. Fraction and Ms. Decimal", "What Goes Into What?", and "Don't Get Short-Changed", a call-in show which allows viewers to call in and ask a panel of experts if they got the correct change from a financial transaction.


The ADD Network:
For people with short attention spans. No show longer than fifteen minutes. Featuring "No Repeat Tuesdays", "What Was I Saying?", and "An In-depth Analysis of- Hey, I Never Noticed That Before!".

HOT new Wii games for 2009

You'd have to have been hiding under a rock, or on a distant planet (or hiding under a rock on a distant planet) to not have heard of the Nintendo Wii gaming system. It's truly one of the most inventive game systems of this century (21st? 22nd? I can never keep it straight). And with the introduction of Wii Fit, millions of Americans have learned how to pretend to actually exercise in the comfort of their own living rooms! Why spend hundreds of dollars on a home gym you will hardly ever use when you get get Wii fit for around $125, and hardly ever use it?

Now for the good news: There are literally tens of new games for the Wii for 2009. We've listed a few here:

Wii Fat
For those die-hard couch potatoes that eschew things like "working out", "getting in shape" and "seeing their feet", there's Wii Fat. Press the 'A' button and your screen fills with scrumptious, delectable dishes such as Beef Wellington, Roast Rack of Lamb, and Triple Cheese and Guacamole-Stuffed Enchiladas! Mmmmm! You can almost smell the delicious aroma! Press the 'B' button and you are treated to a sampling of some of the world's most lip-smacking, artery-hardening desserts! Bon Appetit!

Available from:
Couch Potatoes Rock, Inc.
"Because Dieting is for Wussies"

Wiiwillwiiwillrockyou
Imagine all your Miis dancing hypnotically to the incessant, stomp, stomp, clap backbeat of this ubiquitous rock anthem! Press the 'A' button and they launch into an air-guitar army! Press 'B' and they all whip out their little Mii Bic lighters! Just like being at a real Queen concert! If you're heavily medicated, that is.

Available from:
Arena Rock Novelties Co.
"We're Too Buzzed To Think of A Slogan, Man"

Wiibleswobblebuttheydontfalldown
Press the 'A' button and all your Miis (Wiibles) start to wobble. But - they don't fall down. Ever.

Available from:
Low Tech Toys, Inc.
"Whatever Happened to the Slinky, Anyway?"

WiiBeJammin'
That's right, your Miis all adopt dreads and a funky groove as they get down to all your favorite reggae tunes! Press the 'A' button and one whips out a spliff to pass around. Press the 'B', '1', and '+' buttons simultaniously for a special surprise!

Available from:
JamaicanTouristBoard.org
"No tourists killed here for long time, Mon"

Wii Nap
Press the 'A' button and the screen goes black. So you can take a nap.

Available from:
ReallyDumbProducts.com
"You Know You'll Buy Anything If We Hype It Enough"

2008: A Blurry Retrospective

Well, the year 2008 has finally died an agonizingly slow, horrifically painful death, and 2009 is finally here, taunting us with hushed promises of economic recovery, scientific advances, and one-size-fits-all Snuggies. And while there were many, many developments and newsworthy stories in 2008, I would like to focus on three in particular:

One, I became ANOTHER year older, and I think that is grossly unfair. I believe that once you reach my age, you should only age, say six months per year. Of course younger folks, with their boundless energy, firm, toned bodies, and complete control of their respective bladders, should continue to age at the usual rate. This would have the added advantages of alleviating the baby-boomer burden on the Social Security system, AND requiring that you only buy birthday gifts for us dinosaurs every other year.

Secondly, we held another Mister President Contest in 2008, and of course Barack Obama - playing the role of Young, Idealistic Reformer won, beating out John McCain, playing the role of Crotchety Old Geezer Who Spends His Days Watching Barnaby Jones Re-runs And Chasing Stray Dogs Off His Lawn. This was truly an epic Mister President Contest, the campaign having begun in 1993. (I know it seemed MUCH longer but it really wasn't; Google it if you don't believe me.) Of the myriad images and sound-bites from this gargantuan competition, the one that will always haunt me is that of an army of Thirty-something women in stretch pants and running shoes zipping up and down the streets of my neighborhood at a mall-walker's pace, hanging leaflets on my door "reminding" me to vote for Obama.

There are no words to express the presumptuousness of this act.

My only regret is that I apparantly missed Jeff Probst ceremoniously extingushing Senator McCain's torch. (If anyone has a video clip of that, please shoot it to me. Thanks!)

But, all is not well in the wake of this Mister President Contest. Apparantly Hillary Clinton, playing the role of the Slam Dunk Democratic Nom- Whoops Maybe Not has amassed a campaign debt of approximately $680,000,000,000. This is equal to the combined Gross Domestic Product of several Caribbean nations, and Oprah's "Cookie Jar" fund. It's also almost 3% of what Senator Obama raised. In fact, if you take the money spent by all the contestants combined, convert it to Susan B. Anthony dollars and stack it in a cornfield in Nebraska, it would actually be visable from the International Space Station! Honest!

I have a proposal to eliminate this gross expenditure. Beginning with the 2012 Mister President Contest, all candidates would be prohibited from campaigning until election day. On election evening, whichever television network that bid the highest would hold a three-hour Mister President Contest Special (to be co-hosted by Jeff Probst and either Fergie or Kim Kardashian) wherein every candidate would have three minutes to express their views and make their empty campaign promises. Beginning with the final hour of the Mister President Contest Special, every registered voter - having previously received their unique voter personal identification number via mail - would either go on-line or call an 800 number to vote. Then, one by one, the losing candidates would have their torches extinguished by Jeff Probst until only the winner remained. Think of the advertising dollars this would generate! A thirty-second spot would easily cost ten times that of the Super Bowl!

Then, either Fergie or Kim Kardashian would place the ceremonial tiara on the head of the Mister President Contest winner and hand them the ceremonial roses while a Bert Parks look-alike sings "Here He Comes, Mister President". (I'm getting a little misty-eyed just thinking about it!)

Finally, I'm sure everyone has heard that the fact that 2008 was a leap year caused several computer glitches that wreaked havoc with many on-line sites, including Twitter, Digg and whatareyouwearingrightnow.com. I also have a simple proposal to eliminate this problem: do away with leap year altogether and replace it with the Leap Second. That's right, beginning in 2010, every minute would be increased by one second, thereby eliminating the need for a leap year, with it's extra day, and what all.

I know what you're thinking: Wouldn't every clock, watch and sun dial around the world have to be re-calibrated to deal with this extra second? The answer is an emphatic no. As no one is ever on time for anything anyway, the extra second would hardly be noticed. Trust me; I've done the math.

So, here's hoping that 2009 will see all your hopes and dreams realized. I know my new year has started on a positive note. I just love my new Snuggie!

One size fits all, you know.